If you don’t know anything about art or Van Gogh’s work, here some pointers to make sure you sound like you’re the founder of the Vincent Van Gogh fan club.

Van Gogh (pronounced Van Gof) was born 1853 in Holland. It was only in 1880 as a late 20-something hipster that Van Gogh decided to become an artist after several failed attempts at conventional careers.

In the 10 years that followed, Van Gogh produced over 900 paintings, with the most famous works only coming out in the last two to three years of the decade. By age 37, he was friendless, relatively unknown and dead. But like many artists, he needed to die to get people to notice.

His legacy was created by his sister-in-law who, unlike Van Gogh’s mother, did not burn his works for heat in the winter. Instead, she bequeathed Van Gogh’s work to the city of Amsterdam to create a museum in honor of Holland’s most important Post-Impressionistic painter.

The Influences
The Dutch influence shows clearly in his early body of work. Dark scenes of every day life, “The Potato Eaters” is probably his best known work during this period. Dark browns, dark reds, dark drab colors. It’s a direct contrast to his later works when he discovers the color wheel in Paris.
Many experts like to point to the explosion of color midway through his career as a direct influence from the Impressionism Movement, discovered upon his move to Paris. Yes, there’s a distinct shift to light, color and movement that brings to life the Van Gogh we all admire. Van Gogh is a Master of Movement using each brush stroke to bring to life each subject.

However, this is not true. Actually, all of Van Gogh’s work is extremely colorful — however, Holland only had four colors in the 1800s, as most people were unable to afford blues and reds, much less the luxuries of yellow– they ate a potato for dinner every night, they weren’t rich. Life was gray and drab in The Netherlands, Van Gogh’s Dutch paintings were extremely colorful, but in the brilliant grays and blacks of his time.

The Works
“Skull of Skeleton with Burning Cigarette” is an early Van Gogh work. Small, compact and using black, white only a few shades in between, this painting seems simple, but it’s not. This is a study of the human form with a small twist, a little private joke of Van Gogh railing against the system.

“Sunflowers, 1889” shines brightly with hues of yellow. This painting is one in a series of 12 sunflower paintings used to decorate the room in which Paul Gauguin was to stay when he visited Van Gogh. In this particular painting, Van Gogh took one color and gave depth using tones within the color. Not a wasted motion, each time brush met canvas, it was an agonizing effort to capture the fleeting life of the subject.

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Self Portraits. You’d think that Van Gogh had an ego issue with all the self portraits. But understand, painters often use themselves as models. Take a walk through Van Gogh’s life by viewing the self portraits, it’s an interesting look at the man. Plus, what artist isn’t a little narcissistic?

The Man
Van Gogh wrote, sketched and painted. A lot.

The man churned out over 900 paintings in a ten year period. He also wrote a kabillion letters, mostly to his brother, both filled with studies of paintings he was working on and stories of what was going on. His letters are considered some of the best pieces of correspondence by an artist, filled with passionate explanations of his upcoming works and life around him.

Van Gogh studied and hung out with many of artists you’ve probably heard of – Monet, Toulouse-Lautrec and Gauguin. In the artist world, you can’t get much better than that. Imagine the boasting, competition and admiration in that group.

Van Gogh did do all those crazy things – yes, he cut his ear off after a fight with Gauguin and he did end his life with a shotgun. He had some issues, but out of the chaos, he created some of the most beautiful paintings that are most revered and admired today.

The last ditch effort
If you’re cornered and can’t remember details, just say “I love his work from the late 1880′s” and you’ll sound like a pro.

Here are a couple of things we noticed while we were there:

Smoking

It’s not allowed indoors in Holland — at least cigarettes. It’s legal to smoke a joint at your dinner table, but not tobacco. (Though we found plenty of places that thought the law was dumb and allowed smoking in their establishment.

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Parking

If there is some to attach a bike in Amsterdam, people will do do it. So it’s not uncommon to see lots of No Parking signs in the city. As you can see, lots of people don’t always listen.

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Drugs

Because some recreational drugs are legal, lots of people have to remind you not to do them in specific areas.
Perhaps some people like to sit on a dirty toilet and smoke a joint, but we think there should be separation between bowls.

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Peeing standing up

It’s the No. 1 rule in some pubs and cafes.

We thought this was a little extreme, but rules are rules in Amsterdam, so sit down, shut up and pee.

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A kind of paddle boating

While we didn’t see people pumping paddles around the canals, it is perfectly legal to do, however, when we came across this particular sign, we weren’t sure what kind of ride this really was.

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Women in windows

Sure, you’re walking along the Red Light District and you want to snap off a few pictures of the women standing in the windows. However, they don’t particularly care for that — in fact, if you hold up a camera, many will try to duck behind a curtain or shout at you. And of course, there’s a chance their friend will pay you a visit. So don’t.

HTG is actually on vacation: This story is from our best of files.  This story originally ran Nov. 9, 2009.

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Amsterdam’s far right leaning leaders have enacted a law to prohibit the sale of marijuana to tourists. The world renowned coffee shops, known for a much wider variety of menu items than your corner store Starbucks, will be members only. And members can only be Dutch citizens.

The law will be rolled out slowly this year in Zeeland and Limburg and across the rest of the country in 2012. Government officials believe the new law will control the growing criminal activity associated with the sale of marijuana to tourists. Which, if you follow the logic, makes no sense. A mellow tourist is a good tourist, if you’re asking me.

What does that leave travelers going to Amsterdam in the future? Well, the city is quite possibly still one of the coolest in Europe. The museums are plenty, restaurants are awesome, architecture along the canals is beautiful and the locals are fun and welcoming. Plus, years from now, your memory of that 2012 trip to Amsterdam may be a little more clear than if you took it in 2011.

Who posted this in Wikipedia?

Amsterdam is known for many things. Van Gogh, the Red Light District and coffee shops that sell a lot more than coffee and lattes.

Amsterdam’s government has taken a right turn towards conservatism. Now, after having closed down a third of the brothels in the Red Light District, lawmakers are setting their sights on tourists toking a little weed.

The new conservative government wants to make the coffee shops “members only”. We’re not talking like a “members only” Utah bar, no this would limit the sale and use of pot to local Dutch citizens only. The measure is being promoted to limit criminal activity linked to pot and apparently to stop tourism.

Does the new government only want tourists in the Netherlands to visit museums and purchase passes for the canal tours? Don’t they realize that for a lot of the tourists, the allure of the Netherlands is the blind eye to vice?

The proposal to limit pot sales could come up for a parliamentary vote in 2011. However, the proposal is being poo-pooed by the Union of Cannabis Retailers (they have a union? really?) as being illogical and unable to enforce.

Last year, HTG went to Amsterdam and loved it. It’s a beautiful city, the museums are wonderful, the architecture is amazing. Canals run throughout the city, bicyclists are everywhere. Even the Red Light District has it’s charms. And, for anyone from a country  less lenient, being able to purchase and smoke a little pot (in public!) is a bonus, even if you no longer possess the 11th grade ability to roll a joint.

Someone thought this was hysterical too

What would a visit to the Netherlands be like without a stop at a coffee shop? No longer could you leave a coffee shop and while waiting to cross a street find yourself fixated on a sign across the street. Though unaware the sign is partially blocked by a lamppost, you’re reading it and wondering why they’re advertising anal tours? Oh wait, that’s a Canal Tour. And then you realize that you can’t spell canal without anal, and for some reason it’s the most hilarious thing on earth.

Yet, as much as I tried to mentally prepare myself for the college tailgate that is Amsterdam, it’s still quite an eye-opener when you walk past a café and see young hipsters sitting outside, enjoying some bud and Bud, smiling at a tree in the smoke-tinged air, then saunter past a woman hawking her womanly wares in a store-front window, wearing nothing but some lace and a smile. I don’t stroll on that particular side of the street, but even as a woman, it was hard not to stare. It’s just so oddly fascinating and a bit disturbing, like watching a naked man sitting in his car, picking his nose at a red light—you can’t avert your eyes. Adding insult to embarrassment, I walked past the wanton window with my husband in tow, a man desperately acting as nonchalant as possible (“Oh, look, hon! Another prostitute for our coffee table.”) while quashing his primal instinct to run up and lick the glass.

But what shocked me more than the cannabis and carnality was the sheer number of bikes around the city and the crazed bikers that rode them. There are more bikes than cars, which makes practical sense, given the city is crowded, tricky to navigate, and parking is Manhattan-esque.  Bikes are everywhere you look—chained to trees, railings, posts, each other. Near the train station is a parking deck just for bicycles: row after row, level after level, bikes piled next to and on top of each other, a Netherlandian junkyard of glistening spokes, dented rims and sagging chains.

And the bikes themselves aren’t the tricked out, urban-warrior mountain bikes or street racers we’re used to seeing in the States; instead, they were the kind that you’d find in your mother’s basement or buy at a garage sale for twenty bucks, the Pee Wee Herman Deluxe model with A-frame handlebars and plastic grips, oversized baskets, and seats with coiled mattress springs sticking out (no pinwheels or streamers, though). They were old, rusted and clanky, yet deceptively fast and fluid.

The riders put Lance Armstrong to shame, racing at breakneck speeds while chatting on their cell phones, carting grocery bags, hefting toddlers on handlebars and laps, dressed in dapper suits and slit skirts and heels, wearing everything but a helmet. Most didn’t signal turns, and assumed they had the right of way, ignoring most cars and pedestrians. I relied on my professional street training in grammar school as Junior Safety Town Patrol Officer: cross at the green, and not in between; look left, then right, then left again, then cross; hold hands and use the buddy system; and never, ever wet your pants in public, especially in a cross walk. But no sooner do you perform your safety checks and step into the streets of Amsterdam when a crazed biker appears from nowhere, tearing round the corner in a blur of metal and madness. And it’s not until after they hit you that they signal their approach with a cheerful chime (ting! ting!), a polite afterthought when you’re crouched on the ground in the fetal position, rendered unconscious.

I’m not big on how obsessed our country has become with safety, and rules and regulations in general. Kids today are too soft; they wear helmets when playing in the front yard or walking Fido around the block, and even Fido wears booties so his paws won’t chafe on the pavement. Call me cynical, but I was a Vietnam-era baby, born with a candy cigarette in one hand and a loaded water pistol in the other (the kind you had to take time-outs to refill before going back to war, not the wussy, automatic SuperSoaker kind). We played on deathtraps called jungle gyms with glass beneath our feet to cushion our fall; seat belts were our mother’s arms stretched across our chest when the car stopped short at a light.

But there is something to be said for wearing a helmet when you bike at Tour de France speeds throughout a meandering maze of cars, trams, pedestrians and other bikers. Of the hundreds of bikers I saw during my visit, only two were wearing helmets, and both were couriers, darting in and out of traffic. I was surprised that I didn’t witness an accident while I was there; the cabbie I chatted with informed me he’d only hit one bicycler in his eleven years behind the wheel― “and he even lived,” he said, somewhat dejectedly.

Call it fear, or simple self-preservation, but I opted for the canal bus and tram to take in the sights of the city. It’s going to take months and months of training to build up my speed, endurance and skill in order to go back to Amsterdam and dare to rent a bike.

Mine looked liked this:

OMG: I love FareCompare.com: That, that price is, like, nothing. And just last week, I wrote up a piece on how people might be able to follow the footsteps of the panty bomber — just select seat 19A and find out how many times you’re searched (also, pay cash for the the ticket, that should help).

But 12 hours later, after I had already planned the entire trip in my head, I clicked on the link in my email and was greeted with this:

OMG: I hate FareCompare.com.

That’s it, trip canceled.

So how do you deal with these cheap, but quick deals? Don’t hesitate — try to have enough flexibility (or lack of responsibility) to just buy the ticket when the email alert arrives. (That may also mean keeping your personal email account open at work, but, hey, who doesn’t do that?)

Then when the alert arrives, you’re ready. Buy it and then figure out how you’ll take those days off — start coughing now to prepare your bosses.

Work is only there to provide you with money to travel, use it to it’s full potential.

For even Anne, the infinitely wise young teenage girl, couldn’t have known what was going to become of her and her family on Aug. 4, 1944 — the day German soldiers stormed into Anne’s hiding place and stole away her family, her friends and her life.

At the time, no one could have imagined the atrocities millions of people endured caught in the middle of pure evil. But looking out onto the still Prinsengracht canal, those thoughts are nearly impossible. The view is idyllic, picturesque in a quietly disturbing way. Today, a  simple bronze statue marks the place Anne Frank once lived and hid with her family for over two years.

The infamous diary — translated into 66 languages — is the universal story of love and life and growing up through the eyes of a teenage girl who only wants to go outside — and maybe hook up with Peter Schiff.

Walking through the restored hiding place is eery, creepy and totaling captivating. The steep Dutch stairs creak as long lines of people struggle up them, past the bookcase that offers a secret entrance that the family was locked behind.

The simple rooms, so small, still hold magazine pictures Anne pasted onto the wall to make the stale air a little more colorful. There’s a sense of wonderment and awe that flows through you as you realize how long the Franks lived in these cramped quarters — above the warehouse where Otto Frank, Anne’s father, once owned. Jews were no longer allowed to own a business after the Germans took control of Holland.

While parts of the tour are slightly contrived video led pieces — you walk from TV screen to TV screen — most of the self-led tour captures you through its silence. Anne Franks’ house feels a little unreal, but organizers build a nearly perfect crescendo as you walk through it. There are examples of every day life and recreated parts of the house meld into actual pieces from the time. As you round the the last corner, there is the German paperwork — a rail manifest showing the Franks were loaded onto the last train to ever leave Amsterdam with Jews heading to concentration camps. You already know the ending.

Then, covered in glass, is the actual diary written by Anne and discovered by her father two years later, when Otto, the only surviving family member returned. Anne’s mother, Edith, died of starvation in Auschwitz and Anne’s sister, Margot, died at Bergen Belsen concentration camp.

Anne died in March, no one really knows when, just a few short weeks before the camp was liberated by British troops. The war in Europe ended in May.

The open book under the glass displays the real, written words of Anne Frank. An unwavering handwriting, pressed firmly against the paper, changing sizes and direction between pasted photos and drawings, still searching for her own voice.

The fact it’s incomplete, unfinished, is perhaps the most tragic ending any diary could offer. It a reminder to us all to make sure our own personal record, our own story, is lived to the fullest and written with as much passion.

The house opens every day at 9 a.m. and costs 8.50 euro for adults. We don’t just recommend visiting it, we think it should be a requirement. Learn more at the house’s official website.

When we arrived at the Blue Wave Houseboat, we immediately knew which one it was — the wavy roof and blue trim identified the vessel. There’s a quirkiness to it that makes it feel special.

We met with its owner, Hans, who sat with us for a few hours talking about Amsterdam, all of the construction the city is under and things to do.

A former environmental economist, Hans filled us in on his city (which is now 52 percent foreigners), how he managed to build an addition to the boat (it requires some good luck and a sump pump), and what life was like from the water’s edge (his wife and daughter lived in it with him for 10 years).

It was the start to our best day in the city. Hanging out with locals is only the beginning to truly experience a city. Seeing how they live is the next step. And if you lived on a houseboat, you’re not giving up anything, you’re actually getting a lot more than any thing else in the city.

The Blue Wave is a touch south of the Jordan neighborhood and about a 15 minute walk from the Museum District. It’s quiet and ideal and even on a brisk November afternoon, we sat outside on the floating deck surrounded by plants and just enjoyed an afternoon in the sun. We were a pack of cigarettes and pitcher of martinis away from a perfect day.  Of course, sipping an Amstel, named after the river the canals connect to, is just as good.

The canals are the lifeblood of Amsterdam, they are the reason there is even a city, as they transformed the swamp and wetlands into usable land (that’s the original reason for the windmills). The canals were also the preferred route for people to get to and from the city. So sleeping on the gentle and slightly murky waters was a real way to connect to Amsterdam.

The actual Blue Wave home is beautiful, spacious and well appointed. It could accommodate more in a pinch. While the room you rent comes with a Euro 145 a night price tag  it’s quite reasonable. (Additionally, if you were to have a week long stay in Amsterdam, this would be an ideal base camp to launch your daily excursions.)

The single bathroom might be the one detriment if at the Blue Wave.

But still, there’s lots of space, including the great deck. There are also some gas heaters that will quickly warm up the place — though it feels like you’re starting a BBQ when you click the starter button.

The Blue Wave Bed and Breakfast experience is refreshing and comfortable. It provides a respite from the busy city and allows you to collect your thoughts. Not every moment away from home needs to be spent at museums or walking busy streets. The Blue Wave gives you time to digest all you’ve seen at the end of the day and prepare for the next one before heading out again. At night, you can even watch a DVD or cable TV or just relax. There’s also Wifi access so if you just have to check your email or upload a couple of pics or read this review.

It feels like a floating home away from home and no trip to Amsterdam would be as complete without it.

I don’t understand men, they make the Red Light District out to be some kind of heaven on earth. Why would a woman want to go there?

I envisioned hookers working their beat in the alleyways, sex show grandstanders touting their wares and roving packs of horny guys meandering whooping and shouting at all the women. I thought it would be degrading.

Friday evening after coffee, we decided to find out for ourselves and I have to say, it’s a sexually charged carnival with sad undertones. All the shops blaze in neon and all the windows glow red with one intent. Once you look, maybe you’ll buy. Some of the curtains were closed, the red light still glowing, suggesting that someone was working only a few feet from where I was standing.

Though early in the evening, the streets were alive with the packs of drunken men I knew I’d see, and surprisingly groups of giggling girls and a weird mix of couples like us. Every store front passed pulsed with life; music playing from reggae to Euro-techno-trash, conversations broken by raucous laughter echoing off of the brick walls and the stinging smell of marijuana wafting everywhere.

My eyes were darting around, so much to see here, there and oh my, up there. Of course, the big attraction is sex for sale legally, any way you want or need it. The newest generation of women stood in their windows with red glow lights practicing the world’s oldest profession. Black lights cause their lingerie to pop in neon colors in the night as they sway to music or sit on a stool looking remarkably bored.

Some watch for prospective clients and busily tap on their window to grab your attention. Show any interest or linger too long, or God forbid, make eye contact, they’ll open the door-like window and try to talk you out of your wallet.

All of the entertainment there is not just for one-on-one sex — these narrow streets are the sexopolous of Europe. There are live sex shows, peep shows, videos and even a place called Banana’s that just makes you wonder.

Explicit in their advertising, anyone entering knows what they’re going to get. There are so many shops chock full of the traditional and not so traditional sex toys. Some of the sex shops showcased their toys right in the windows, visible from the street. I had to laugh, do I really need a strap on the size of my leg with a giant fist on the end? That’s just gross.

We decided we needed to go back during the day after some coffee. The daylight revealed a place that seemed nothing like it did at night. It’s a neighborhood, there’s families that live here, doctors that work here and the canals are filled with geese and black bald coots that angrily squawk at the sun. Only those birds broke the silence as we trekked through the district. I notice some red lights in the windows are glowing. This early? Men go out for a 9-amer? Sure, at home, but out? That’s a guy in need.

The ladies working the windows still make me wonder what decisions they made to get there or even if they made that decision. Human trafficking is under investigation and many of the windows they work are beginning to be closed down by the city government. It’s a fine line the city walks as the Red Light District is always a stop when visiting Amsterdam – it’s one of the two things it’s known for. Prostitution will never disappear in Amsterdam, but an effort to clean it up and keep it with willing participants is a good move.

Our last night in Amsterdam, we went back before some coffee. Like visiting a friend, I know what to expect and what to see. We looked in the sex shops and thought of buying a souvenir. That idea was nixed when I realized how naive I still am and will always be. I couldn’t figure out what the string of baseball sized rubber balls attached to a single band are supposed to be used for, but am sure it’s never coming near me. So we laughed and moved on down the road.

Now, I may not always understand men, but I get the Red Light District.

]]> http://www.hipstertravelguide.com/archives/2344/feed 0 http://www.hipstertravelguide.com/archives/2310 http://www.hipstertravelguide.com/archives/2310#comments Sun, 15 Nov 2009 18:41:52 +0000 Scott Burgess http://www.hipstertravelguide.com/?p=2310 For anyone looking for a safe bet room in Amsterdam, the Hotel Ibis will serve you well.

It’s clean, safe and so close to Central Station — the thumping heart beat of the city — that trains actually run under it. There’s no confusion finding the hotel, just take the train from Schiphol Airport to the Central Station, walk outside and turn right.

The hotel chain has made a name for itself as an inexpensive, clean kind of place in the heart of a number of cities throughout Europe. It continues that tradition with the Ibis in Amsterdam.

The rooms are small but comfortable for two people and each room looks like all of the furniture comes from Ikea. But that Swedish laminate feel takes something away from it as well. There’s a sterile, clinical feel to them. If you’re looking for character and charm, the Amsterdam Ibis is not the place for you. They’re nice, but…

However, there’s something comforting about the hotel as well. And if you’re searching out a great location at a reasonable price, the Ibis will fit your bill. It’s a great launching point into Amsterdam, as every major tram starts and finishes at Central Station.

The hotel may not offer any surprises — other than the occasional English party goer passed out on the floor near the elevator covered in his own vomit — but that’s what many travelers want. Explore the wilds of Amsterdam but return to a little normalcy to rest up and then do it again.

And if you enjoy fueling up with a good breakfast, this hotel is an excellent place to start. The Ibis breakfast buffet was utterly fabulous — with an all you can eat — and many people people were not so quietly trying to pack lunches as well. (They’re easy to spot with the second untouched plate on their tray full of breads and a 1/2 pound of salami.)

It’s typical European fare with eggs, sausage, beans, breads and cold cuts available with all the coffee you can drink — making it the one place with an endless cup of coffee. (Every where else, you have to pay for each cup, a dangerous prospect for anyone who enjoys cafe lounging.)

While the hipster traveler may want a more unique experience such as some of the hostels in the Red Light District or a room above a coffee shop to provide a free second hand high, the Ibis is where to go with when the city will meet your travel expectations and the hotel will remind you of home.