Guy and I had a turbulent week so we were looking forward to running away from it all for a while. It was good to get away from work and get home to start packing together. I'm always conscious of how much we enjoy things each time we do something new together. He was excited, buzzing around and more organised than me. We staggered off to the Tube together and made it to the train at Liverpool Street Station with time to spare. He rushed off to find beers for the trip and I was left on the train holding the luggage, wondering what the dire consequences might be if the train left without him - he hadn't brought his phone, and I realised how much we've come to rely on those irritatingly useful little mobile communication devices. He made the train just fine though, and brought out a bottle of red wine which we shared with great pleasure all the way up to Harwich. As always, I find myself unwinding on a Friday night and as I become more and more relaxed, I get quieter and quieter. I seem to go inside myself - not in an unpleasant way but it can make me appear unsociable. Guy got quieter and quieter too and I felt bad - sometimes I'm so aware I might be subduing him in ways that make him unhappy. He loves to be sociable; chatty, out and about. He loves to have a drink or five on a Friday night and chat to strangers in pubs and clubs, but I'm going through my phase of "
Anti-Awash with Alcohol". So the trip was pleasant but filled with inner insecurity; are we making each other happy? Are we boring each other? Have we run out of conversation?(Oh, when did I say that I would never let this happen to me - to be part of the "couple culture"; to make my happiness dependent on a male companion's happiness!? Oh, foolish woman!)
It felt like a great adventure coming into the port at Harwich International. We boarded the boat and ran into a group of antipodean backpackers, whose loud chatter and friendliness both lifted us and made us aware of our quiet separateness from everyone else. Clearly, it is a fun thing to travel in a larger group. We had a drink on board, did some totally uneccessary spending in the Duty-Free and crashed early. It was delicious to wake on board, in another country. We couldn't wait to rise, dress, eat and rush off ...
After some backwarding and forwarding getting train money (everything in coins in this country - we were fatally unprepared for that!); me bashing my face into the back of Guy's bags (nice big cut on my nose showing up clearly in every photo after that - bugger!); and a somewhat sleepy journey into Rotterdam Central Station, we headed off down to Amsterdam. We chatted with an older couple heading off for 2 weeks in Greece - which sounded lovely but the sun was shining and I was convinced we'd have a better time :)
Arrived in Amsterdam, bought maps, and discovered that our hotel was less than 3 minutes' walk away. WHAT a pleasure! The hotel
was glorious - huge, lofty rooms with creaking wooden floorboards, beautifully decorated with dark wooden Moroccan furniture, massively decadent bathroom and - hallelujah - an absolutely gigantic king-sized bed! Our stay there was not cheap but by God, it was worth every single penny. The hotel is billed essentially as a gay destination and I'll admit it was just a little intimidating for me to walk into a room filled with men - very masculine men, I might add - all of whom looked most surprised to see a woman arriving, and ALL of whom looked Guy over VERY appreciatively. I could only grin and think "he's mine, you bitches, keep your paws off him!" Guy seemed completely at ease in that environment, and it's one of the reasons I love him so dearly - he has no insecurities about gender or alternative sexualities - he may be vulnerable within, but he always comes across outwardly as so very comfortable, confident and relaxed in any company, no matter how unconventional.We dropped all our luggage that morning in the breakfast room and rushed off to sample the delights of the city. The sun was shining, the breeze cool, the old city was beautiful, the canals were everywhere, and all the Amsterdammers were out in their boats celebrating the Spring weather. Guy and I strolled through the old streets, dipping into the delights of a number of different shops and stopping for coffee on a sunny street corner overlooking a Venetian corner of the city, where a little boy played "Manniken Pis" into the water.
We walke
d on, out of the Old City and came to De Hortus Arboretum where we spent some time wandering among the stunning plant life and Butterfly House, then went and sat on the shore in the park to catch the sun and watch the boats go by. We walked back through a different route, across small bridges with teetering narrow houses, glorying in the canals and heat. We came home, unpacked and ripped into the contents of the mini-bar (surprisingly less expensive than we'd expected) and fell asleep, exhausted and content.The morning loomed a bit gloomier and greyer than before, so we spent the day on a canal boat tour; worth every penny and giving us a wider view of one of the few remaining cities in the world that seems to have retaine
d a unique character and a beautifully preserved historic centre. We also ended up in Dam Square which felt much more "touristy" than all of the Old City we had wandered through. We found a free contemporary art exhibition in a gallery tucked away from the main square; we found a pancake house and more great bars and coffee shops than we could possibly try all in one weekend.We stopped in the tired heat of the afternoon, in a little Italian pizzeria for a late lunch. Our host sat us in the prime window seat, where the shutters opened up to make it feel like we were sitting on a sidewalk patio. We watched the crowds go by down the little cobbled alleyway. A girl wandered past - so magical - she wore a long white sleeveless floating dress, her blonde hair long and loose between her shoulders, her feet bare. She came back past us one more time and we wondered why. Could it be she was a Flower Child, tripping on hash or magic mushrooms? Lost, dazed and glazed? Or was she a streetwalker? It was only much later that we found ourselves doing much the same thing, criss-crossing back and forth across the myriad little alleyways, trying to find this shop or that place that we had first spotted and wanted to re-visit. You do that a lot, it seems, in Amsterdam ...
However, I always believe it's important to try everything once; because it is possible that we may never com
e this way again. So Guy and I spent the evening wandering through the Red Light District. There were some interesting observations to be made. For instance, on a Saturday night, the famous windows are filled with the most gorgeous girls ever, all dressed in neon luminescent bikinis or lingerie; absolutely heart-stoppingly pretty. They all waved at Guy and ignored me, and once again I was reminded that he is a beautiful man to look at. Women simply never stopped looking at him - and in gay Amsterdam, a lot of men looked too. He is absolutely unaware of all of this attention; he is completely unselfconscious about his looks. Yet another reason why I love him so dearly. They didn't like me quite so much, it seemed. One even barked at me rather abruptly when I grinned at her. Oh dear!In a dark alleyway I saw an older chap, dignified and fatherly, leaning across his bicycle to talk with a girl in the window. Not so much a conversation as a negotiation, perhaps, for when we walked back the same way later, his bicycle had been left parked neatly against the wall and he was nowhere to be seen. The curtain in the window was closed though the light stayed on. That encounter had some magic to it; some element of sensuality in the dark of the night. But the beautiful girls all disappeared in the harsh light of day and the next morning, the windows were filled with - as Guy called them - "The B-Grade Slappers". Gracious, what a desperate looking lot they were, and a sad and squalid reminder of the true nature of their business.
We spent Monday wandering the streets of the old city once more, re-visiting shops we wanted to explore in more depth. We finally ended with an hour spent chilling to some wonderful ambient music in a psychedelic "smartshop" filled with strange oddities like giant silver-coloured Buddha head statues, Barbapapa (remember him!?) and curious cats (real) asleep in the shelves and display cabinets. Psychedelic colours shimmered everywhere - stars and sequins and suncatchers glittering in the afternoon light. Guy bought himself the largest lava lamp he could find in the shop,
which made our journey home a bit of a trial :-DWe had a leisurely trip on the trains, aching, weary, relaxed. Our silence this time felt much more companionable, comfortable. This time no inner concerns; I felt bonded with him. The trip has been good for us.
I came home alone to Finchley, and found that Monday had been a day of storms in London. A tree has come down in our garden and lies crashed and sad-looking, dying. Guy's courgette plant, so small and young, has been demolished by slugs. We need a weekend in the garden. We went out to buy a car yesterday, and saw the new Indiana Jones movie. We have slept well the last two nights, since coming home from Amsterdam. It feels good between us again.
