The Market of Earthly Delights

50 tulips for 7.50

Up early (yes, I know, I’m supposed to be on vacation), I met MM at her place at 9AM so we could head out to the local Saturday food and flower markets on the Lindengracht and the Noordermarkt along the Westerstraat in the Jordaan.

Stroopwafels-on-demand  YUM!

Fresh stroopwafels and a variety of treats in hand, we proceeded to a hair salon owned and operated by Rachid el Haddad -former Moroccan/Dutch champion kick-boxer turned hair stylist.  I know...I know...but honestly, he did a great job of eradicating my grey hair (they seem to have multiplied exponentially in the past 6 months -I wonder why?) and returning it to a single tone of dark brown.  With MM by my side there was no language barrier and once I saw the results I felt a million times better.  I’m absolutely not brave enough to risk what might happen should I go to a Russian hair shop.  I guess I’ll just have to keep coming back to Amsterdam to have my hair done from now on.  I wonder if Mr. U would finance a trip every 6 weeks?

The view from Rachid el Haddad's hair salon

Hair firmly under control, it was off to a Tattoo Shop just on the other side of the Red Light District to visit with R and see what she was up to.  It turns out she was working on a back piece that melds the imagery from the right panel of Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights.  It has been a year in the making and is now about 70% complete.  It was incredible to watch R working freehand from nothing more than a number of pieced-together colour photocopies.  Now that’s talent!

Dermadonna hard at work

It was now drink-o’clock so H, MM and I headed to a bar right beside the St. Nicolaaskerk and seated ourselves downstairs with a view at canal level.  I learned that despite a smoking ban in restaurants, there still are bars that allow smoking (both kinds) provided that you BYOD (I’ll let you figure out what that acronym means).

BYOD

It was great fun to watch the boats filled with tourists go by -funny how people behave when they don’t realize that others can see them/are watching.  We were even treated to a white swan’s antics.  They are really large birds.  Life is good.

A couple of drinks and a yummy caprese sandwich later, it was time to head out.  H took off at top speed on his bike as he was tasked with grabbing ice cream for us and MM and I hoofed it to our rendez-vous point on the bridge where I picked up a hot dog for Mr. U.

It was time to head back to our respective homes for a quick rest before a late dinner at Japanese Pancake World (www.japanesepancakeworld.com).

Open 10 days/closed 10 days, this intimate restaurant that seats 24 at max capacity is run by a lovely German man who takes an enormous amount of pride in his craft.  His offerings are creative and delicious.

Despite his insistence that I should have an  Osaka type of pancake (there are 3 kinds), I stuck to my guns and requested a Hiroshima-style pancake instead.  I’m certainly glad I chose what I did as the kind he wanted me to have (since it was my first time) would have ended in tears and a spoiled meal for me.  I am adventurous to a point -carapace or chitin does not work for me (shades of a New Orleans soft shell crab fiasco) nor does food that is still moving on my plate whether by clever trick or still actually alive.  Apparently there is a certain kind of fish flake that when at room temperature does not move but when placed on a heated surface (such as a stack of freshly-cooked pancakes) they begin to wave as if they are seaweed under the sea.  I almost burst into tears when I saw this on the surface of R’s meal.  Being my father’s daughter, out came the iPhone and I recorded a short video.  Look closely at the pancake stack and you’ll see what I mean.

This was dad’s favourite restaurant in Amsterdam and the owner was saddened to hear of his recent passing.  At the end of the meal he came to us with a bottle of plum wine and we all raised a glass in Zavie’s honour.  After shared memories and shared tears, it was time to head back home in the cool night air.