Going Dutch

Today we left Paris for Amsterdam.

We checked out from Aloha before 9:30 and headed for the Porte Maillot metro station, the main coach park. After some wandering, we found the station and the bus itself, driven by a nice British man named Mark who check us off the list and stowed our backpacks
The ride was fairly uneventful. It was fairly cramped, too, but we all got out when the bus stopped for gas and we were allowed to stretch when we stopped in Brussels (the other stop on the line). Andie didn't think Belgium or the countryside was deserving of photography, she didn't take a single picture until we got to Amsterdam itself. I saw one windmill and lots of fields and cows. Maybe it was for the best.

The bus let us out directly at the Amsterdam tram station, which was easy enough. You buy your tickets at a small window on the tram itself-- we got on in the back and sent Andie up for them, then discovered that they're valid for time periods, not specific rides. Encouraged, we also used them for the intercity trains (and found out later that they're not valid for that, and we rode all the way to our hostel illegally).
The schedule at Amsterdam Centraal took some figuring-- which with us, means frustrated wandering. My directions specified one train by final destination, but which wasn't on the platform or due anytime soon. It took us a full circuit of the station and up and down 5 platforms to decide on another with overlapping routes. The trains themselves are double decker with their own wifi, so Andie was able to corroborate everything I'd been saying for the last half hour and only then decide it was good idea.

Our hostel is directly across from the Sloterdijk train station (which we still can't pronounce), and surrounded on all sides by nothing but an office park. It's not the location that recommends this place; it's the accommodations, previously being a large hotel before converting the rooms for higher occupancy. There are 8 floors. The rooms are Scandinavian-looking and spacious with bathrooms, televisions, and door keys. We're in a 7-person room with evidence of two other people's stuff (though still no sign of them), but still with plenty of room and a separate sink, toilet, and shower. Marvelous.
(The staff at the front desk mentioned the Paris train wreck when we checked in and provided further details. Apparently it was pretty bad.)

We went back into town and wandered the main drag for a while, looking for a suitable dinner stop, when Andie spotted an authentic Malaysian restaurant. She navigated the Malay/Dutch/English menu and ordered for us, which turned out really well. She was very excited the whole meal and spouting stories; she's also promised to recreate tea tarik for us at home.

I don't know what this is. It was Andie's only photo from Amsterdam.

We accidentally wandered into the Red Light district on the way back and scuttled out just as quickly. This is Europe's recreational playground, where the entertainment starts with organized pub crawls and devolves from there. It was a zoo of people on the street, a lot of them drinking (or sporting sponsored bar crawl t-shirts) or high, with sensory assaults to match-- we found a side alley and got out of there. Andie put it best: "It's a shame that such a lovely city is wasted on drunks."
We made it back to the train station and the hostel, showered and watched Dutch television, and went to bed without ever seeing the other roommates.