By far the thing that I found most challenging about this trip was planning all the travel. In previous trips Neil and I have gotten really comfortable with the no-plan plan; booking things as we felt inspired and traveling super light.

In our younger, unencumbered days, we spent 3 weeks traversing Morocco and Spain with only a 28L pack each. Same thing for 3 weeks in Thailand. For this trip, we traveled with:

1 Large checked suitcase (for Neil and I)
1 Stroller travel bag, packed with the stroller, baby bed and bouncy seat (checked)
1 Small checked duffel (for Isaac)
1 Carry-on backpack (camera, computer, etc.)
1 Carry-on diaper bag

That is still a darned efficient packing endeavor for a month away with a baby – we didn’t bring anything we didn’t use – but it makes that “seat of your pants thing” (at least in my opinion and experience) basically impossible. I mean, we would’ve weathered delays or last-minute changes as best as we could, but why put ourselves through that with the amount of luggage we were traveling with, and our need for frequent pauses to deal with baby feeding and diaper changes?

So I drove myself crazy booking everything in advance, which paid off while I enjoyed not worrying about when and how we’d get to our next stop throughout the trip.

This doesn’t mean I didn’t learn a few things along the way though!

My biggest piece of advice is to research your airlines (not just the outbound flight) and ensure you test your luggage weight and distribution to meet the requirements of ALL of them. We learned that the hard way on the way home.

YVR -> AMS
Outbound, we flew AirTransat, and I was so, so impressed with the plane and the service! We were on a plane with a relatively new interior, comfortable (though small) seats and modern seat-back entertainment. The entertainment system did require rebooting a number of times, but eventually got working about an hour into the flight.

We had booked too late to get the Skycot (looked like there was only 1 available on the plane), but were far from the only other people with a baby. Isaac was his usual great self on the plane and alternately nursed, slept or played with one of the toys we brought along.

We also splurged (about $50 each) on the Option+ package, which gave us seat selection, priority boarding, extra luggage allowance, a comfort pack (blanket, pillow, headphones, etc.), three free drinks, a free snack, priority meal selection and service. Totally worth it if you’re flying with them. Though be ye warned: if you have spent the past year mostly abstaining from liquor like yours truly, the amount of liquor WILL get you drunk. And sitting in a small seat on a plane willing the world to stop spinning is not how you want to spend a few hours.

Amsterdam
Once we got to Amsterdam, we followed our AirBnB host’s directions and took the train, then tram to our flat. I am pretty much in love with all things getting around in Amsterdam; the trains, trams, buses, bike infrastructure are all totally swoon-worthy for transit junkies.

Car Rental Blues
However, trying to rent a car was just fresh hell. We clearly had not learned from our fiasco in DC and once again attempted to rent a car with an infant seat, rather than lug our car seat along to use on what would be such a small part of the trip.

We originally thought we might drive from Amsterdam to Heerlen, except the rental agencies are apparently only open 3 hours a day and closed on Sundays, and won’t rent an infant seat one-way, even within-country. Don’t even ask about multi-country drop-offs in Europe. I couldn’t find a drop fee less than 500 Euros. And when trying to book, none of the agencies will actually answer their phones or communicate these things to you until you expressly ask, which may result in making a million bookings online, then finally speak to a person, then canceling those bookings and tearing your hair out over it all.

People also looked at us like we were a bit crazy for caring so much about an infant seat at all.

Eventually we managed to rent a car in Aachen (just over the German border, about 20 minutes from Heerlen) with a rinky-dink infant seat. Again, if you care about these things and do not want to lose a couple years off your life trying to deal with the car rental agencies’ ineptitude at this, just bring your own. Also, business opportunity: Europe-wide baby gear rentals. Becauase I’ll be damned if I could find one (I looked!).

Paris & Barcelona
I feel like we spent the majority of our transit time on this trip on the Paris Metro. Because Paris is such a huge city, mastering the metro is crucial if you want to explore.

The metro is also almost entirely non-accessible to anyone in a wheelchair (or using a stroller). The only elevator we ever saw was at the Abbesses station (not taking it means climbing approximately 18 flights of stairs), and a few had escalators. Anticipating this, we stuck to using the Ergo carrier when we were doing metro-type trips, and kept the stroller for the walking-only journeys.

While in Barcelona we actually used the stroller a lot more. We covered much less ground since were staying in the Barri Gothic area, so quite close to the center of the action, and it’s a smaller city overall. The stroller was super handy for corralling Isaac, giving him a place to sit and/or sleep as we wandered and dined.

Also, with the Spanish schedule of siesta between 2-6pm and dinner at 9:00pm, it made it much easier to head out for dinner and other adventures, park the strollers beside our table and just let the kids sleep if they were tired.

Trenhotel
Getting from Paris to Spain, on the advice of the excellent Seat61.com we took the Trenhotel – an overnight train service operated by Renfe (the Spanish train service). We had a lovely little sleeper couchette for two, complete with bottled water and toiletries, left Paris at 8:00pm and rolled into Barcelona at 9:30am after a lovely breakfast in the dining car.

The only challenge we had was Isaac’s awkward sleeping needs. Kids under four travel free and don’t need to buy a separate seat/bed. The floorspace in the car (train seating being as compact as it is) wasn’t big enough for his pop-out bed. We expected this, and figured he’d be okay sleeping in the bouncy seat we had along. We were wrong. Kid likes to stretch out and roll around now. He also does NOT like to share his bed or snuggle with bedfellows. Wants his space to spread-eagle.

This meant Isaac took up most of my bunk for a number of hours while I clung to the edge of the bed so he wouldn’t roll off. Then I woke up Neil and made him switch with me so I could get a few hours of proper sleep.

Even that didn’t sour me to the train trip at all. I LOVE me some train travel. Especially sleeper trains. If I could marry trains, I totally would.

Which is basically the opposite of how I feel about air travel these days. It is barely more than a necessary evil. And even though I was happy enough with flying thanks to our outbound trip with AirTransat, I was rudely smacked back down to reality by our return trips from Barcelona to London, then London to Vancouver with EasyJet and Thomas Cook / Canadian Affair respectively.

EasyJet
I mean, it is what it is – dirt cheap, bare-bones service between major European hubs. The biggest annoyance with EasyJet was the luggage repacking dance we had to go through. Most airlines will allow you to check a stroller, crib/bed and/or carseat for no charge. Hooray! Except, our stroller and baby bed were in the same travel bag, to protect them from being destroyed by baggage handlers. Have you seen what happens to some strollers coming out of the luggage carousel system? I have. It’s not pretty.

This is apparently not okay with EasyJet. The stroller must be left completely unbagged, unless we wanted to pay 250GBP for overweight baggage, which meant our stroller bag had to go through separately and half-empty while our stroller went through on its own. Also, the stroller bag has these handy wheel cutouts, so I was nervous that some things might be lost out of the bag openings while the bag made its way between the plane and terminals (thankfully, nothing was).

Thomas Cook / Canadian Affair / The Worst Airline Ever, Amen.

I expected some annoyance from EasyJet – I figure a certain amount of hassle is to be expected when flying El Cheapo. Unfortunately, after the stunningly positive experience we had with AirTransat, I was set up for huge disappointment on the flight home.

For all flights to and from the UK, AirTransat sells tickets under a codeshare agreement with Thomas Cook. And Thomas Cook delivered exactly the shitty charter experience I had steeled myself for before we ever left.

We once again had to gate-check our stroller outside its travel bag. The travel bed also had to go through on its own. I will never understand why some airlines force me to check seven separate things through, rather than four. It’s the exact same stuff. It takes up less space when packed together. No item I’d packed was over 50lbs. It just means that because we have four hands to carry things (not seven), we need to unpack and re-pack on the floor before and after each flight.

It’s like they want to give me an aneurism.

I do have to say that the in-flight staff were excellent. They shuffled passengers around the mostly-full flight, upgrading the seats of people seated in rows where people were traveling with lap-babies, so that the four families with wee ones had some extra space.

Good thing, too, since the seats on our shitty tin can did. not. recline. That’s right. The braintrust at Thomas Cook thinks it’s ok to subject passengers to a 10 hour flight without the ability to recline even a little bit. Headsets were 2-pin style (most other airlines have switched to 1-pin, so you can use your own if you have them). Meals were tiny, water and snacks were sparse (so glad we’d loaded up on our own!). The temperature fluctuated wildly, and we oscillated between sweating and shivering.

I’ve really not had such a crap flight experience in a long time. And while it’s generally bearable on a 2-5 hour flight, I will make an effort NOT to ever fly internationally with Thomas Cook ever again.

All’s well that ends well

Overall, though, we really did have a great time on our trip, despite navigating through and between cities. Even though our things didn’t always travel the way I’d intended, we never ended up having to pay extra baggage fees, and none of our things were lost or broken.

It was stressful enough, though, that I’m totally taking the easy route on our next vacation and booking an all-inclusive. One location where we dump our stuff and park our butts for a week of real relaxation. Mama needs a margarita.

We only had one full day in London on a stopover before making our way home. Having been before, it was nice to not be under any sort of pressure to see and do a ton of touristy things. Instead we spent the time wandering about and just enjoying the uncharacteristically sunny day.

We happened to get into the city and were near Buckingham Palace just in time for the Changing of the Guard, which is one thing I haven’t seen in London (and Neil hadn’t seen since he was a kid), so we hung out for that. And it was certainly a spectacle. There is a bunch of marching. Then lot of standing around, and a lot of strolling back and forth by a couple guys with large sticks. Then there is a band. Then there is more marching. Then they are done.

Oh, and there are a LOT of incredibly rude tourists who are collectively stampeding and jostling and angling for photos while Royal-Gasm-ing all over the palace gates.

We went, we saw, we took a bunch of photos, we crossed “see Changing of the Guard” off the list.

And then we hung out in the grass at Hyde Park before going for what was the best meal of our entire trip and the best meal I’ve had since the kid came along, period!

Thanks to the excellent Time Out London app, I stumbled upon the Harwood Arms pub, in the “Family & Kids” section of the guide, of all places!

One thing we are sorely lacking in BC (and all of North America, really) is pub culture. A neighbourhood house where you can have a drink, a meal, watch the game, say hello to the neighbours, connect with the community. And the best pubs usually welcome the entire family, well-behaved pets and kids included.

The Harwood Arms didn’t disappoint in this respect. It wasn’t a very busy afternoon, but we were never the only family in the pub. And a woman a few tables over was feeding her pocket-dog scraps off her plate under the table (a pocket-dog so well-behaved I didn’t even realize it was there until she was on her way out – an anathema to pocket-dogs in Vancouver).

And these were really just happy bonuses, because the true highlight of the Harwood Arms is the food! Focused on traditional game and produce, sourced (some hunted by one of the owners) locally and prepared in ways to highlight the best of British food, there was nary a chip nor a tikka masala to be found. It was obvious why the Harwood Arms is the only English Pub so far to have been awarded a Michelin Star.

It was a little bit sad to only have one day in London, especially knowing it was our last day of vacation, period. But I’m glad we got to close out the trip on such a high note!

One of our big reasons for going to Europe was to visit some good friends who moved to Spain about a year ago.

We took the Trenhotel (which I’ll talk about more in a separate “getting around” post) from Paris to Barcelona for a week of shenanigans.

Since we were going for a social visit rather than the pure tourist potential, I didn’t have any great plans or expectations for the city. And it surprised me in so many ways!

Have you ever gotten drunk and made up crazy games (stick with me here)? Like when you’re camping, or at a festival, or just hanging around shooting the shit, and you and your inebriated friends decide throwing or kicking some random garbage you have handy through a sketchy target, or making up crazy dances, or achieving feats of strength or derring-do would make a fine way to pass the time?

Take that, combine it with the mind-bending creativity and other-worldliness of a century of art and architecture influenced by some incredibly potent hallucinogenic drugs (which is the only way I can think of explaining the modernisme movement) and shake liberally in a place with constantly lovely weather and 4km of Mediterranean beaches; that’s Barcelona.

There were two big highlights for me in Barcelona: seeing the Sagrada Familia and the Mercè Festival.

The Sagrada Familia was unlike any church I’ve ever seen. First of all, this place breaks the “I hate monuments covered in scaffolding” rule, because the fact that it’s still under construction is part of its story.

Most impressive/significant Catholic churches I’ve seen are strongly Gothic and oppresive in their solemnity. The Sagrada familia is bright, whimsical, downright crazy in some places. Gaudi’s design is inspired by nature, so there are lots of soft lines and natural light. The support pillars stretch up and branch out like trees. The crucifix at the main altar hangs from something resembling a jellyfish. The front facade doesn’t match the rear, and neither prepare you for the look and feel of the interior. And yet somehow it all works.

We also timed our visit to coincide with the annual Mercè festival. There are (apparently) always festivals or performances of some sort going on in Barcelona, but Mercè is the biggest, celebrating the patron saint of Barcelona, Our Lady of Mercy.

And this is where the crazy stunts and stupid-human tricks come in. Psychadelic projection shows on city hall. Performing Swan lake at midnight on a giant fountain. Building a carnival out of scraps. Human Castles. Running through fire. So crazy, so fun! Somewhat beyond words, so hopefully pictures and video help:

Yah, this is a place worth spending some more time in. I can’t believe it never hit my travel radar, and I’m excited to go back someday.

I will get this out of the way now, and say that while in Europe we did not attempt to set foot in one art museum. I KNOW. It’s probably some sort of crime against traveling or something. Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, and NO ART MUSEUMS? Please don’t lynch me.

I don’t have anything against art, and I generally enjoy museums when I end up in them, but I am far from an art buff. So frantically dashing and battling the busses of tour groups for a glimpse of a Van Gogh, Rembrandt, Rodin, Da Vinci, Picasso or Dali behind 12 inches of glass from 10 feet away just wasn’t our style on this trip.

I was far more interested in wandering around and taking in the feel of a place surrounded mostly by locals, instead of other tourists, taking in the scenery, buskers and street art of the cities. And there seems to be no better place to do this than Paris.

I spotted three space invaders in Montmartre, along with a number of other fun pieces, and there was a constantly rotating display of works of art that would appear and disappear on the walls of La Passage des Abbesses.

And of course, there are the big tourist sights: The Eiffel Tower, L’Arc de Triomphe, Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame.

L’Arc de Triomphe is interesting, though the most fun thing about it is watching the insane roadway antics in the Etoile traffic circle. Five points of entry/exit, no lines on the road, and unlike most other places in the world, you drive on the right-hand side, but also yield to traffic on the right, which means it’s easy to get into the circle, and nearly impossible to exit!

Notre Dame was also lovely, with its Flying Buttresses outside leading to a beautiful, cavernous sanctuary inside. Again, it wouldn’t have been a highlight for us, except they happened to have an Organ recital while we were there as part of a Saturday series of auditions for a new church organist. While I’m not particularly religious, there are few things more inspiring than sacred music in sacred spaces, especially played on one of the world’s biggest and best pipe organs. We also climbed the towers (all 400+ stairs, no lifts, as you’re warned approximately 12 times before going in – though it didn’t seem that bad) to take in the sweeping views of Paris from the towers and gawk at the Chimera gallery.

Sacre Coeur is another beautiful viewpoint (are you sensing a theme here?) for gazing over the city, and while we never actually made it into the church, we spent an afternoon and an evening here on the steps with wine and baguettes taking in the view from the grassy lawn over the bustling tourist streets of Montmartre and across Paris.

But among them all, the Eiffel Tower is, hands down, the most impressive structure I have ever seen. A lot of the time you have the postcard-perfect vision of a monument or attraction in your head when you travel; tourists and hawkers removed, surrounding sprawl cropped out, no scaffolding or repair work happening. And when you finally get there, the actual sight ends up being a bit disappointing. It’s how I felt about all the aforementioned attractions, and it’s not unique to Paris.

Not so with the Eiffel Tower.

Its size is already massive enough to make anything nearby inconsequential, and it’s situated on a huge grassy mall that isolates it from the distraction of its neighbours.

Yes, the site immediately beneath the tower is tourist line-up central, but we went expecting that and didn’t mind it too much. It really is a push and shove and hurry-up-and-wait experience on the viewing decks, too. All worth it for the stunning vistas and to say you’re on the top of the freakin’ Eiffel Tower while you marvel at the engineering genius that put it up in 1889.

But the real stunner comes when you go back to view it from the Esplanade du Trocadero at night. You’re busy navigating out of the Metro, walking past the museum, taking in the Piano-playing Busker, turn the corner, then…

WHAM.

All 324 Metres of the Iron Lady, lit up like a beacon, smacks you between the eyes. And then on the hour it starts to sparkle like a damn Christmas Tree.

It is one of the most spectacular things I have ever seen.

I could’ve ended the trip right there and been happy. But then I’d miss the fun we had coming up in Barcelona!

(I hate a cliffhanger, don’t you?)

We booked our flights to have us in Europe for about a month and knew we’d be starting in Amsterdam, flying home from London, and hitting Barcelona by the 22nd of September. But we weren’t totally sure what to do between Holland and Spain.

Conveniently, Paris is like, right there in the middle! So we decided on spending a week there as part of our trip. The other option was to spend a week on the beach somewhere on the Costa Brava. Despite the temptation of more sun, I think we made the right choice.

We took the medium-speed train (Thalys) from Aachen, Germany (about 15 kms from where we were staying) and were in Paris in 2.5 hours. We also happened to be seated in our group of 4 seats with a Bad Parent who let her 4-year-old terrorize the entire car (while she also blocked the aisles herself by sprawling out as she read a novel and ignored her hellspawn) and drew the ire of passengers and train staff alike. So. Self-Centered Assholes! Not a uniquely North American phenomenon.

Luckily they got off in Brussels, and in stark contrast, everyone I encountered in Paris was really nice.

This might’ve been because I was expecting the French to be awful (having of course heard the same stories as everyone else about the rude, self-important people of France), but on this trip they have been the most gracious and considerate of any of the cities we’ve been in.

We tried speaking a bit of Dutch in the Netherlands, and some German for the 20 minutes we were in Germany, and some Spanish in Spain, but our foreign language skills are really crap compared to most Europeans’ English, and they never had the patience to speak to us in anything but that. The French, however, were happy to speak to us in French, gently correct our grammatical slips and pronunciation, and graciously switched to English whenever we hit a wall.

We also dragged ourselves through far too many bus stops and metro stations with our craploads of luggage (biggest complaint of traveling with a baby: too much stuff!), and the French would wordlessly take bags from us, or grab a side of our bag to help us get them up and down stairs, or through impossibly narrow doorways.

Through the entire trip we relied mainly on public transport, and the Parisians were the only ones who unfailingly stepped aside so we could get our bags on the metro and always offered up their seat to whichever one of us had Isaac in the carrier (and usually the seat next to them as well, so we could sit together).

Yes, I am saying that the French were the most polite people we encountered in Europe. Not modest, not by a long shot, but incredibly (and refreshingly, considering Vancouverites seem to consider politeness to be a sign of weakness) well-mannered.

And in stark contrast to everything else we’ve heard about Paris, it was probably the least expensive part of our trip! We booked another flat through AirBnB and stayed in the Montmartre neighbourhood, just down the street from the market filming location for Amelie. Our daily routine consisted of Neil heading out to fetch fresh pastries and baguette for breakfast, packing a couple sandwiches along for lunch, then stopping at the markets on Rue des Abbesses on the way home for dinner ingredients and cooking something back at the flat.

The Us of a couple years ago definitely think we are a little bit crazy for not going out for incredible french food at every single opportunity, but it really was lovely. After all, part of the appeal of French food is the incredible quality of the fresh ingredients, and they are plentiful in the Montmartre markets.

In fact, wandering around this mostly residential area, we were mistaken for locals a few times, which to me means we managed to actually have a pretty authentic experience. We did manage to see a few of the sights (next post!), but by far my favourite part of being in Paris was just roaming around the neighbourhoods, taking it all in. I’ve been asked a few times what my favourite place on our trip has been, and while each city/region has had its charms, now that I’m finishing this post at home, I think I miss Paris most of all!

As I mentioned in my last post, we were heading to the Netherlands to visit some family. My mom was born in Holland, and I’ve got more relatives there than I can count (eg. my mom has 31 cousins, nevermind aunts, uncles, second- and third-cousins and cousins 2 and 3 times removed) scattered throughout the southernmost province of Limburg.

Going from Amsterdam to Heerlen (our HQ for our time in the south, the town where the relative I’m closest to, Frans – my cousin once removed – lives) was quite a city mouse/country mouse transition. But it was still quite different from going to “the country” or small towns in BC, where we go from city, to sprawl, to acres of vast wilderness with settlements sprinkled here and there. It’s much more similar to the east coast of the United States, where small towns are distinct, yet still quite close together, and the boundaries aren’t always obvious to outsiders. Except in Limburg, the towns are surrounded and separated by small farms. We actually spent our first afternoon cycling in and around them, falling in love with the bike routes through the countryside.

In a very strange way, going to Limburg felt like coming home. My mom came to Canada with her family when she was six. My dad’s family has been here for at least a couple generations already — with origins in England, Russia and Germany. I don’t have the close ties to a “motherland” that a lot of other Vancouverites from different ethnic backgrounds do. I don’t speak Dutch in any variation (my family’s dialect in the south sounds very German). Yet so many of the words I heard were familiar, after listening to my grandparents and mom speak to each other my entire life. And while I wouldn’t normally say someone in Canada “looked Dutch” compared to any other person of Western European descent, everyone looked like they must be “some friend of Oma & Opa’s.”

We did manage to see quite a lot of the historic and notable sights in and around Hoensbroek and Heerlen, such as the Kasteel Ruine and Velvet Grotto in Valkenburg, the Drielandenpunt (where the Netherlands, Belgium and Germany meet) in Vaals and Kasteel Hoensbroek.

We also splurged (thanks to the International Hip Hop Dance festival ensuring everything else reasonable was fully booked in Heerlen the night we arrived) and spent a night at Kasteel Terworm.

But by far the highlight of that week was visiting some of the family landmarks I’d grown up hearing so much about.

My great-grandfather (My Oma’s father) built this shrine in Hoensbroek:

And one of my grandparents’ big “What-If” wonders is what would have happened if they hadn’t come to Canada, and instead bought his house and stayed in Holland (I, personally, vote for moving to Canada, since without that, I wouldn’t exist). This house, as a matter of fact:

Which is still owned by the family who did buy it from him 58 years ago.

One house is still in the family, the old farmhouse my Opa grew up in. His sister (who immediately pegged me as my mother’s daughter, despite not seeing either of us for decades) still lives there, and the stories from Frans and Jos (another cousin-once-removed) about being yelled at for running through the roof and leaping into the cow stall and pig-pen suddenly came to life.

My Opa in the entrance to the farmhouse courtyard in the 1970′s (I think?):

The same place today:

With the original floor tiles from its construction in the 1700′s:

I’ve been talking for years about going to the Netherlands to finally see where a huge part of my family originates. Probably most of my life. And while semi-rural Holland isn’t on most people’s European must-see list, I think I’ll remember that part of the trip most fondly.

We picked our trip itinerary based on seeing family in the south of Holland, and some friends in Barcelona, so it made sense for us to start in Amsterdam.

We booked a flat through AirBnB and stayed in De Pijp section of the city, in a canal house. I feel totally justified eating nothing but pannekoek, stroopwaffel, spek, wurst and gouda for a week after lugging myself, my luggage, the kid and his stuff up and down two flights of those stairs multiple times a day!

We did a lot of the typical things one does when being a tourist in Amsterdam:

The Heineken Experience

The Artis Zoo

A Canal Tour

And we also rented bicycles, went through the Anne Frank House museum and toured the Red Light district – none of which we have pictures of, since using the camera was either impractical (while cycling through the city) or frowned-upon (Anne Frank House & Red Light District).

Now that I’ve been to Amsterdam, I can kindof see how people might call Vancouver “Van-sterdam” or say we should try to emulate the old city. And to that I say “HAH” and also “You are adorable in your wishful thinking.” For all the pot-smoking, bike-loving, laid-back attitude, Vancouver, there is just no way you could ever “be like Amsterdam.”

First off, people would have to admit that personal responsibility plays a huge role in everyone getting along and getting by. All the liberties that people really want (like being able to smoke pot freely and ride bikes everywhere) comes with a great deal of “not being an idiot” that I don’t have much faith Vancouverites could manage.

None of the cyclists blow through lights or weave through traffic. Burnouts don’t tend to bother anyone (at least that I noticed) and the coffeeshops never seemed to be dens of iniquity, centers for crime or excuses for behaving badly in public. And pedestrians are at the bottom of the totem pole. You have the ability to look both ways before crossing, and acknowledge that nobody really wants to hit you (even if they do cut that corner pretty close), so people overall walk with a lot more awareness than anywhere I’ve seen in North America.

Also, the trams are FANTASTIC, and I think Vancouverites would (wrongly) rise up and revolt against the traffic lane/parking elimination that would have to happen to adopt the
bike lane | car lane | tram/bus lane | car lane | bike lane
structure of the roads. But it seems like a perfect solution for the Broadway corridor.

One of the neatest things we did was a walking tour of the Red Light District (offered by the Prostitution Information Center on Saturday nights), where we learned such interesting tidbits like how the prostitutes play a huge role in keeping crime down in the area. Bottom line: a dodgy area with shady characters is bad for business. Window prostitution is a volume business, and the more people are comfortable visiting the windows, the better off everyone is.

It’s this overall attitude that the crime, not the vices, are the problem, that makes Amsterdam unique, and ultimately a very safe place.

Not to say Vancouver shouldn’t try to be like Amsterdam, but it would take a considerable shift in public attitudes, and pulling the collective sticks out of everyone’s arses over what people should and shouldn’t do, and whether or not certain activities are criminal.

One good start, though, would be to abandon the damn goretex. It rains just as much in Amsterdam as Vancouver, and nobody dressed as if they were on a wilderness hike. Buy a damn trenchcoat and a nice umbrella. Dress like you have a bit of a sense of style and some personal pride in your appearance. You’ll feel better, I promise. And from there it’s just a small step to being less angry at the cyclists and potheads.

It’s raining, a LOT, but we’re still managing to have fun in Amsterdam!