Game Drie

Seen in a local Coffee & Company - a Vuvuzelatte. Or might I suggest the Mochannoying?

Tonight we watched a comfortable Dutch team, already assured of a spot in the quarter-finals, from a comfortable Dutch couch in a comfortable Dutch neighborhood.

The difference between a sports-focused house party in Amsterdam and one in, say, North America is very little as it turns out:

• Beer - Grolsch instead of Budweiser (by the way, a joke in the local Heineken circles? What do sex on the beach and Budweiser have in common? They're both f***ing close to water).
• TV - same, 30-50" (sorry, not in a metric mood today) flat-screen, high-def. I'm not sure if we need to see up player's nostrils, but overall it's a fine way to see the game.
• Snacks - chips and sausage slices with mustard. Less elaborate than in North America - here, it's about the beer.
• Jokes - equally sophmoric on both sides of the pond, with better behaviour when females are present.

So what to report? The appearance of dangerous winger Arjen Robben just in time for the knockout rounds, Robin van Persie finally finding his footing, and all positive signs heading into the Slovakia match on Monday.

Given that there was nothing on the line for the Oranje, I was able to focus on other things tonight and in the past few days. Some thoughts and photos below.

• Spain has La Furia Roja, the Italians the Azzurri, and Germany the Mannschaft. The Aussies? Love their heart, but they will never win a thing so long as they stick with the colossally lame "Socceroos" as a team name.

• The celebrated Dutch lack of formality can be taken a little too far at times. Here's a look at one of the country's leading prime-time sports analysts as seen last week. Dude.

• At halftime of many football games, millions of Dutch viewers tune into Oranje Karaoke on the local TMF music video station, a sing-along to classic popular sing-along songs. Also with some dubious fashion choices, as this famous Nederlander shows.

Dutch Liberace?

Insert your best caption here

Plein and Simple

Rembrandtplein. Leidseplein. Museumplein. Thorbeckeplein. Bos en Lommerplein.

When you are in Amsterdam, the pleins are, well, pleintiful.

Essentially a public square lined on at least three sides by various establishments, each one has its own flavour to a degree (Leidseplein is the tourist ground zero, where people from everywhere but Holland go to cut loose; Museumplein is less barfful and more artful, and so on) but the ones located within the inner rings of Amsterdam will see a heavier dose of tourists than those in the 'burbs.

While you won't see any pieces of art at Rembrandtplein, you will no doubt see some pieces of work. There must be no fewer than 20 bars, cafes and restaurants all next to each other, and come midnight packs of locals and buitenlanders alike are lit up like the Time Square-esque signs that ring the large square.

It was here at the Aussie-themed Coco's Outback that I decided to set up camp for game 2 of the Netherlands' quest for the Cup, this time versus Japan, with a prime spot for Australia vs Ghana assured right after the first match.

Guinness, good service, and kangaroo burgers. Not an authentic Amsterdam experience, it would seem.

Then again, the plan was to see how the event differed in an expat-heavy crowd, in contrast to game 1's almost pure Dutch surroundings. And it seemed to be the right spot - my bench neighbours were from Canada, the States, Australia, South Africa and Romania, and even the server didn't speak a word of Dutch.

But the crowd as a whole turned out to be quite Dutch, with as many ooohs and ahhhs and football chants as anywhere. Kudos to the expats as well - while maybe not as vocal, they were decked out in plenty of orange and into it enough to add to the atmosphere, not take away from it.

The weather, however, was pure Netherlands, alternating between summer and winter throughout the 90 minutes. If the Bavaria beer girls were here, they would have needed longer skirts. Girl-illa marketing, indeed.

The seats and benches were packed outside along the entire stretch of bars, and the TV's were protected from the elements with effective, if low-tech, shelters.

The place exploded with Wesley Sneijder's booming goal at the 53-minute mark, in what was an otherwise tame affair. With the win, the Dutch clinched a pass to the next round, ensuring at least 2 more games as things start to (hopefully) heat up around here. Next game report comes later in the week, from an Amsterdam house party.

Real Nederlanders? Or tourists? What's your guess?

Summer arrived at the start of the game

Winter arrived at about the 50-minute mark

Istanbul II

To continue on from yesterday's post, some more notes from Istanbul:

• The Grand Bazaar, with over 4000 shops, is the epicenter of the city in many ways. You can buy anything here - from clothes to jewellery to spices to power tools - and rub elbows with locals and tourists. (Very little deodorant on sale - this would make the metro rides a little more bearable).

• Topkapi Palace is a sprawling collection of buildings that are now mostly a museum. Some incredible items here, including an 86-carat diamond, various sultans' clothing from 1000+ years ago, and other surprises, including a sudden and spectacular view of the sea that comes out of nowhere.

• Aya Sofia, the Blue Mosque, and Sultanahmet are also impressive. Depending on the conquering forces at the time, Aya Sofia, from its origins in 360(!) has been a cathedral, a mosque, and a museum (as it is today). The sense of history and of just imagining the people and events that have occurred over 1600 years is pretty awe-inspiring.

• The Princes Islands are a decent day trip, with ferry rides to any number of them leaving all parts of the city. Just be prepared for masses of people, particularly at day's end (not for you claustrophobics). They are hilly, and without cars, so getting around by foot, bike or horse-drawn cart (and get ready to jump out of the way!) are the only way to navigate.

Overall, there's not a lot of witty or insightful stuff to say about Istanbul. Glad (and fortunate) to have seen it? Absolutely. Will I hurry back? Not likely. While it's a place that easily fills up the memory card on the camera, it doesn't do the same for the heart.

Typical plates of mezes, appetizers

The ferry towards the Princes Islands

One of the bars lining the Galata Bridge

The view from Topkapi Palace

Heybeliada, one of the Princes Islands

A walk in the woods on Heybeliada

The main mode of transport on Heybeliada

One of the other Princes Islands

Well-fed young Turk

Brisk business, selling balik ekmek

Balik ekmek

Fishing off the Galata Bridge

Ahh

Istanbul

Istanbul. The name conjures up images of a warm, mysterious, alluring place with small hidden alleys and bustling harbors crowded with small boats holding spices, fish, and exotic fabrics.

It turned out to be something else, something like a padded bra - full of promise from afar, but closer inspection reveals a fairly different reality. Not necessarily disappointing, just different than expected and advertised.

It has its charms - the history and architecture, the quality of the fake brands, the seafood, the Galata Bridge (bars and restaurants on the lower deck of a bridge = a great concept), the sea views from almost everywhere, Istikal Caddesi, and the many rooftop terraces - but they are drowned out by the near-constant hustle, rip-off restaurant charges, unending masses of people crammed onto the metro, and pretty much only men, mostly idle, on the streets and in the stores.

It is a city of contrasts, which you might expect as East meets West here:

• From the many minarets around the city, you hear the Call to Prayer. It may as well be a Call to Prada, as every few steps you are asked to buy knock-off designer shoes or bags. It was annoying and repetitive - although one wiseguy did offer the best line of the week: "Excuse me, would you like to come in and buy something you don't need?"

• The friendliness of the people is apparent, but underneath it in many commercial aspects is a real sense of being ripped off, whether it's a waiter, a taxi driver, or a corner store owner. Not all, by any stretch, are scam artists - but enough that it makes you leery at all times.

• Women in tank tops and shorts walk alongside those almost completely covered.

• The scenery is jaw-dropping at times, as is the litter in the parks and water.

More tomorrow in a new post. For now, some photos...

Sunset on the Bosphorus, as enjoyed from the Galata Bridge

This stuff was on sale everywhere. Stiff competition, I suppose.

Eerste Dag

June 14th, Netherlands vs Denmark - the first day of the Amsterdam World Cup experience. And as far as initiations go, it was a pretty good one.

I headed - via trusty two-wheeler of course - to the bustling neighbourhood of De Pijp. Specifically, to Marie Heinkenplein, a not especially touristy residential and commercial square (more of a semi-circle actually) about 10 minutes from the center of the city. More specifically yet, to Barca, a mildly upscale tapas bar.

I figured if it was full, I had a choice of several other spots right there - an Irish pub called O'Donnell's, and a few classic Dutch spots in De Beiaard and Cafe Kale de Derde.

In the end, Barca was all I needed and then some. Inside it was packed to the rafters with at least 4 large projection screens and a mix of trendy-but-hipster-free guys and girls. Outside were benches and tables and another 4 screens at least. This is scrubbed and clean Amsterdam, not the grittier one (there are at least 2 games left for that).

Average age: 28

Percentage expats and tourists: 10% - ideal for creating a more authentic Dutch atmosphere.

Average height: Preposterous

*Note - if you are going to come late to a pub anywhere in the world to watch football and hope to see the screen, choose a country where your typical male or female is not a giant.

Price of Heineken on tap: 2.50 Euros - quite reasonable

Food: Non-existent.

I was informed by the server that they don't serve food during games. This was a bit of an eyebrow-raiser, but it made sense when you saw the mass of people they had to navigate through.

Vibe: Happy, patriotic, chill, hot, and by about the 30th minute, pretty loaded.

Nestled into one of the few remaining spots outside, I soon got to experience the easygoing openness of the Dutch and chatted with everyone around me. I couldn't see the much of the screen because of the reflection. I'll assume the planners hadn't counted on the sun appearing in the city. But given my more immediate scenery (photos below), I wasn't complaining.

My immediate neighbours were three very friendly med students, one armed with a Hello Kitty cellphone, and another who felt instantly bad for the Danish defender who scored the own goal to put the Dutch up 1-0. Behind me, somehow the bottom of a wine glass broke off. (Did I mention this wasn't a hardcore football crowd?).

Fine fellow fans Claudia, Marielle, and Mirte

Onto the action on the pitch... The Dutch squad came out pretty strong, giving the crowd 4 or 5 "Oooohhh" moments within the first twenty minutes.

The football songs were booming throughout the bar as of the 10-minute mark. These were incomprehensible to me, unfortunately, aside from "Hup Holland Hup, laat de leeuw niet in zijn hempje staan". This means "Hup Holland Hup, don't let the lion stand in his undershirt", as far as I can tell.

After a more worthy strike was scored at the 85-minute mark (by Dirk Kuyt - be very careful how you pronounce his surname here), the Danes were dismissed as expected and the revellers turned the streets to orange, setting their sights on the Japanese on June 19th. I'll be heading to a more raucous area to file the next report - wish me veel succes.

(P.S. Biking home through a sunny Vondelpark to shake off a 3-beer, no-food late afternoon buzz? Highly recommended)

A moment for reflection

Nervy times with only a one-goal lead, until...

...goooaaaallll! Kuyt tallies after Elia's solid effort