Katie Melua told the world that there were 9 million bicycles in Beijing. Interesting enough information, I suppose, but not really earth shattering particularly when compared to Amsterdam, a city with a population of one twentieth of the Chinese capital, and yet still managing to accommodate 900,000 bikes.
Amsterdammers love their hometown and love their bikes. This is very obvious to all visitors. This Dutch love affair does however take some getting used to. In order to preserve life and limb, visitors have rapidly to adjust to the finer points of mass transportation in and around the city centre.
A pedestrian crossing a main road must first negotiate a bike track, then a road segment followed by the tram rails. The mirror image of this threesome has then to be traversed to avoid “traffic” moving in the opposite direction. This unique form of human trafficking has to be quickly assimilated. Particularly when walking in the narrow one-way streets of the old town, where all three forms of transport converge and share 4 meter wide stretches of cobbles. In these areas, pedestrians, fool enough to be following signpost directions to the various museums, markets and other landmarks, are strongly advised to have good life insurance policies. Here amongst the street level shops, narrow pavements and the forwards, backwards and sideways leaning townhouses, chaos reigns.
Somehow, the walking public, and there are lots of us, do survive. Of course the clang of the blue and white tracked monsters is unmistakable and they will actually wait for you to get out of the way. Cars and delivery lorries offer a similar courtesy braking loudly and impatiently to avoid human collisions and an inevitable trip to the local constabulary. The two wheeled missiles, however, are a different breed. They offer no quarter, sweeping past at speed and totally dismissive of the presence of the walking public. Bicycle bells have been known to have been installed but only occasionally. This functionality appears to be an extravagance that the road safety executive has yet to impose on the poor Dutch public. Likewise the executive appear to be very dismissive of the use of safety helmets. They are non-existent on the streets of Amsterdam.
After two or three close calls, we walkers improve our reaction times. Survival, however, can only be guaranteed after the visitor realises that any “OOIGH” that is roared must be accepted immediately as “get out of my way you idiot.”
These bicycle projectiles are predominantly the old fashioned sit up and beg types. Very few have hand-brakes, the back-pedal brake being preferred. After all, how could a rider take a phone call or drag the dog along for a run if the machine had handbrakes? The arrogance of these “no hands on the bar” types is very provocative. I was very tempted to step out in front of one of these idiots, but of course sanity prevailed.
The cycling parent has, over time, developed a variety of child carrying devices. There are many individualistic designs. A simple plastic crate lodged above the front wheel is very common but more sophisticated multi-coloured carriages, attached to the front fork or the back frame, are also in evidence. Then, in extremis, struggling mums can be occasionally observed pedalling three kids around, one up front and two behind. Crazy, yes crazy.
Sanity returns when you enter the bike free zones either side of the Damrak. Here, new and old walkers alike quickly become aware that the prevailing atmosphere has developed a distinct odour, even at eleven o’clock in the morning! Smoking is still very prevalent. Fag end detritus is sprinkled all over the walkways. And if you look carefully you can buy “Magic truffles” and “Hash browns.” Yes, these sixties products live on, still adding their distinct aroma to Amsterdam’s lifestyle. I pass other unique establishments. The “Condomerie” claims to have been in business for over 50 years. Good to see some things never change and of course the morning ladies shift has taken up their customary positions to accommodate the never ending flow of masculine stares, etc, etc.
Time for a cup of coffee. I take an outside table overlooking the canal cruise boats gathering in their customers. A continuous stream of pedestrians walk by, somehow managing to dodge the overloaded bike racks blocking the pavement. Behind them another row of awkwardly leaning town houses, on the far side of the mini harbour, catches my eye. Over the road the debris of a North-South underground construction site is visible. This project has still another 3 years before completion. Only in dear old Holland would anyone think of boring 2 holes, 6 meters in diameter, at a depth of 50 meters under the canals and through 10 kilometres of sand.
My first sip of the coffee takes my breath away. How could I have forgotten how strong and unique the Dutch blend is? Yeah time does march on. A cool blast of wind whips up from the water. It is sharp enough to cool my face. Thankfully I have my overcoat, scarf and pullover. I notice a young unclad young man riding a bicycle amongst the flow of humanity. He is wearing nothing more than a white vest and white jeans. Crikey, Freddie Mercury reincarnated??
HIB
