“Yeah, I’m Chris.”
Still jetlagged from the flight from California the night before, we walked about one mile from the Amsterdam Centraal station to meet with our tour guide, more specifically our private canal tour guide. I had read a review that it would be more meaningful and intimate to rent a small boat than to ride in one of those large multiseated canal boats. So I make a reservation via likealocal.com before leaving the States, and after a few back-and-forth in email, we set a meeting place at a cafe by one of the main canals.
The distance normally would not bother us, since as a family group, our trips to Europe have been a ass busting experience – we walk a lot, averaging six to seven miles a day, and one time we registered more than ten miles in one day of sight seeing. Tiring but we love it, since we know we can eat all that we want in the city or town we happen to be exploring. This trip though, we have Mom and Dad with us, and although she can still zoom through us, he can barely walk at a medium-fast pace. We could have carted everyone, door-to-door, and taken taxis and other motorized mode of transportation, but we are walkers. So with them, we have to slow down a bit, and since they were both troopers, they didn’t complain at all.
When we reached the street on which the meeting place was set, I noticed, by looking at the house numbers, that we still had to walk far, so I asked the group to sit by a walkway of one of the canal houses, and wait for me, while I head for the meeting place. It’s time for everybody to sit and rest, while we prepare for the relaxing canal tour. We had set it at the end of the day, at 19:30, as we just survived a whirlwind tour of the Hidden Church (Lord of the Attic), the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh museum, and a quick browse at the Albert Cuyp open market. We did take the tram and buses around town, so our legs were not totally spent, despite the muggy weather in late May, but it was still a long day for everyone, especially for our “wise” companions.
Nonetheless we managed to take a late afternoon coffee break at one of the smaller nondescript cafes right across from the Sarpathipark, around the Pijp district, Koffee and Thee, which shares the space with WijnBar Paulus, during the day. The hosts were were welcoming and friendly, and we highly recommend their business. With great cafe americanos, cappuccinos, and espressos, coupled with their tasty open-faced sandwiches and cakes, we were re-energized for that much needed second wind.
Walking on the canal street was invigorating, with its centuries old tall and narrow houses, quietly overlooking a strip of water on which small boats float leisurely. No speed boats here, just dinghies throttling along. Although covered in a canopy of trees, the small street welcomed the late afternoon sun, as it beat down on my face, small beads of sweat trickling down my temples. The walk seemed farther than it is, perhaps due to the houses looking very similar to each other, and the canal and its bridges did not seem to get any closer. Finally I see the corner on which the cafe sits – our meeting place, and sped up my pace to look for our guide.
As I walked up to confirm that he was indeed our guide, he was sitting on a bar stool outside the Cafe, talking to another gentleman, as he held his pint of beer. I arrived a bit later than our agreed-upon time, but he didn’t seem to mind, taking the whole business rather lightly. He even joked that he wasn’t the tour guide that I was looking for, which I took as an attempt at some humor about the obvious. I just smiled and joked back, since he had a glass of beer in hand, if he could still steer his boat straight for two hours. He recommended this length of time for the tour, which we found out was perfect for us, and his fee was still very inexpensive, considering the size of our group.
“My friend, this is my first beer of the day,” he retorted back, tapping me on my shoulder, with a grin on his face, partially covered with his sunglasses and blond curly hair. He reminded me of one of those stereotypical surfer dudes hanging out at the beaches in Southern California, sans the Keanu Reeves accented guffaw. Then he instructed me to meet him in ten minutes one block up, closer to where my family was resting, by a dock on the Keizergracht.
So I scampered back to the street, walked close enough to the group to see me waving to them, since I knew Mom would be waiting for me. She corraled the group and started walking towards me. I met them halfway and guided them to cross a bridge towards the dock. But first, we took some pictures of the sights, as the Jordaan district was quite beautiful that afternoon, the houses, streets, and bridges happily posing for us amidst the silent majesty of the canal. Finally, after a short walk, we reached the dock and waited for a minute before we saw a small motorboat parting the canal water, Chris behind the wheel, approaching us.
The boat was a 20-footer, looked rather tired but seemed capable. It was wide enough to take probably ten to twelve passengers seated across each other at the edges. At the bow is a big thick blanket on which one or two could lay prone to enjoy the sights. Under this is a cooler, in which beverages in ice were available for a fee. We could have made a picnic out of it, but decided to dine well after the canal cruise. So the boat was nothing fancy, but it will do – comfortable for six and looked safe and stable. Truth is we just needed one that could show us the city in peace, after a long day of sightseeing, and cap our quick tour of Amsterdam.
Although the trip around the canals itself was unremarkable, the experience of having a private tour with family was memorable. We admired the big churches, historical houses, the zoo, the posh districts, the lake north of the Centraal station, waved at other boats passing by us, and appreciated some history trivia our guide shared with us. He wasn’t your typical nonstop-talking guide. It was more of “I’ll drive you around, point out some major sights, and answer any questions if I could,” as he took a swig of his second beer, while inviting me to grab one from the cooler. All in all, it was just like how we would have wanted the tour, as we rested our feet and legs for the final trek back to the hotel.
Finally since he knew that we were exhausted from walking, especially in our jetlagged state, he took us to the closest dock to Centraal train station a boat like his could go, right by the smallest house in Amsterdam, which is just a narrow strip of wall with a door. As we carefully disembarked his small boat, he assisted Mom and Dad onto the dock, the rest following suit, as we paid him in cash for his services. As he maneuvered the boat around and away from us, he waved goodbye, smiled at us, and headed back to his base dock, with the sun setting behind him.
BreadQuest 