A Fitting Coda To The Trip

After leaving the Anne Frank House and Museum, we didn’t say much, lost in our own thoughts about what we had seen.

We stopped at a wine/spirits store to get one last bottle of wine to have on the patio after dinner.

After dropping the wine off at the Canalboat, the next stop was dinner at the Café Toussaint, a half block from the boat.  We had drinks there Thursday night and loved the place, so it made sense to go there for our final dinner of the trip.

We had a healthy sized order of marinated olives as an appetizer, and also each ordered mussels.  There were so many mussels that we could have split one order; neither of us could finish it.  It seemed like for each mussel we ate, two magically replaced the recently consumed one.

Carol wondered aloud why mussels in Europe are tastier than mussels in America.  I have no answer.

We went back to the boat, had the wine, and enjoyed the ending to the evening.  

The next morning, the trip back to the Dulles Airport and the States was pretty uneventful.

Until next time, thanks for reading! 

Our canal at dusk. . .

peaceful and serene.

Evil Incarnate

The final activity of the trip was the most emotional.  There are no photos because photos are not allowed.  Unlike the prohibition on photos in the cathedrals of Cusco, Peru and Quito, Ecuador, I fully understood why.

We had tickets to the Anne Frank House/Museum at 7:15 pm Saturday night.  I had hoped buying tickets that late would keep the number of people going through the Museum and House down.  It didn’t work, but they do a nice job of limiting the number people in at any 15 minute increment.

It’s all very affecting.  Having been to Yad Vashem in Israel, that place communicates the scale of evil that Hitler and the Nazis were.  This visit personalized it, bringing it down in scope to (mostly) one person.  

The others from the Secret Annex who were captured and killed do receive some attention in the audio guide and the displays, but, understandably, the focus is on the girl who wrote the Diary read around the world.

One aspect of note is that the audio guide says nothing when we cross from the museum into the annex where Anne Frank and the others hid for approximately two years before being given away, captured by the Nazis, and killed/died (with the exception of her father, Otto Frank, who survived).  And then, when we left the annex to enter back into the museum, the audio guide had more clips.

Otto Frank returned to Amsterdam, and was given Anne’s diary by a family friend who had cleaned out the Annex.  He persevered to have the diary published, and Anne Frank has stood as a symbol of innocence versus the worst hatreds of mankind.

The reverence one feels in such a place of innocence that became a place of horror is reminiscent of our visit to Robbins Island, where Nelson Mandela and other Black Freedom leaders were imprisoned by the illegitimate South African government during apartheid.

Carol was as affected as I was.   

I really don’t have much else to say, as the whole museum shouts aloud for itself.  The only comment I would add is, if you go to Amsterdam, buy your tickets in advance.  Please don’t skip going.

The statue of Anne Frank

is about a block away from

the House/Museum

There’s Always One Disappointment On A Trip, And This Was Ours

I was pretty pumped for our next activity.  I had found the “Boaty” website, which is a place you can rent your own electric canal boat and cruise (slowly) through the canals of Amsterdam.  

It is a three hour rental, so I eagerly signed up for an afternoon of captaining my own (little) boat and checking out the sights from the canals as admiring pedestrian tourists looked on and wished they were as cool as we were at that moment.

Carol had her doubts.  (Editor: Another evergreen tweet).  But she also had doubts about snowmobiling in Taos (which went great) and hydrospeeding in Chamonix, France (which went great for the our daughters, but not so well for us, so her doubts were well-founded), parasailing in Chamonix, France (which she loved), first time snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef (which went great).  

While a 75% hit rate is pretty good for me, I’m sure I’ve blocked a few out in which Carol’s skepticism was on point.  Anyhow, I think her concerns about this activity were that I would run into another boat, or we would be PT 109'd by a larger boat, or that somehow I’d go so fast I’d flip the boat and we’d be swimming in the canals of Amsterdam with people on shore laughing at us.  Given that the top speed of the boat is just 5 kph (yes, walking speed), I wasn’t too worried.

Nope, the stuff that made it a disappointment was none of that.  And it wasn’t a complete disaster or anything.  It was more a letdown, and a stressful letdown at times.

The first canal, when I still

knew where I was going.

One of the jobs of a boat captain is

to be able to point in a confident, 

even commanding, way.  Nailed it!

All in all, I'd have rather been

at the Amstel Riverside canal.

When you look at Carol's face above the

forced smile, you realize she's

second guessing my plan.  She

was right, as it turns out.

The two biggest problems was that we could not see the sights very well, although some of the houses right by the Amstel River and the canals were neat.  That wasn’t the big deal.  The stressful part is that the map was unreadable and there were times we had no idea where we were supposed to turn.

They don’t put the canal names or the bridge names on the canals and bridges.  So you are rarely sure of where you are.

There is no such thing as a short place name in Amsterdam, other than the Amstel River (which is how we got back to where we belonged).  The map was crowded with too much information, and we were winging it, using Carol’s GPS and my sense of direction (which is usually pretty good, but not so much on the canals). 

Once we decided not to follow the map route, it got better, because the Amstel River route is something we had already been on.

It was fun at points, and not that expensive, but all-in-all, the renting of the electric canal boat didn’t meet expectations.

Some of the views were pretty cool.

The shield of Amsterdam.

At this point we were 

almost back, so

it was all good-ish.

If I were to provide hints to other Americans traveling to Amsterdam, I’d suggest to spring for the Canalboat tour as part of a larger boat, where you could order drinks and maybe even a light snack.  Let someone else worry about the other boats, and where to go.  Just enjoy the ride.

A Random Food Walk Through Amsterdam

We’ve enjoyed our four cooking experiences with Traveling Spoon (Marrakech, Hong Kong, Barcelona, and Evora, Portugal) so I always look for another opportunity when possible.

Amsterdam offered three different options, but all with the same woman, Fusina Verloop.  I thought a walking food tour would be more interested than making authentic Dutch pancakes or even cooking a Dutch meal.  

No disrespect to the Dutch, but there’s an allure to Moroccan food, Hong Kong food, Spanish food, and Portuguese food.  Honestly, even after being there for four nights, I can’t tell you what Dutch food actually is (other than french fries with mayonnaise), so instead of cooking, we chose to nosh our way across Amsterdam.

Well, it turned out to be even better than that.  I had What’s App’d Fusina one of the blogs from a Traveling Spoon experience (Barcelona maybe?), so after seeing that we (Carol) likes to cook (I grill, she cooks, we’re a great team), she suggested we start by making an authentic Dutch pancake at her apartment.

We walked nearly a mile to get there.  She lives in a spacious apartment right by the famed Skinny Bridge over the Amstel River.  Yes, I was skeptical that the Skinny Bridge is famous, but then I saw multiple references to it as I prepped for the trip.

Honestly, though, I can’t figure out how the Skinny Bridge got its name.  Because it doesn’t look particularly skinny to me, I asked Fusina how it earned the name.  She said there are many stories, but no one knows what’s true.  So it may forever be a mystery to me.

And that’s fine.  One night I will bolt wide awake, wondering how the Skinny Bridge got its sobriquet, but then I will fall immediately back to sleep, realizing that sleep is more important than pondering that question.

With Fusina’s direction and encouragement, Carol made an apple pancake.  Dutch pancakes are very thin – fruit like bananas or blueberries would be too heavy.  Carol had to cut the apple slices very thinly.  The only thing Carol wouldn’t do it toss the pancake up in the air to flip it.  I also passed up the offer, knowing that the result would be a certain meeting of the pancake with the floor.  So, Fusina flipped the pancake.

Carol and Fusina get the pancake started.

Note the flower shape of

the thinly sliced apple.

Fusina about the flip the pancake.

The delicious finished product.

It was quite tasty, and it was neat to see the inside of a typical Amsterdam one bedroom.  It was plenty spacious and nicely decorated.

After the pancake making, we headed outside.  Fusina guided as we walked, talking both about food we would be eating and a bit about the history of Amsterdam.  We had learned some of the same info from Bart eight days prior, but hearing the same thing twice makes it easier to remember.

Our first stop was at the neighborhood pastry shop, Patisserie Kuyt.  Carol and I shared a large piece of Appleschnitt.  I’m always a bit suspect of European pastry, as some can be kind of dry.  This looked like it might be dry, but it was really good schnitt.  We got that good schnitt in Amsterdam because Fusina knew who could hook us up.

(Editor: This IS about pastry, right?  Blogger: Yeah.  Why?  Editor: Never mind.)

Patisserie Kuyt: mouthwatering

Appleschnitt, and lots of other

tasty-looking pastries.

We walked from the pastry shop to a six day a week outdoor market that spans four long blocks.  The four blocks aren’t one after the other.  Instead, it is two blocks that cross two other blocks in a perpendicular fashion.  It was very cool, with a wide variety of food stands and stands that sell stuff, whether it is clothing, shoes, knick-knacks, and bric-a-brac.  

One of the market streets.

The food stands looked so good you could go from stand to stand and graze yourself a pretty fine meal.

Our next stop was for some Beef Croquettes, Dutch-style.  Made by an immigrant in his food stand, they were delicious.  It’s pretty amazing how so many immigrants around the world get their starts in their new country by food.

Tasty meat croquettes.

Then we stopped at an Amsterdam institution – the food stand proudly proclaiming it as Rudi’s Stroopwaffles, since 1978.  In his 70s, Rudi was working that day (a Saturday) collecting the money.  His son (name escapes me) was the star of the show, bantering with every customer, hamming it up.  He also a patiently posed for photos as well.  

Rudi's son showing off their Stroops.

The Stroopwaffles were quite tasty, although as my Grandmother (my beloved Nana) would say, my eyes were bigger than my stomach.  Carol and I should have just split one instead of ordering two.

From there, it was on to the fish shop stop.  Fusina asked if we wanted to try that most Dutch of all Dutch foods, herring.  Well, we had tried it and loved it with Bart, but I wanted to try herring again to make sure it wasn’t just jet lag that made it taste better than it sounds.  Besides, every time I say the word “herring,” I’m reminded of the great Modern Family TV show episode involving herrings, and that makes me laugh.

Well, it wasn’t just the jet lag, herring IS quite tasty.

Holy mackerel!

Herring, pickles, and onions.

A Dutch treat!

From there, we went to the cheese monger.  Fusina bought us the grass cheese, a cow cheese referring to the first cheeses of the spring after cows are eating fresh grass instead of hay.  That was quite tasty as well.

Hope this cheese

is gouda for you!

The grass cheese.  It tastes

more like cheese than

grass though, so that's good.

Every food we tried was great.  Every person selling the food was proud of what they do, and the quality of the product.  And, walking through the market and the shops was quite fun.  Fusina was a great guide.  We’ve done food tours before, and really enjoyed how outgoing and fun she is.  We highly recommend a Traveling Spoon food experience with Fusina if you go to Amsterdam.

Amsterdam Riffs

Amsterdam is not a site, it’s a vibe.  

Our first day in Amsterdam, which was six days before our second day in Amsterdam (Okay, if it’s a little hard to follow along, we landed in Amsterdam the morning of July 22, the next day we flew to Milan, and spent five nights at Lake Maggiore, before returning to Amsterdam for three nights), we had a great time with our Tours by Locals guide.  Bart walked us all around Amsterdam, and did a fabulous job.

As interesting as the tour was, and the city is pretty neat – the canals are amazing, I didn’t really get why people raved about Amsterdam until we went back and spent more time there.  Renting the Canalboat in a close-in neighborhood, but not in city center, helped.  

The city has a fantastic vibe, almost as good as Barcelona (which will never be replaced as our favorite city in the world).  Loyal readers of the blog know we spent 32 nights in Barcelona in 2019 (phew, pre-COVID!).  First time readers of the blog, to bring you up to speed, we spend 32 nights in Barcelona, and it was the best trip we’ve ever done. . .and there is a LOT of competition for that honor.

(Editor: Well, I can’t believe it took you this long to bring up Barcelona. . .usually by now in the blog you’ve mentioned the month you stayed there a gazillion times.  What happened?  Blogger: Either you’ve harassed me enough about this, or I’m maturing.  You decide).

It is not true that pedestrians being hit by a bicycle is the top cause of death in Amsterdam, it only seems that way.  We each nearly got hit once, which would not have gone well for us or the largely helmet-less bike riders, many of whom were looking at their phones, engrossed in phone calls, carrying a baby, or carrying a dog.  There were also a lot of couples on a one person bike.

Q: How is Amsterdam like the NFL?  A: You’ve got to keep your head on a swivel, because you never know when you’ll get trucked by a bike from your blindside.  We didn’t see any accidents, but we did watch many near-misses.

We also were warned about the trams, but they were pretty easy to manage (most likely because we had been warned about them!).

We walked many miles in Amsterdam in less than four days, I would estimate we covered approximately 32 miles.  Other than the airport, we only took one cab ride, and that’s when we were exhausted and I was worried about a revolt by the woman I am related to by marriage.

Amsterdam is the second quietest city I’ve ever been in, only behind Venice.  The Italian city allows no cars, while Amsterdam has few cars.  Those that exist tend to be parked, or going 70 mph along the streets. It’s a city with more bikes than people, and walking across the bike lanes (which exist on every road) is more dangerous than jaywalking the car/tram streets.

It never felt overly crowded either.  A city of just 900,000, the only high-rises are outside the city.  The best thing about Amsterdam (besides the canals) are the cafes.  Mostly on street corners, they are charming, social, have good food, and allow you to people-watch whilst downing a beer or two, or, in Carol’s case, a gin and tonic. Gin and tonic was invented by the Dutch and taken by the British.  It’s not the only thing the British took from the Dutch.

The only time the city felt crowded was when one is trying to cross the streets and a horde of bicyclists is riding fast.  

Temperatures were perfect. . .Amsterdam was not sweltering like so much of Europe under the heat wave.  Highs were low to mid 70s with low humidity, and it dropped down into the 50s at night.  After Italy’s heat tried to knock us both out (me in Milan, Carol on the Borromean Islands), we very much welcomed the Amsterdam cool, both in terms of temperature and vibe.

When you go to Amsterdam, focus on seeing less (Editor: Whoa, the Iron Tourist said that!) and living more!  Because. . .Amsterdam. . .is a vibe.

It's A Small World After All

So, Thursday night in Amsterdam, we’re sitting on the patio, drinking wine, watching the boats go by, and either doom-scrolling (me, Twitter) or Facebook lurking (Carol, er, Facebook), when Carol notes, “Oh, Kurt Dupuis is here in Amsterdam too.”

Kurt’s a really good guy from our neighborhood, who I probably haven’t seen in nearly seven years, since Torie aged out of the vaunted and beloved Mount Vernon Park Gators swim team.  The father of three boys, Carol and I got to know Kurt because they also swam for the Gators.  I had always enjoyed talking with Kurt, he’s an interesting fellow with a good perspective on life.

So, fortified by wine and tickled with the idea of getting together with a friend from home, I said, “We should try to meet for drinks.”  Other Gator parents commented positively on the idea, and Kurt said, “we should make that happen.”

We progressed the conversation from Facebook comments to Facebook messenger to cell phone texts and planned to meet the next day.  Our Tours by Locals guide of a week ago, Bart, had kindly sent me a lengthy five page document of suggested craft beer bar, gin joints, restaurants, and other fun spots.  

(Editor: How come “gin joints” are always called gin joints?  Blogger: It was part of an Appropriations Bill that became law after Prohibition.  Editor: You’re making that up!  Blogger: Am I?)

One of the bars on the list offered 14 beers on tap and over 200 varieties of bottled beer.  Café Gollem, which bills itself as the first craft beer place in Amsterdam, opened in 1974, which makes it the second most famous thing to happen in 1974.

Bart’s comment in his document on Café Gollem stuck with me from the first time I read it: “14 beers on tap, 200 in bottles, I can stay there all evening!.

In looking at the map on my iPad, I tried to find something about half way between the half hour walk between Kurt’s hotel and our Canalboat.  

(Editor: You are so proud of staying in a Canalboat that you are referring to it as “our!”  Blogger: Guilty!)

So we agreed to meet at 6:30.  Café Gollem (It's not named after the Lord of the Rings character -- different spelling) was a hole in the wall.  The other times we had passed it, the place was packed.  We lucked out, however, as 6:30 was early enough that we were able to get an available table up the half flight of stairs in the back.

Kurt and his lady friend Shannon, who, like Kurt, is a musician in the Marine Corps Band (“the President’s Own”) showed up a few minutes later and, after getting drinks, the four of us fell into deep and satisfying conversation, getting caught up on travels, life, and kids.  

Carol and I hit it off with Shannon immediately, and we talked and drank and talked (more talking than drinking).  Sometimes all four of us talked, and sometimes the menfolk and women fell into separate conversation.  

(Editor: Menfolk?  Blogger: It just feels like the right word in this instance, especially in the Old World.  Editor: I will allow it, but just this once.)

The Netherlands was Master Gunnery Sargent Dupuis’s final performance in the military.  He, and his amazing trumpet, were retiring after 30 years (given his youthful looks, Kurt must have joined the Marines when he was 40!).  Shannon regaled us with stories from this European tour; she plays about five different unusual instruments. 

I noted that I had thought of becoming a professional musician but the main thing deterring me is that I have less musical talent than anyone else in the world.  (Editor: So that’s a bit of an impediment.  Blogger: All my music teachers whilst growing up seemed to think so).

After more than ninety minutes, we bade a fond farewell (punctuated by hugs and selfies).

It’s huge fun to get together with an old friend unexpectedly on a different continent, and it is always fun to make a new friend too.  

 

I Failed To Master the Dutch Masters

So after lunch, we went right to the Rijksmuseum, where my clothes actually fit in with the rest of the crowd.  I have to believe that we were the only ones going from the Rijks Restaurant to the museum after lunch.  Everyone else at the restaurant struck me as locals, although there might have been a few trendy foreigners there.

Most of my knowledge base about the Dutch Masters is remembering the late 1960s/early 1970s where I believe they sponsored Yankees or Mets games (trust me when I say it was a different time) and I think they were a cigar of choice for my Uncle Mike.  

(It’s actually a good test of whether or not my brother Rick reads the blog.  Either he will affirm me or correct me – the smart money is on “correct me.”  Younger brother Rod is a faithful reader of the blog.  I appreciate all faithful readers, especially if they are related to me by blood, marriage., or friendship.)

My friend, the great political analyst Charlie Cook, emailed that he loves the Rijksmuseum and could spend hours there looking at the Dutch Masters paintings.  I, on the other hand, only have so much bandwidth for art in a day.  Don’t get me wrong, I liked the museum, but couldn’t spend hours plural there.

Personally, rating the three museums we went to, I’d go “Anne Frank House/Museum” first, Van Gogh second, and this one third.  It’s not a slight on the Dutch Masters or this massive museum, just a matter of personal taste.  Anyhow, more on the Anne Frank House/Museum in another post.

We started with Rembrandt’s classic, and massive, “The Nightwatchman.”  Ready to take a bunch of pictures, I took two before my camera battery unexpectedly died.  I didn’t think I had used this battery a lot, so I was unprepared and had left the fully charged spare at the Canalboat.  Oh well.

(Editor: Your “camera battery unexpectedly died”?  Of course it was unexpected!  If you had expected it, you would either brought the second battery or switched it out already!  Blogger, head hanging down: Yes sir.)

The Rijksmuseum

At the other end of the park, 

this massive concert hall.

At the top of the concert hall.

The girl in the Nightwatchmen.

Rembrandt's famed Nightwatchmen.

We then wandered the top floor, blown away by the paintings.  When I think of the Dutch Masters, I tend to focus on Rembrandt and Vermeer (after I think of the crappy cigars of the ‘60s-70s of course), but there were impressive paintings by artists I’ve never heard of before, and probably will never hear of again.  

The Gallery of Fabulous Superlatives (not the real name – it’s actually the the Gallery of Honor) alone was worth the entrance fee.  

Then, we decided that, between 90 minutes of Van Gogh, over an hour of Dutch Masters, and nine miles of walking from the Canalboat to the museums, back again, and back again, it was time to wrap up our museum-ing for the day, so we headed down to the second floor to find the largest painting in the building, “Waterloo” which, as the title implies, is a grand painting depicting different events at the Battle of Waterloo in an art mash-up.

(Editor: This could be the first time this famous painting has been called “an art mash-up.”  Blogger: I know, pretty cool, no?  Editor: No.)

Mirrored selfie.

After that, we made our way out of the building, and headed back to the Canalboat so I could do my last conference call of the week in Europe.

After enjoying some Rose wine out on the Canalboat patio, we met our back home neighborhood friend Kurt Dupuis and his ladyfriend Shannon Kiewitt for drinks.  That was a fabulous time AND the subject of a different blog post.

After that, we didn’t really have a plan for dinner, so we figured we would wander the streets till we found a restaurant.   We grabbed an outside table at a corner restaurant.  With the temperature dropping, we put on our light raincoats, the only long sleeve garments we packed.

We ate at Der Struisvogel, which could mean “ostrich” in Dutch, as you can see from the sign.  The restaurant is in the basement, but our table overlooked the canal and a bridge.  

When the weather is good, or even just good enough, we always enjoy eating outside, and Amsterdam is no different.  It really enhances the food, the wine, and the experience.  I’m not one for remembering what I even had for dinner (that was last Friday night, and now it’s Wednesday morning on a plane to Phoenix as I write this).

Just another lovely evening. 

I Felt Like Rodney Dangerfield In Caddyshack, But Not As Funny

I guess, when I made lunch reservations at the Rijks Restaurant, which is part of the Rijksmuseum, I sort of noticed that it is a One Star Michelin Restaurant.

But I didn’t believe it.  After all, it was lunch.  It’s a museum restaurant.  Maybe at night it transforms into a One Star Michelin Restaurant, but there’s no way it is that nice during the lunch.

Our reservations were for 1pm, more than enough time to eat and make to the entrance of the museum by our 2:30 ticket.  We dressed as though we were going to a museum, since we actually were.  I was wearing a golf shirt and shorts.  Carol was dressed nicer than I, but she wasn’t dressed to the nines either.

(Editor: “Carol was dressed nicer than I” – Evergreen tweet if I ever saw one!)

My first inkling I misjudged was when we opened the entrance door and the maitre d’ disapprovingly sneered at us and asked condescendingly if we had reservations.  He was visibly disappointed when not only did I say, “yes,” but our last name matched one on his reservation sheet.  Either I had actually a reservation, or we got very lucky (it was the former, not the latter).

He led us to our table, and the whole “One Star Michelin” thing came back to me.  I googled, and sure enough.  And here I had picked it for the convenience and because it had good food.

This may surprise you (it sure surprised me!), but I was the only one there in shorts and a non-fashionable shirt.  Some men were wearing ties, and all had nice shirts.  Now, there were men there in jeans and sneakers, and some even wearing plain colored t-shirts – not an ironic Carhartt t-shirt.  

At least the maitre d’ was the only member of the staff who we dealt with who was outwardly snobby.  The rest were quite nice to us, even if we heard peals of laughter in the kitchen when they went out of sight.  Okay, I made the peals of laughter up, but it might have happened.

In a role reversal, Carol was the unflappable one about our clothes.  She noted, “well, Glen, as you would say, we’ll never see these people again.”  The third time she said it, I shot back, “that’s true, because they’ve already put us on their ‘never allow back’ list.”  Carol laughed.

We did not have the six-course tasting menu.  Or the four course lunch menu.  Instead, we each ordered a la carte, which, since we’re talking French, was treated as a faux pas.

The food was great, but besides the clothing debacle, I will never go to a Michelin Star restaurant for lunch again.  Of course, I didn’t realize we were going to one for lunch in the first place!  We were a bit rushed, we didn’t have any of the wine/wine pairings which are a hallmark of a Michelin Star dinner, 

Don’t get me wrong, the food was quite tasty, the presentation was fabulous, and the service impeccable.  I just felt like a fish out of water.

As we left, the maitre d’ was not at his post, so he couldn’t sneer at me one last time.  I’m sure he later pulled the security tape so he could mock me one last time.

(Editor: Are you always this paranoid?  Blogger: Eh, maybe.)

Van Gogh Means You Must Go!

(Editor: Wait, I thought “UNESCO means you must go!”  Blogger: It does, but the Iron Tourist believes in being flexible.  Besides, the headline re Van Gogh also works.)

I’m not sure why, but when I booked our Van Gogh Museum tickets, I also booked audio guides for the both of us.  We walked the 0.8 miles to the museum, reveling in both the post-Milan area cool temperature and the street scenes of Amsterdam.  

I wasn’t sure about the audio guide, but we agreed to do the Highlights Tour.  It was the right decision, as we saw the best of the Van Gogh Museum in about 90 minutes (the audio guide claims it’s a 45 minute tour, but that doesn’t include dealing with crowds, not being able to easily find the non-sequentially numbered highlights, and looking at other art that grabs your attention.

Of modest interest is that the narrator on the audio guide pronounced his name "Van Goff" instead of the Americanized "Van Gogh" that we are all familiar with.  Rather than confuse people by haughtily pronouncing it "Van Goff," I'm going to stick with the more familiar "Van Gogh."  Besides, saying "Van Goff means you must go" doesn't work at all.

Instead of starting at 1 and going to the last painting, the painting are numbered in a totally random order, meaning you are looking for exhibit 19, then exhibit 56, then exhibit 34, etc.  It made no sense.  Why not number from 1-200 (or so)?

Well, I suppose the museum authorities thought it more of a game than a struggle, but they would be wrong.

Anyhow, Van Gogh is quite the artist (Editor: Really going out on a limb there eh.  Blogger: I hear you!  Editor: Wait, that’s about him cutting off his left ear with a knife isn’t it?).  Rather than go into massive detail here about his paintings, his life, and his death, I’m going to show you the pictures I took of nearly all of the pictures on the Greatest Hits tour in the library.  

When I took the photos of the paintings, I had this fantasy that I would look up the names of all the paintings and add the name under each painting.  Then the reality of time intervened.