Welcome to Palazzo Plazo

The joke about running a hotel began a couple of years back in Singapore. Being so close to Manila and a regional hub for flights, Singapore was a frequent destination for a long list of friends, whom we happily hosted in our spare bedroom. It was Pauline who dubbed our one-bedroom "hotel" Palazzo Plazo, and the name has stuck. 

After our "soft opening" and first official guest this spring, Palazzo Plazo Amsterdam got busy. Mom came over after our Oslo jaunt in May, and Jon and Gutsy arrived within days of each other in June. 

Al fresco dining on Palazzo Plazo's charming terrace

There's something about Amsterdam that makes all my guests so chillax. Not once did we make it out of the house before lunch time! Luckily, the days have gotten so long that my visitors and I got to do and see so much even with our late starts.

While I've had far more than my fair share of visits to the Holy Trinity of Amsterdam tourism (the Anne Frank House, Van Gogh Museum and Rijksmuseum), I'm happy that I got to do a little something different with each guest. There's really so much to still do and discover in this city!

Mom was pretty low-key. She was content to stay home and share my domestic diva lifestyle. She also spent a lot of time bonding with Rogue.

In Singapore, she absolutely abhorred walking. But this time, the cool weather in early spring made a huge difference. It was a lot easier to plan her itinerary this time around because she didn't mind walking. So much of Amsterdam's charm lies in these leisurely strolls in the canal district. 

I also got to try my first rijsttafel ("rice table") at one of Amsterdam's numerous Indonesian restaurants while Mom was here. A rijsttafel is basically a meal that consists of rice served with a large-ish number of small side dishes (the usual satay, rendang and so on), which seems to be an entirely Indo-Dutch colonial hybrid; I've never had it at any Indonesian restaurant in Southeast Asia.

We also rented a car one Saturday to drive out to the Zaanse Schans, an open-air museum about twenty minutes from Amsterdam. Truth be told, I found it a little too touristy for my taste, but I think it was just Mom's speed... and made for some pretty pictures.

The best part of the Zaanse Schans for me was getting to see a functioning windmill from the inside. It's pretty amazing what people will think up to get out of having to work so damn hard.

On the way home, we decided to do a big detour and drive along the Afluitsdijk, a feat of Dutch engineering. It's a 32-km causeway that dams part of the North Sea and turns it into the Ijsselmeer lake; salt water on one side of the highway and fresh water on the other. 

Since Mom was such a big fan of the neighbors' roses, I also took her through the Bloemenmarkt, Amsterdam's "floating" flower market. "Hindi ba talaga tutubo sa Pilipinas ito?" she asked, rifling forlornly through the flowers. "Malapit naman ako sa Tagaytay eh!"

With Jonathan, the agenda was completely different and can be summed up in one word: boys. Haha! So our first stop on a scorching Saturday was the Vondelpark, where everyone and his mother/girlfriend/barkada/boyfriend goes to take off his shirt and soak up the (rare) sunshine. While shirtless hunks were in attendance, so were bikini-clad babes.

Still, Amsterdam did not disappoint me us Jon in my our his search for Dutch, er, treats. We were particularly impressed with the array of waiters the city put forth that week. While customer service is far from being one of this city's strong points, we certainly couldn't complain about service from waitstaff like these.

 

Boys aside, we also meandered through narrow side streets...

... and along the canals, which never fail to amaze me.

Jon's visit was a cause for many firsts, such as our first barbecue on the balcony... which also became the last due to a prompt scolding by our upstairs neighbor. We took it to the pavement outside our building, in true third world style.

It was also my first time to hang out at Leidseplein, a big square in the center of town that every single tourist in Amsterdam seems to naturally gravitate to. I really don't get it: they just stand around there like huge flocks of sheep. It's a convenient (but certainly not the best) location to sit down for a drink, but other than that I don't know what's so great about Leidseplein.

Jon's interest in the social sciences led us to the Oosterpark...

... to visit the Tropenmuseum, one of Europe's leading ethnographic museums. It houses exhibits about non-Western cultures, and includes an excellently curated exhibit about the Netherlands' own colonial history.

The biggest surprise about the Tropenmuseum was also the most admirable: it very matter-of-factly stated that the Dutch colonial history was very deeply linked with slavery. No whitewashing (pun not intended), no sugarcoating: the simple facts of slavery and how it contributed to the Dutch golden age laid out for every foreign visitor, every schoolchild to see... and learn from.

An old drawing of slaves packed into a Dutch galley for trading

Just a day after Jon left, Gutsy arrived for a weekend. I wish we had had more time together! Still, we managed to pack in a decent amount of meandering...

... with a visit to Anne Frank...

... and even the Homomonument nearby.

Sunday brunch was at the lovely Cafe Belhamel on the Brouwersgracht, with its gleaming green walls and Art Deco interiors... 

... followed by another Amsterdam tourist staple, a first for us: the canal cruise.

We surrendered most of Sunday to a fog of kabangagan that can most adequately be summed up in this photograph.

Let's just say we were extra happy... because Gutsy was in town! Right Guts? Yay!

It's been weeks since our guests have checked out, and I miss them already. While playing hostess was tiring, it sure was tons of fun. And I hope playing tourist in this town never gets old.

So, who's next?

The cut

My approach to getting my hair cut was exactly the same as it was for my first-ever haircut in Singapore: to put it off for as long as I possibly could. Back then, I was converting from Philippine peso to Singapore dollar, and looking at salon price lists made me swallow hard and walk away. When I started working, my wallet loosened up and got used to it. Then I moved here... and the whole process began all over again.

Except now, I was mentally converting from Singapore dollar to the Euro. Haircuts became twice the price they were in Singapore, ranging from €45 to €80, or S$80 to S$140 (a whopping PhP 2,700 to almost PhP 5,000!). And judging from the expat forums I'd read, you weren't even guaranteed good customer service or a shampoo and blowdry (!), much less a great haircut. So I put off the whole thing for five long months.

One day I woke up and I decided I couldn't take it anymore. Happily, it was also the same day I woke up to find a little extra something-something in my bank account. I went online to do some research on kappers (hairdressers) in Amsterdam, and after much deliberation, decided to go Kinki.

Kinki Kappers, that is. It's a Dutch chain of salons that's known for being relatively affordable (€41 a pop for ladies' haircuts) and quite edgy. I admit, seeing these kinds of hairstyles on the Kinki website freaked me out a little... and these are the tamer ones. 

But I easily get bored with my hair, so I was figured I could use a little edge. I've never been the type to show my hair stylist pegs of the cut I want. Instead, I composed this litany: "short, no precision cutting because I have wavy hair, side bangs, little to no styling needed." Then it was off to the Kinki branch on Van Baerlestraat, 10 minutes by tram from my house.

Kinki was pretty much what I expected of an edgy yet mainstream salon chain. Graffiti on the floors, eye-popping walls and fixtures, stylists in funky hairdos with lots of body piercing and ink. While waiting, I saw this woman getting a perfectly normal (if rather butch) haircut, which did a lot to quell the images of green locks and spiky Mohawks rattling around in my brain.

The guy who gave me a shampoo was about six foot three and had huge hands, which made up for his lack of technique. The whole experience called to mind silicon oven mitts (his hands) cradling a baseball (my head).If you ever want to feel like a baby again, a shampoo by a big strapping Dutch guy (or girl) is a virtual time warp.

I couldn't have been happier with my stylist, Iris. For one thing, when I requested side bangs to cover my wide forehead, she smiled, shoved aside her own side bangs to reveal her forehead, and said: "Me too!" And while she was blowdrying my hair with a diffuser (which emphasizes natural curls), she remarked: "I love your curls. Let's switch?"

Wow. This was worlds away from Manila stylists who will insist on rebonding as a prerequisite to a haircut. I once nearly walked out on a Bench FIX stylist who had the gall to tell me: "Magpa-relax ka muna. Kulot ka kasi eh. Kahit anong gupit ang gawin ko diyan, hindi talaga maganda lalabas." Kapal! Bumalik ka nga kay Ricky Reyes!

So, stylists of the world, the way to my heart is through my curls. I always know I'm going to have a great cut when stylists show that they can appreciate my curls, or can at least deal with them. And Iris did more than just deal with them. After the jump: presenting... my first Dutch haircut!

Bergen aan Zee

Marlon had Thursday and Friday off the week we got back from Paris (they celebrate the Ascension here, who knew?). So it seemed like a good idea to squeeze in a quick getaway to the beach. We picked Bergen aan Zee, a seaside town a short train and bus ride from Amsterdam, and booked an overnight stay at a small hotel in town.

By the time I got back from Paris, I was so wiped out from keeping up with the Glee Club (and Mimi, and the frenetic city itself) that packing for another trip and getting on another train was the last thing I wanted to do. If we hadn't already pre-paid for the hotel, I would have happily skipped this trip. But because we'd already spent the money, we decided to go anyway, leaving after lunch on Thursday. 

Bergen is a picturesque town with a relaxed vibe, and markedly upscale as I could see from its restaurants and boutiques. It's full of old, pretty one- or two-story houses like these. 

To get to the beach from our hotel in the center of town, Marlon and I would have to cycle some 4 kilometers... which would have been fine and dandy with me if we didn't run into the problem I always seem to have in Holland. Which is finding a suitably me-sized bicycle.

With no children's bikes available at the hotel and the only bike rental closed for the Ascension holiday, there was nothing left to do except strap our beach blanket onto the rear rack of Marlon's rented bike, hop on, and cling to my huffing and puffing husband for the next 4 kilometers. The bike ninjas of the Netherlands may scoff at this mileage, but for two relative noobs like us, it was no joke. If I ever had any doubts about Marlon's love for me, he sure proved it with this bike ride. 

Still, it was a beautiful day and a pretty ride. We passed some huge and stunning summer homes, no doubt belonging to obscenely wealthy residents. Tall, lush green trees lined the bike path, cooling and shading us on the way.

I'm beginning to get used to the look of Dutch beaches: grassy dunes overlooking long expanses of sand and shallows. But in Bergen, I saw these for the first time, rows and rows of them harboring sun loungers and stretching for miles along the beach.

I don't know what they're called, aside from advertising space. But when the staff at the beach restaurants started packing these up at 6pm, it became all too clear what their function was: to block the wind. Which was damn strong. And cold.  Marlon and I didn't last longer than 15 minutes on the beach without them. Mapapamura ka sa lamig!

Searching for shelter from the wind, I was drawn to these bright yellow wicker cabins for rent. 

They're sort of like big rectangular boxes with cushions, armrests wide enough to hold drinks and small plates, and large drawers underneath for your beach stuff. Most importantly, they make an excellent barrier against the wind.

The colorful lining inside makes for pretty pictures too!

After we'd had enough of huddling (and cuddling) against the wind, we decided to bike back to town before it got too dark. Poor Marlon was so tired that we ended up walking a full third of the way back. After a surprisingly good dinner in the center of town, it was back to our little (and I mean really little) room at the Hotel Marijke.

I thought the trip would tire me out, but our quick seaside jaunt recharged my batteries. Then again, I wasn't the one who had to pedal away with my extra weight. Maybe I need to ask Marlon how he felt about the trip! I'd love to go back to Bergen, though. And next time, I'm bringing my bike on the train.

Farewell to spring

Surprise! Spring is over, and in its place is some kind of... weird autumnal hybrid. Did I miss something? Did we just skip summer altogether?

The weather for the past two weeks has been positively dismal: bleak, gray and rainy for days on end. While Holland is spared from the thundering torrents that we're used to in our tropical corner of the world, this light rain just seems so... endless. So I guess this is the famous Dutch weather they all complain about. I'm straining my neck looking ahead, and there is not a single sunny day in sight. Here's hoping July and August will be better.

I didn't even notice that spring ended. When the flowers started popping up in April, I thought they'd be around for at least a few months. Silly me. I guess I've gotten used to things being around pretty much all year, as they are in Manila or Singapore. Now the rampant blooming has ceased, and though the surroundings are still alive and green, I wish I took more notice of the flowers. Still, I rounded up enough photos to mount a decent farewell to spring.

Begijnhof

Vondelpark

Museumplein

Practically everywhere in the Jordaan

I never had to go far to get my fill of flowers. Sometimes I just had to look out my window.

Back to the drawing board

After a long-ish break, Make it Mondays are back!

Two out-of-town trips and three guests took (more on which later) me away from the drawing board in the last two months. When I returned, I knew what I wanted to do: teach myself to draw Amsterdam's very own canal houses.

I'd like to say it was a simple undertaking, but I'd be lying. My hand just isn't used to drawing anymore. I like doing fine details, but it doesn't come as easily as it used to. 

While the less-than-perfectly-straight lines of Amsterdam's lopsided canal houses are forgiving to a hand that's learning how to draw again, my houses are definitely leaning a lot more than they ought to!

Still, it was a fun exercise. I love using pens, and bought a couple of new ones over the weekend to get me back into the groove. I rarely use a pencil to make a first draft since I find retracing tedious. With so many different canal houses to draw (it seems no two are alike!), there's a lot of material to keep me going. I will keep at it in the hopes of coaxing my drawing hand back to life. Wish me luck!

Paris bites

My hands-down best meal in Paris was a real treat: a quintessentially French home-cooked meal. 

On the night before the Glee Club left Paris, singer and voice teacher Florence invited Ma'am Malou to dinner at her house. Ma'am Malou, not wanting to go by herself, took myself, Mimi and the Glee Club's soprano pint-sized powerhouse Stef with her.

We met up outside the metro station in a... shall we say, less than savory neighborhood. While we clutched our purses tighter and waited nervously for Stef, who was late, to emerge from the metro, Florence's colleague Stefan assured us that the house we were going to have dinner in was very different from the neighborhood. "It's very pretty," he promised. 

And indeed it was. Behind a small wooden gate on a nondescript street lay a secret garden, shared among three families, including Florence and her teenage daughter Manon. All three families are great friends and share this wonderful space. When the lady of the house locked the gate behind us, she effectively shut out all the sounds of the city. It felt as if we weren't even in Paris anymore. They even have a cherry tree!

Then there was the food. 

Round and round we go

One of the smaller museums that I've missed on my previous Paris trips was the Musee L'Orangerie in the Jardin des Tuileries. It was an oversight that I was happy to correct on this visit.

Marlon, Gutsy and I were welcomed by Rodin's The Kiss right outside the museum door. It's the third I've seen, after the ones at the Musee Rodin and the sculpture garden in Martigny.

The centerpieces of the Musee L'Orangerie are a pair of tranquil white oval-shaped rooms that house Monet's famous paintings of water lilies, Les Nympheas.

Six of about 250 paintings by Monet on the same theme are housed here.

Something about the scale of the paintings, or maybe the peace and beauty of its subjects, made the mood in these round halls somewhat contemplative.

The visitors remind me of people watching films on a panoramic screen... except it's not the images that change, but what you're thinking about them.

I was just glad that the rooms were cool and quiet, making them a perfect place to hide from the hot sun. I'm learning to love it when the sun is out, but too much still annoys me. Yes, I'm still Asian.

Downstairs was a collection of mostly impressionist paintings, including works from Cezanne, Modigliani, Matisse, Monet and others. The one I liked the most was this portrait of Coco Chanel by the artist Marie Laurencin.

It was annoyingly hot outside, so we scrapped our plan to go walking around the gardens after the museum. Instead, we repaired to Laduree, which was just a few minutes away.

I'd been to Laduree once before with Gutsy and Tria, in 2006. But I couldn't afford more than just a coffee back then. Not even one of Laduree's famed macarons.

This time, I had a lime-vanilla sorbet... with a fleur de sel (salted caramel) macaron. Both of them were absolutely divine: so light and sweet, flavorful without being overpowering.

Marlon immortalized my first bite of Laduree's famous macarons on camera. Each bite was definitely a mmm-mmm-mmmmoment. 

In addition to the fleur de sel, Gutsy and I also shared a pistachio and an orange blossom macaron.



After the oval rooms at L'Orangerie, I guess you could say that round shapes were the theme of the day!