From school gym to work table

At the start of the year, I decided I needed a desk. All my activities—writing for work, blogging, painting, sewing, and the new kid on the block, calligraphy—took on the dining table, and that wasn't working for me anymore. In winter, the dining room was hard to heat because of its size and its proximity to the outside hallway, so I would end up taking my laptop with me into bed... and not getting anything done! A proper desk would give me a place to build a routine around and would be great for my productivity. 

I knew what I wanted: a desk that was at least 1.5 meters, longer than it was deep, with space for me to do more than just one thing at a time. It had to have a tabletop that I wouldn't mind staining with paint or ink, made of a warm material (no metal, no laminate). It had to have character—possibly used, preferably vintage—but clean lines. It had to be something we could repurpose as a console or buffet table if we ever needed the space it would take up in the guest room. Finally, it had to be something I would want to take back with me if we ever moved back home (so no Ikea). 

So I started looking around—thus the trips to Van Dijk en Ko, the IJ-Hallen flea market, and more. I constantly referred to my little collection of home offices on Pinterest to keep me on track. I saw a lot of desks that were tempting, but not quite there—too deep, too low, too short, too expensive. 

Then my friend Karyn, who shares my love for old and repurposed things, drove me to the little town of Baarn, just 20 minutes out of Amsterdam, to visit J. van Ijken Oude Bouwmaterialen. Oude bouwmaterialen means old building materials, and that was exactly what Mr. van Ijken had for sale—an entire hectare filled with old floors, doors, windows, tiles, tubs, gates, knobs, bricks, fireplaces, you name it. All of it reclaimed from homes, ships, churches, schools, bridges, train stations and more, waiting to be found by odd people who love old things with character. Like me.

When we walked into a warehouse filled with old floorboards, I was immediately seized by a wild thought. If I couldn't find my perfect desk... should I just build it?

These are the kinds of thoughts you have after living more than a year in a country and culture where everyone does everything themselves. You hear about people building houses and you start to think, it can't be that hard.

This old herringbone floor from Hungary reminded me of a beautiful herringbone desk I had seen on Pinterest, and inflamed my confidence. "Yes," it whispered. "Just build it." 

Then I saw just the thing. Old hardwood planks from a school gym in Holland, for €60 per square meter. Pops of color. Lots of character. Perfect.

Finding the wood spurred me into action. That afternoon, I picked up a pair of clean, shiny chrome Vika Moliden legs from Ikea for €25 apiece. I got Marlon on board (you didn't think I was going to build this all by myself, did you?), and we agreed to rent a car and come back for the planks.

The following weekend, the owner himself, Jan van Ijken, helped me select the pieces that had this old colorful tape. I'd hoped I could have the tabletop built there and just cart it home in the car, but he was very clear about that not being his business. "I supply the wood," he said firmly and gruffly (but not rudely). He did help me cut the planks into my desired length of 1.5 meters, so thanks, Mr. van Ijken!

After purchasing some wood glue and a small power sander, it was time to build my work table.

Van Dijk & Ko

Be prepared for a slew of thrifting posts from me over the next few days. I'm obsessed with finding a desk for my soon-to-be home office, and since I'm on a budget, checking out second-hand sources has been my top priority. One (rare) sunny Saturday morning, my search for the perfect second-hand desk led me across the river IJ (pronounced "eye") to Amsterdam Noord, which is 14 minutes by ferry from Centraal Station.

Amsterdam Noord is still largely industrial, but it's considered an "up-and-coming" (i.e. increasingly livable, secretly hip) neighborhood. With wide roads, little greenery and a surfeit of warehouses, it feels like a different planet from the rest of Amsterdam. 

It's also a killer bike ride, because nothing cuts the wind, which (on the day we were there, at least) is inescapable and so very strong. I felt like 20-pound weights were hanging from my handlebars. 

But my fietsje (little bike) and I forged ahead anyway. I say "little," because my trusty baby blue cruiser who came all the way from Singapore is microscopic by Dutch standards. I feel like I get strange looks whenever I'm out biking; I've seen 11 year-olds riding bigger bikes than mine.

In contrast, Marlon, who bikes to work everyday, has a proper Dutch bike. They call it an oma fiets (granny bike). It's higher, so you can fully extend your legs while biking and prevent damage to your knees. I don't bike often enough to care about that stuff, although I should.

Anyway, there was a good reason for the killer bike ride: to explore the 2,500 square-meter second-hand wonderland known as Van Dijk en Ko.

Step inside, after the jump!

Living room reshuffle

Beset by the winter blues and a strange restlessness during the last few weeks of January, I felt a change was in order. While leafing through Decorate by Holly Becker for inspiration, I came across a great tip for organizing spaces: check how a room "flows" by having people over and observing how they use the space during a party.

Thinking back to a a December potluck lunch I hosted at home, I realized that even with a packed dining room, people didn't naturally "spill over" into our living room. Our old layout below was great for holing up in front of the TV (which is how we survived many a long winter night), but because the back of the daybed effectively closed off the room, it didn't feel open and inviting to other people.

So, with my dictatorial brain and my husband's considerable brawn, we spent one January evening moving furniture around late into the night. The goal was to open up the room without moving any of the paintings or the mirror. As renters, we can't drill without the landlord's consent, and taking things off the painting rails is really, really difficult!

We tried a lot of configurations that felt cramped and weird, until we realized there was just one thing that we had to do...

Oh no, knit again

It's hard to cultivate thoughts of summer and sunshine when this is what greets you every single day. Apparently, this is what passes for summer in this little corner of the world. 

If cold can make things shrink, then the temperature of 12℃ over the past few days has definitely reduced the square footage in my brain that's reserved for swimsuits, sandals, strawberry smoothies and other summery delights. Instead, all I can think of is staying warm.

I seem to have knits on the brain lately. Case in point: I'm currently lusting for a Missoni scarf. I saw my first one in De Bijenkorf (the Rustan's or Takashimaya of Amsterdam) today and fell in love. A few seconds later my eyes drifted over to another one, and now my heart is torn.

Soft and feminine, or bold and striking?

Unfortunately, it comes with a price tag befitting a Missoni, so this love will have to remain unrequited... at least until I can figure out a way to drum up a regular income.

Also in the realm of knits: a few days ago, Audrey of Googooandgaga tweeted me a link to Zilalila's hand-knitted jumbo Nest cushions.

It was another case of love at first sight.

It just so happens that Marlon has always, always wanted a beanbag. I'm not wild about shiny, shapeless pleather, so I've flexed my wifely veto muscles to keep them out of our home. But when I showed the Nest to Marlon, we instantly felt that another miraculous matrimonial compromise was in the offing... in the form of a beanbag both of us could love.

So, braving the rain and cold, we embarked on a Sunday afternoon mission to Sukha, a wonderfully curated home and lifestyle store on the Haarlemmerstraat, which itself turned out to be a lovely street dotted with interesting little stores and cafes. When we got there and sank into the Nest, our worst fears were confirmed.

The Nest indeed feels as enveloping, comfortable and warm as it looks in photos. Therefore, we simply had to have it. 

Good for the home, bad for the bank account... but wait! It turned out to be half the price that it was on the website. That was a big relief... as big a relief as this big cozy knitted beanbag will be in the winter. Or, come to think of it, in the summer.

Frilly

Home update: we changed our dining chairs!

It was the new wineglass chandelier that prompted a change in our dining chair strategy. We moved the metal bistro chairs outside to the balcony and ordered a pair of Patricia Urquiola's Frilly chairs from the Kartell store on Westerstraat. They arrived a few weeks ago (yes, I have a lot of blogging to catch up with!), when Mom was here.

I love how they go with the chandelier and make our space look cleaner and lighter. There's already a lot going on with our heavy bookcase and dining table, so we opted to go for something that wouldn't add any more visual weight.

Marlon says the "frilly" texture of the chairs remind him of falling water. I think they look like fabric. What do you think?

Gone sledding

Did I mention that we have a sled at home?

On our very first furniture hunting trip to Spoor 38, Marlon saw this battered old sled outside in the cold and mist. His Superman complex immediately kicked in and he just had to rescue it. Or maybe it was a third world/tropical aspirational thing, I don't know. Anyway, we threw an Ikea cheapskin sheepskin over it, and it magically went from odd purchase to cute seating for the living room. 

The ultimate sign that the sled was truly meant for our home was the Rogue stamp of approval.

It's perfectly Rogue-sized, furry, soft, and right next to the radiator, which makes it perfect for catnaps.

On a particularly cold evening, Marlon draped a hand towel over her during one of her catnaps. She just looked like she needed to be tucked in.

Of course that meant waking her up accidentally, which she was none too happy about. But in general I think she's very happy about the sled, which means crazy cat lady and crazy cat man-in-training are happy about it too.

So what if we're too close to the ocean for actual snow and live in the most slope-less, hill-less country in Europe. Who says you can't enjoy a sled? 

Lock 'em up

Marriage is about compromise. Some people seem to think this is a dirty and miserable word that hammers the final nail into the coffin of all fun and individuality (in which the first nail was, duh, marriage). Uh, no. It's not so bad, y'all. Sometimes it's even effortless, when two seemingly unrelated desires collide in a happy accident. And when that happens while shopping... well, that must be what they call wedded bliss.

What Marlon wanted (has always wanted): a vintage trunk or chest. Something heavy and old, with a lock. Preferably made of metal. Every time we come across one, he strokes it and says, "I've always wanted one of these." Since he rarely hankers for vintage things (that's my domain), I did consider every trunk and chest we found in our furniture forages... but none of them seemed to work for our house.

What I wanted: to never let our DVDs and CDs see the light of day. Aren't piles of DVDs and CDs actually quite ugly? I mean, unless you have a theaterrific collection or a thousand-dollar designer shelf that makes them look like an art installation, I think these soon-to-be-relics are best hidden from view. 

Compromise found!

... In the form of these two vintage lockboxes from Raw Materials on Rozengracht. Marlon was really bowled over by these.

And as for me... did you think I really needed to be convinced? An invisibility cloak for the DVDs that's turquoise, vintage and industrial? Hell yeah.

Row row Rozengracht

Marlon and I have been spending a lot of time indoors, what with all the home improvement going on. After all the painting and arranging and unpacking and stapling (I almost said sewing, but none of that took place), I began to feel Amsterdam pulling me outdoors. "Did you move to Amsterdam or did you just move to your new apartment? Get your lazy ass out here and start exploring!" it seemed to shout. (Why does the voice of Amsterdam in my head oddly sound like Sassy Gay Friend?)

So post-market on Saturday, explore we did, still in the context of home improvement. I took copious notes from my copy of VTWonen and noticed that a lot of home stores were clustered along Rozengracht, in the Jordaan. Fortified by a fantastic lunch of pork chops fresh from the market, we headed up and West.

Walking from Frederik Hendrikstraat to Rozengracht, we came upon an alley filled with graffiti, which is something I always stop for and take pictures of. 

This looks like it could be a Banksy. I've been lucky enough to spot Banksy's work in Brussels, San Francisco and now in two places in Amsterdam. The other one was along the Prinsengracht on my way to Westermarkt.

Of course, the Indian half of me had to pose with Ganesh, who seems to have added graffiti to his list of divine skills.

Poor Ganesh was branded a fake. A copy of which artist, I wonder?

Love this, a bitter word in candy colors. I imagine this was the result of a Mean Girls-type catfight or a really bad breakup.

Our first stop along Rozengracht was the wonderfully styled Raw Materials, which marries the two design phases of my life so far: vintage/industrial...

... and Indian/ethnic. Check out the kilim-upholstered benches. Mom lent me several large, old kilim rugs which lasted through most of my Indian decorating phase. When we moved here, I sent them back to her, marking the end of said phase.

I bought a colorful printed letter "D" from Anthropologie last year, so Marlon decided it was time he got himself an "M." You know, gender equality and all that.

Then we stopped by De Kasstoor and Wonen to ogle their gorgeous, but ultimately way too pricey, design furniture. Their little chair garden out back reminded me a bit of the sculpture garden atop SF MoMA.

We found these metal chairs from the same maker as our vintage dining chairs. Yay! But at €500 for these two display pieces (may discount na yan kasi used!), we had to leave them behind. Boo.

At Nordic New, Marlon and I came face to face with the Block Lamp (previously on my bedroom wishlist) and decided that it was indeed a work of art, but ultimately not suited to our (messy) lifestyle. We did order bright yellow pendant lamps from Muuto for the dining room, all while being trailed by this friendly auburn doggie. It says much about the behavior of this dog that he's allowed to spend time amongst so many impeccably designed Scandinavian goods (a number of which were very breakable and very pricey).

At the end of Rozengracht was the Westerkerk, heralded by trippy colours from a mile away. I will return for a closer inspection of this church one day.

Nearby was Kitsch Kitchen, which really tests your threshold for bright colors and, well, kitsch. Marlon was squirming from the moment we walked in. "Narrow your field of vision. Try not to look at everything all at the same time," I advised. And there was really so much to look at, from the pinata party dangling from the ceiling...

To kitschier versions of our hammered tin mirror...

To multicolored iterations of a familiar sight. Yes, folks, the humble banig has arrived. And I'm not talking about the singer.

All window-shopped out, we stopped at a small strip of park overlooking the canal at Nassaukade.

Marlon went to get us some cups of hot tea, which we sipped while sitting on a bench, chatting, occasionally playing catch with a nearby bull terrier named Bugsy (yes, naging close kami), and generally marveling at our good fortune.

At 6-ish we set off for dinner at the nearby Frederik Hendrikstraat, where we started walking. We passed this interesting sculture near the bridge at Nassaukade. I love how jaunty and light it feels, like he's about to blow away in the wind.

If you've had a wonderful day, I would highly recommend ending it in an equally wonderful way. The Tartufata at Yam Yam Pizzeria makes this possible with mozzarella, gorgonzola, mascarpone, parmesan, rocket and truffle oil layered generously on a pizza crust that's wood-fired to perfection. Yam yam indeed.

Saturday lemonade

Bright and early Saturday morning, Marlon and I set off for the Vondelpark to join a beginners' running group that I had signed us up for. I was thrilled at the prospect of meeting new people and making running, a rather detested activity of mine, more fun and exciting. Having roughly sketched out a route on 9292ov and Google Maps, I thought we were set.

But no. It was not to be. My excitement turned into horror as I realized the route we had taken was one. Big. Circle. A circle that led back to our neighborhood. Yep, we got lost. Hopelessly lost. And there was no way we could figure out a new route and make it to Vondelpark in time. 

"Let's just go home, eat popcorn, and watch a movie," suggested Marlon, in an attempt to cheer me up. (Prime example of the kind of activity that has gotten us into this shape.) So we hopped on Tram 24 back to our house... until I realized it was the same tram that takes me to Albert Cuypmarkt every week. Marlon, who loves markets, food and cooking, had never been there, so... "Why don't we take this tram all the way to the market?" He thought it was a great idea. Go me!

So we spent Saturday morning walking around the market, and it felt like the best thing ever. Half of Amsterdam seemed to agree, judging from all the Saturday shoppers milling about in the sunshine. No mall zombies here—everything looked and felt so alive, and both our moods were instantly transformed. Marlon was overjoyed to finally find the butcher, and bought pork chops and a whole lamb shoulder to roast that weekend. (It's the first time we've had red meat at home since we moved!)

Aside from the food stalls, Albert Cuypmarkt also has a few furniture and lighting stores. I usually ignore these stores when I go on my weekly market runs, because it would just be more fun to have Marlon around. We finally got to go into some of them, and found...

... a low, comfy gray armchair that's exactly the kind of thing I want for the living room...

... a small sparkly chandelier that would look nice in the bedroom...

... and beautiful silver filigree lamps that we could picture in the hallway or living room. Pero surprise! We didn't buy anything. Canvassing muna. I feel like such an adult when I can resist a strong impulse to buy!

Marlon indulged me in a little window shopping while he sat outside... kinda like this gigantic terrier (how's that for a segue?). It was exactly like a normal terrier except it was about the size of an Akita. I've never seen those before.

We stopped for appeltarts (a.k.a. good ol' apple pie) and cappuccinos at a corner cafe called Flamingo. Across the street was another cafe with a huge crowd—not because it was any better, but because the sun was shining there. "I bet all the people move over here after lunch, when the sun shifts position," I remarked, a guess confirmed by the barista.

Before we hopped back on the tram home, Marlon bought me an armful of pink carnations (which you've seen in a previous post). "Lemons into lemonade," he remarked on our way home. "What a way to turn this morning around."

Deck the hall

... with Indian fabric, falalala lala lala!

Marlon has the habit of coming home and emptying his pockets of coins, keys and wadded-up receipts... and they end up everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Back in our Singapore condo, I'd come across coins in the bathroom, in the closet, on the kitchen counter, floor, nightstand, bookshelf, coffee tables, dining table, you name it. I went ballistic each time I found a coin. I tried putting a specially designated canister in different locations to catch them, observing where he was most likely to empty his pockets, asking him where it was most convenient for him, to no avail. 

And so I became determined to win the war against the coins and install a catch-all solution in our new home. It came in the form of a many-drawered vintage steel cabinet, from my vintage/industrial mecca Spoor 38. The cabinet had a lovely patina (a.k.a. rust), but when we moved it into the hallway it looked lost and bare. 

Then I remembered I bought some pretty paisley fabric during our honeymoon in Rajasthan. (In case you didn't know, I'm the biggest sucker for anything with a paisley print.) It had been sitting, unused, folded quietly in a box for the last three years, waiting for its moment.

When I told my mom about this, by the way, she cackled with a triumph that was at least 24 years in the making. "See? See? Now you understand!" she cried with glee. She used to shop for fabric all the time when I was a kid, and I hated it. With a passion. Even my biggest displays of brattiness and my constant whining accusations of "You don't even use them!" could never dissuade her from this habit. And I agreed that, yes, now I understood. (Don't you just get the feeling sometimes that we are all turning into our mothers?)

Anyway, with several pieces of wood molding from the hardware store, some gold paint, a few nails, generous amounts of wood putty, and my trusty staple gun, Marlon and I made a "framed wallpaper" backdrop for the steel cabinet in the hallway.

And like my dining chairs and their DIY cushions, the print picks up the little bits of rust and wear on the cabinet while complementing the metal in a way that I really like. 

Those pesky coins? They end up in the drawers now, so I guess we can consider this battle won. With style. And paisley.