Wednesday I went to the beach because I was trying to avoid some things happening in Amsterdam. One of them being bad weather, and for a while that part worked. I laid around with my toes in the sand, worked on writing this thing I'm supposed to be doing, then got up and walked past some tastefully restrained seaside shacks...
I was suddenly desperately hungry, and desperate times call for desperate measures. Faced with a few equally uninspiring dining options, I chose Vooges because Mara and I once had a nice meal at their Utrechtsestraat outpost in Amsterdam, where the emphasis seemed to be on simple fresh food and nice wines.
Here, the emphasis was really on, eh...children. But I think that most places on this side of the beach are kid-friendly, it's just a fact (those of you who don't know me might be thinking, "Man, sorta sounds like he don't like kids...lighten up, bro!!!"). I had a "Greek salad" that was much better than it looked. I mean, nothing you couldn't make at home in four minutes, but it could've been done much worse, the feta and olives were above-average, the dressing was a tomato-mint vinaigrette, etc. Pleasant.
Then I went back to Amsterdam, where it was sunny and muggy and generally hot as nuts, no bad weather at all, but then fuckity fuck, the non-weather thing I was trying to avoid showed up right in my face, so I turned tail and quickly headed to the coolest darkest spot I could think of, The Movies. Where, in order to kill a couple of hours until the coast was clear, I watched Polanski's Ghost Writer. Pretty good, it's nice to see someone do old-timey suspense/paranoia well.
When I exited two hours later, the bad weather had arrived in full effect. I, of course, was dressed for the beach...my walk home was cold and shivery.
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