Tag: Amsterdam

Renting Bikes in Amsterdam

“I think it’s just up here.” Brie was leading us to the bike rental shop, eyes steady on her phone as the little dot on Google Maps brought us to our destination. It was our second day in Amsterdam, and, jetlagged, we found ourselves out the door so early our voices echoed off the buildings.

We lifted our gaze to find the address and realized we were no longer alone. The man in our path was close to seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and a mop of wild curls pointing in every direction. And he appeared to be…dancing. He spun around in tight circles, eyes closed, smile on his face, jumping high and clapping his hands to a beat only he could hear.

Brie and I shared a glance. Years of city living conditions you for how to respond in moments like this: trying to remain neutral when a naked man boards the train, crossing the street when a woman screaming at herself starts moving your way. We slowed our pace, assessing the situation: Was he coming home from an all-night bender on cocaine? Was this a psychotic episode? A whirling dervish? Our new friend did a quick spin through an open door. That’s when we saw it: “Bike Rental”

We had arrived.

He danced back out of the shop and onto the street. We approached slowly, steeling ourselves.

“I have a reservation?” Brie held out her phone, showing him the screen.

“YES!” He screamed at us in a thick Greek accent. “WONDERFUL!”

He danced around us in a circle. “MY NAME IS NICO!” He shouted. “NICO IS A GREEK NAME! I AM GREEK!” His voice lowered conspiratorially as he leaned down towards us. “This is the name that is born from Nicholas, which means ‘victory of the people’. What are your names?” We answered obediently. A cloud of confusion passed over his face when Brie introduced herself.

“Like the cheese.” She offered.

The cloud cleared and his smile was back. He clapped his hands together and did a spin, laughing loudly. “BRIE!” He screamed. “BRIE! LIKE THE CHEESE!”

We got down to the business of choosing our large, slow bikes, all of which were tattered and in questionable repair. He continued to dance around us, arms akimbo. “Okay! Now! You give me your license in exchange for the bike.” Handing over an important document to any stranger draws a beat of trepidation, but this had me wondering what the Dutch black market looked like for American Driver’s Licenses.

Then I felt something shift. Instead of feeling nervous, I found myself feeling… charmed. Nico was full of verve and delight, dancing his way through life, radiating joy. I thought about my own guardedness and felt something soften. Why was I not dancing through life? When had I become so tough?

As we pedaled away from Nico and our important documents, I promised myself to let down my guard a little more, and to let joy in.

Just like Nico.

Cycling Through Amsterdam

I have found there are many archetypes of cyclist here in Amsterdam, where the only way to get around seems to be by bike. It is the Dutch way, the Amsterdammer way, and as a tourist whose main goal is to blend in and not be perceived as a tourist, has quickly became my way to explore this cobbled city.

Among these archetypes you have the young and chic: ladies cruising on their omafiets (translated: old lady bike), something that looks like a beach cruiser, only older and clunkier, often adorned with baskets and racks. While the bike may be a beater, the ladies are effortless in their style. Tights and skirts and hair in french twists, oversized sunglasses, and always, always Airpods poking out of their ears, the clear go-to accessory for any Amsterdammer.

Then there are the parents, an endless stream of attractive thirty-somethings, a baby seat in front, an older child seat behind, or for the more boujie of this set, what looks like a Santa sleigh on the front carting children, dogs, and in one case, a small elderly woman donning sunglasses. These bikes are apparently the SUV of Amsterdam, and in true hipster mom vs soccer mom fashion, there is some debate about what kind of person might ride one of these.

We also have the elderly riding sleek, modern bikes in hip matte colors, some complete with built in alarms, which did surprise me as I accidentally bumped into one while unlocking my bike one day. The alarm, in true Dutch fashion, was less a wailing warning to back off, and more of a gentle “ahem” as I clumsily fiddled with my lock.

While the archetypes vary, I have found they all have one thing in common:

They are all faster than me.

Not that riding around Amsterdam is about speed. Still I can’t help but feel that I am getting in the way during the evening commute as I clumsily try to steer my bike, point my finger in the direction I’m headed, and try to merge with 20 speedy Amsterdammers into one slim bike lane. I pedal my legs faster and still within seconds “ding ding” rings behind me and I am being passed, far too close for my own comfort but business as usual for the locals.

My daily inner dialogue is some iteration of the following: “oh no, you’re tire is so close, please do not hit me, ohhhh, keep it steady, one jerk to the left and I take us all down. Oh, please do not fall, I repeat, do not fall. Oh no, I need to turn left, how do I do that when three other roads feed in to this intersection? And there is a train to contend with? Who has the right of way? What do I doooooo???”

Luckily, I have found power in mass: when in doubt, follow an Amsterdammer through the intersection and hope for the best. I can only imagine their inner dialogue as I tail them in as if in a hot pursuit police chase, “I have to lose this girl, why has she been following me for twenty blocks?” Still, it’s worked to keep me alive so far: I have managed without being hit by a car, train, or other bike.

In the few moments when I have found myself riding the wrong direction (which is apparently okay on city streets, but not okay on the bike paths), I have managed to worm my way out of the situation without any grave injury.

And when I have been scolded by another cyclist for any indiscretion, it has been done so in Dutch. I’m just going to call that a win.

xo HZ