I'm in Arnhem, Holland now, watching an Ali retrospective on the BBC. He was a champion; larger than life. Or as my friend John Burns put it far more eloquently:
"America is deeply mourning the loss of a Muslim black power activist who opposed the draft, pointed out the flaws in our national story, conscientiously objected to war, and spoke out for freedom of religion and the rights of the oppressed.
As we should."
Tomorrow is an important day for me. I'll finally see in person and up close the painting that changed the course of my life. In the neighborhood I'm staying, all of the streets are named after great artists. I took this pic on my way home from eating some pizza, which was as good as any I've had in New York.
When I left you last, I was having trouble sleeping in a bug-infested room. I took some great advice, packed my bag and found a bus back into the center of Amsterdam. Arriving shortly after 4 am, I began exploring the city by foot. Some Friday revelers were still about and before I knew it, I found myself in Amsterdam's notorious Red Light District. The architecture, both man- and divinely-made was stunning.
From there I decided to walk to the museum district, mulling over some choices: give the bastards at the Van Gogh Museum another shot? See the Rembrandt's and Hal's at the Rijksmuseum? Maybe check out the Warhol/Banksy exhibit? I quickly ruled out the first option. Truth is, I didn't spend that much time there yesterday, seeing only the self-portraits near the entrance. I took no photos and I have no regrets. I won't be back at that museum until I'm invited to speak. So it goes.
A good hour early for the opening of the Rijks, I was the first in line to buy a ticket. I hadn't bought one online because I wasn't sure my schedule would allow for it. I'm glad I made time. They have an app you can download, avoiding the extra fee of the audio tour. Pretty awesome when you're the first one through the doors and have the guidance to go directly towards the masterpieces.
Like Vincent, a psychiatrist could have a field day (and has) with me on her couch: OCD, ADD, Bipolar, alcoholic? Sure. But another ailment Vincent and I share is Stendhal's Syndrome. Sometimes, when I'm in a museum, the floor gets wobbly, my blood pressure goes through their vaulted ceilings and I have to hold back the tears. Believe me, I'm more than a little terrified of visiting Florence next month!
So as I entered the great hall and encountered the Rembrandt's, Hal's and Vermeer's, I was overwhelmed. Luckily, there's always someplace to sit down and gather yourself.
After a few hours at the museum, I decided it was time to head back to Amsterdam Centraal and find my way to my next destination: Arnhem. Again, I'm in the suburbs, with not much close (except a pretty fine Italian restaurant). As the temperature peaked into the eighties, my 2.4 km walk culminated with me arriving at Saskia's BnB a sweaty mess. Luckily, she let me right in, showed me the room and the shower; which I took, with delight. Exhausted, I slept for the next six hours; my sleep pattern slowly making its way across the Americas towards the Continent.
I have to share one more picture I took today, a fabulous Dutch bridge at morning, with a barge gliding quietly below:
Fellow Vincent-aficionados will recognize this importance to his Langlois Bridge series.
Goede Nacht for now,
Jared
Beautiful pictures and story
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