Sunny Beach (or will it ever stop raining in Bulgaria?)

I haven't been on a cross-country bus in years.  I wasn't sure what to expect, but except for the rain, it wasn't a bad trip.  And it meant one less round through airport security.

The Bulgarian countryside is pretty, but a whole bunch of nothing.  Few settlements and even fewer exits.  It was pretty much a straight shot to the coast.  We made two stops at the cluster of cities in the middle of the country, but that was it.  And the rain continued off and on through the entire journey.

We arrived at Burgas bus station, a pretty yellow building, and I sat down to wait.  My host had agreed to pick me up at the station.  Except it wasn’t this station.  I’m thinking he was to pick me up in Burgas, but he meant to pick me up from the Sunny Beach station once I’d taken the shuttle from Burgas.  Instead, I just sat waiting in the light rain and gathering dark for 1 ½ hours for nothing.  I’m an idiot.

Just as I set off to find a bus (using Google Translate to read the Bulgarian bus signs), a man approached me.  He’d been sitting in a cab across the street the entire time I’d been there and he must have seen my frustration.  He offered me a ride and after figuring out the address and the cost I agreed.  Anything to end the waiting.

Realizing that Burgas was an hour away from Sunny Beach, I understood why the host wouldn’t want to drive so far.  He did greet me at the hotel next to the apartment, got me in the building, and showed me around.  As for my new place … yeah.  It was clean and had most of the amenities.  But it was cold and impersonal unlike the place in Sofia which was very cozy.  The faux marble floor always looked wet when it was just shiny and could benefit from some throw rugs.  There is no microwave and the provided towels were kind of funky.

While the building itself is almost deathly quiet, from that first night to every night afterwards, there was a party going on somewhere else on the property.  I would discover later that the clubs and bars are not far from the apartment and there was loud music playing every night up until around midnight.  Annoying, but I got used to it.  Then, in the morning, the masses of seagulls in the area would wake me up with their incessant squawking.  With all the noise from the birds, it felt like I was visiting Jurassic Park. Oh, look.  There’s a dinosaur.

First morning there and ready to explore – but the rain continued.  What was worse was all the standing water everywhere.  The sidewalks, the street – it was a struggle to navigate around the puddles while still being mindful of the cars passing by and stirring up more water.  

My first view of a Balkan Beach – completely deserted and rainy.

I know it was raining and this is Bulgaria (party capital of the world), but the place feels half-dead.  Like the resort aspect of the place is well past its prime.  There are plenty of hotels here, restaurants, supermarkets, and pharmacies though half of them were closed. 

The dinosaur pictured above was fronting one of two dinosaur parks that were both closed.  A lot of the buildings I walked past were obviously residential and there were people walking around with their families, but very few appeared to be tourists.  It’s the end of May.  My first day in Bulgaria was on American Memorial Day, traditionally the beginning of summer and yet there’s no one here.  I ate out twice on that first day.  Two other tables filled while I ate breakfast, but for dinner, I had the entire restaurant to myself.  How do these people stay in business?

I have to mention something else about the weather.  I knew the rain was cooling everything down, but it was still May.  No, I don’t know anything about Bulgarian weather patterns, but it felt way too cold to be the beginning of summer.  I went online to check.  Yep.  I knew it wasn’t just me.  According to Microsoft on 5/30/23, at 74 degrees F, there was a record low temperature in Sunny Beach.  So much for getting in some beach time.

By Wednesday, though, the sun finally showed itself.  I could shed the hoodie and the umbrella and really get a sense of the place.  Oh.  There are the tourists.  The rain had kept them hidden, but they were there.  Not enough to sustain the place in my opinion, but at least the boardwalk was a lot livelier. 

There were the usual cafes, souvenir shops, clothing stores and the like on the very long strip.  Also a bunch of tattoo parlors and fish spas.  I’d first spotted one of these in Lisbon and thought it unusual.  There are at least five of them here.  You pay a small fee to sit with your feet in a fish tank while the fish eat away dead skin.  Interesting to look at, but I didn’t indulge.

By the end of the week, the temperature had risen enough to lay out on the beach.  The water was still freezing, but that didn’t stop others from getting in.  The beach offered jets skies, parachuting and speed boat rides.

I have to say that the Brits really get around.  In every location I’ve visited, there have been plenty of British tourists.  Their presence is so strong here that nearly every restaurant has a version of the full English Breakfast.  It became a goal of mine to find the best one on the strip.  This one had the best coffee. 

But this one had fries.  For breakfast 😊.

Being a resort town, there were also plenty of bars and happy hours everywhere.  The place took any opportunity to get you drunk.  I attended a couple of two for one drink specials.

And I am a sucker for an interesting cocktail.

Despite the slow decay of the resort, the beach was still nice.  And since the Bulgarian lev is worth about 50 cents on the American dollar, you can get a decent bang for your buck here.  

Sofia, Bulgaria

Why, oh why am I in Bulgaria?  It’s not exactly a happening hotspot like Amsterdam or Dublin.  I don’t speak a word of Bulgarian and I had no idea if English was widely spoken.  So why?

 A couple reasons.  One my favorite travel bloggers spends a lot of time there and really likes it.  Granted, she stayed in a mountainside village called Bansk and Sofia is the capital, but still, I wanted to get a sense of the country.  I am trying to work my way down to Southeast Asia and Sofia is a nice stopping point between there and The Netherlands.  And also, there’s Schengen.

Now’s a good time to explain the Schengen contract that exists in Europe.  There are roughly 30 countries in Western Europe that have entered into an agreement where anyone in those countries can freely work, travel, and live in any other Schengen country without having to worry about visas or passport control.  All the big dogs are in the contract; France, Italy, Germany, Spain, Greece, Portugal, the Netherlands, and a bunch of others.  The British Isles are not part of the contract nor is India, Asia or any of the African nations.  For anyone who isn’t in this contract, there are restrictions placed on how long you can stay in any of these countries.  For Americans, you can only stay for 90 days out of 180.  Then when your time is up, you have to leave those countries for another 3 months before returning.  I spent a month in Greece, a month in Portugal, and a week in Amsterdam so by my count I have roughly 3 weeks left.  I figure to get my three months in Southeast Asia, New Zealand, and Australia before returning to a Schengen country.

But first, Bulgaria.  Not in Schengen and Americans can stay in the country for 30 days without a visa.  So.  Why not?

I could quickly tell that Bulgaria was not a hotspot for tourism.  I flew into the country on Bulgaria Air – an airline that didn’t even have their own kiosk at Schiphol.  The lady checking in my baggage had to climb over the counter to get some luggage tags from British Air since she didn’t have any.  Didn’t make me very confident about my flight.  But I arrived in Sofia’s tiny airport with zero incidents.  And the chocolate they give you on the plane is pretty tasty.

My first view of Sofia, Bulgaria gave me some serious Athens vibes and not in a good way.  Crowded streets, graffiti covered buildings, and the look of soot on everything.  Not nearly as much trash as in Athens but I still got that vibe.

Like in Lisbon, the apartment I rented for the week doesn’t look like much from the outside, just a gate on the side of a building with peeling stucco in the middle of the block.  But the apartment itself is just as advertised; a studio with a full kitchen, living room and a tiny laundry room.  It was clean and beautifully decorated.  I was pleasantly surprised.

The place is also an easy walk to the commercial center of the city.  Plenty of restaurants, shops, and bars that are always busy unless it’s raining.  The rain was part of my bad impression of the city.  I arrived when everything was gray and drizzly, and it stayed that way off and on for most of the week. Fortunately, enough people speak English to where communicating wasn't too much of a problem.

Since I was still nursing my sore throat, I thought it best to stay out of the rain as much as possible.  That’s always hard to do when I first arrive since I want to scope out the grocery stores and get a lay of the land.  Scouting around for food, I passed by a restaurant called Happy that had a huge picture menu outside.  Went to reception and the woman asked me something that I don’t think I’ve heard in my adult life; smoking or non-smoking.  Oh.  Smoking is still a thing in restaurants here.  That’s not good.

The restaurant was just as huge as the menu as I was directed from one receptionist to another who showed me to my table in the back.  In looking at the waitresses, I got the impression that this place was the Bulgarian version of Hooters.  All the ladies were young, pretty, and tiny.   Their uniforms consisted of plaid shirts and short, tight, red skirts (and the skirts had to be tight if even I’m noticing all the butts).

The menu there, as in most places in Bulgaria, is huge and varied.  They’ll have Bulgarian dishes, of course, but also American, Greek, sushi, pizza – it’s nuts.  In Happy, I ordered a Bulgarian dish and some Asian bread, doing dinner international style.

I quickly got in the habit of looking at the people sitting in the tented off eating areas along the pedestrian walkway.  If I saw an ash tray or a pack of cigarettes, I looked for another place.  Other than the quick takeout places, this left me with few options.  I guessed that I’d have to figure out another of those convection stovetops if I wanted to feed myself. (Nope.  Never did figure that thing out.)

Another issue with the restaurants in Sofia.  I swear, any time I walked into one, it’s like I caught the staff off guard or something.  They act like “oh.  You want to eat here?”  Um.  Yeah.  You are an open restaurant, right?  You do serve food?  First instinct is to think it’s a race issue, but somehow, I don’t think it is.  That’s just how the staff are here.  Doesn’t mean they aren’t polite or efficient, just kind of detached.  Made me even less willing to leave the comfy apartment, so I lived off a casserole I made one night.

And then there’s this sign on the restaurant just steps from my apartment.  Yeah.  I’m not that adventurous of an eater.

I had determined, upon seeing the apartment, that I could hang out here for a while.  Save me from getting on a plane in a week’s time.  The first night in the place had me reconsidering.  1) The apartment is next door to a bar.  I saw the tiny outside seating area when the host showed me the place, but didn’t think anything of it.  Until the shouting and laughing and arguing started.  It lasted for hours.  Then, after a period of quiet 2) the dogs started howling.  I’d noticed that there were many people walking dogs around the square.  Didn’t realize it would be a problem until that night. And then, after another brief break 3) the cats decided to make their presence known by yowling just outside my window.  I was already sleeping in a strange bed in a strange place, I still had the sore throat, and the noise gave me the worst headache.  That first night was not fun.

The following nights weren’t nearly as bad, but the place was still noisy as hell.  It seemed like there was a speakeasy coming from one side of the building.  Jazzy piano music (well-played, don’t get me wrong) alternating with a flute came from the left of the apartment.  Loud shouting came from the right, making me think there were guys playing video games. And then there was always noise from the bar at night. The picture below is my view from the apartment of the back deck of the bar.

My second morning in Bulgaria, after finally getting some real rest, I figured out my issue with Sofia; there’s no water there.  Other than the rain of the first two days and a couple of fountains, the city has no major water source.  If it couldn’t be determined from my choice of places to go, I really like being near large bodies of water.  Amsterdam with its canals, Dublin’s location beside the river Laffey, the Greek Isles (obviously), and, of course, my plan to move to Madeira.  Water makes me happy. It is no longer acceptable to be apart from it. 

So even though Sofia has more of a sense of life than Athens, it’s still not high on my list of favorite places.  It does get points over Athens in that it has a couple of great parks.  Green spaces are always a plus in my book.

And then there are the roses.  Bulgaria is known for its roses.  There are everywhere.  Any time I went into a souvenir shop, the first thing that hit me was the smell of roses.  There were soaps, oils, skincare products, you name it.  That smell always made for a pleasant shopping experience.

The influence of America in Europe continues to amaze me.  I’ve already mentioned the American music everywhere.  You have no idea how surreal it is to be in a Bulgarian bookshop called Orange and hear Chop Suey by System of a Down come on over the speakers.  It is bizarre!  Add that to the English signage everywhere, English phrases on people’s clothing, and the American products and restaurants that have creeped into the culture and it feels more like a spreading cancer than a nice touch for tourists.  McDonald’s continues to have its greasy mitts in every culture along with Starbucks and Dominos.

Hey, I also have a clothing store to go with my restaurant in Greece!  Cool!

Despite my issues with Sofia as a whole, I enjoyed my time in the apartment.  It was a top five for accommodations on this journey.  I wanted to extend my stay, but the place was booked.  The owner offered me another one of his six (!) places, but only for a couple of days.  I declined and prepared to make another move.

Bad day in Amsterdam/Good day in Rotterdam

Travel lets you experience the joys of a new city, new energy and a sense of discovery along with so many other people of different races, creeds and nationalities.  I wake up every day feeling incredibly lucky to have the time, money, and freedom to spend on travel.

And then some days, I just wish I had an electric cattle prod.

AmsterDAM!  Friday was a bad day.

I got a late start – not a bad thing on its own.  I was catching up on some writing.  I sped that up because it was getting increasingly noisy in the hotel and I hadn’t had anything to eat yet.  I figured I’d do my laundry first before my next flight on Sunday.  I had asked the desk clerk about onsite laundry on my first day at the Moxy.  He said, as long as I bought the detergent, he’d let me use the machine on site.  On that crisp Friday morning, I attempted to do just that, laundry and soap in hand, only to be told by a different guy that only guests who were staying for two weeks were allowed to do their laundry on site.  Otherwise, I’d have to schlep my dirty drawers all the way into Amsterdam, by shuttle and train, to get them clean.  Pass.  I’ll just have to wait until my next destination (or see if that other clerk shows up on Saturday).

I thought to do something different and head into Rotterdam for the day. I took the train to the city, got out at the station only to realize that my 3-day pass does not cover trips to Rotterdam.  I could not get out of the station.  There were no ticket booths inside – you have to purchase them before you enter.  My only other choice was to head back to Schiphol or Amsterdam Centraal.  Moral of this story, kids; pay attention to the map they give tourists when you purchase a short-term pass.  It covers a lot of territory in The Netherlands, but not everywhere.  Rotterdam and some of the outlying cities, while not that far from the airport, have to be purchased on a separate ticket.

I got on the train back to the airport only to get about 5 minutes into the journey when a guy comes to check my ticket.  Huh?  No one ever checked before.  Sigh.  I explain to him about the Rotterdam mistake and how, since I couldn’t get out of the terminal, I was heading back to Amsterdam.  He said that was fine, but I was also sitting in the First-Class area (red seats).  I’d have to move to the next car and the blue seats.  Admittedly, that encounter went a lot better than I thought it would.  He wasn’t rude or anything, didn’t charge me for my mistake even though I was prepared to pay.  Instead, I went to the cheap seats as asked – and immediately regretted it.  I understand why someone would pay for the First-Class seats.  That car was empty except for me, which made it gloriously quiet.  As soon as I sat down in the cheap seat, the train made a stop and the rowdiest bunch of Irish guys sat right behind me.  They were talking so much and laughing so loud, it physically hurt to be around them.  I gritted my teeth.  It was only one more stop to Amsterdam Centraal.

Then, of course, I got off the train to be surrounded by oh-so-many more people.  Just what I needed to make my day complete.  I had to take a minute by the canal to calm myself before moving any further.

When I tell you that Amsterdam is stupid with tourists, I mean it.  They’re stopping in the middle of a walkway to take pictures, they’re running into you because they’re too busy staring at their phones, they’re using their kid-filled strollers as battering rams to get through a crowd.  It’s already difficult to maneuver around the bikes, the cars, the trams – everything is made so much worse when you have to dodge and weave so many pedestrians.  And as I was already in a piss-poor mood, this is where the cattle prod comes to mind.

Thank you so much, ma’am for blowing smoke directly in my face.  ZAP!

I’m already risking my life by stepping into the bike lane to avoid you, and you’re backing up?  Are you trying to get me killed?  Well, I’m definitely zapping you!

You haven’t even done anything to me, but you probably would if given a chance.  ZAP!

Before I started slapping everyone in my way, I wandered out of the more touristy areas and to some peace and quiet.  After a while, I realized that I was going around in circles trying to find my way back to the train station.  I finally resorted to using the phone to get back.  By the time I saw the station, I was tired and famished.

I found my way to a nice sit-down place called Cau.  I had a very good (if very pricey meal) that included a couple of drinks (that I really needed) and a piece of Amsterdam’s Dutch Apple Pie (tasty).  Then it was a mad dash to the train station.  I was more than done with this day.

Made it through the train ride and stood outside Schiphol to wait for the hotel shuttle.  And wait.  And wait. I watched the other hotel shuttles return two, sometimes three times and still no Moxy shuttle.  I never before had to wait so long for it.

I dashed inside to go to the bathroom before I started doing the pee-pee dance.  Ended up breaking a couple of nails as I always tend to do when I’m stressed and in a hurry.  Ran back out … and still no shuttle.  I knew this because the large group of people in the waiting area had only gotten bigger while I’d been inside.

I ended up waiting outside Schiphol for almost an hour.  I was just about to get a cab when the shuttle finally showed up.

Friday was a bad day.  That’s all I’m trying to say.

Saturday.  A bright new day and I have a plan.  Buy an actual ticket to Rotterdam (30 euros – the same price as the three-day ticket to Amsterdam and its surrounds) and take the 20-minute train there.  I got out at the station and – the ticket lets me pass.  I was able to leave the station!  Yay!

Something of note about this train station.  One side of it lets out onto a nice path by a pond.  The other side lets out directly to the commercial side of town (pictured above).  Unless you know about this beforehand, there is no way you’d ever guess that.  The train station at Amsterdam Centraal is the same.  The front of the building is this grand, red brick façade that leads to the heart of the city.  The other side has a more modern design and leads to a wide canal.  The facades don’t even look like they’re part of the same building and yet they are.  Funky architecture is a Dutch staple.

Rotterdam is no exception to this rule.  One of its biggest tourist attractions is the cube houses.  This complex is situated near a train station and is touted as the design of the future.  Yeah.  I don’t know about that.  For a small fee, you can tour one of the houses with its sloped ceilings and narrow stairs.  Being tall, as most of the Dutch are, I had to do a lot of ducking to make sure I didn’t bump my head.  And the ‘neighborhood’ is a literal tourist trap.  There’s are multiple souvenir shops in the courtyard to cater to the scores of people prowling around.  Some residents had to put signs in front of their staircases to make sure the tourists don’t bother them.  I enjoyed my visit, but I really don’t see the appeal of living in one of these places.

Sidenote:  screw Dutch stairs.  Having to go to the bathroom a lot, I’ve become very familiar with the dark, narrow, sometimes windy staircases that lead to the bowels of some Dutch restaurant.  They may be space saving and efficient, but they are also scary.  I usually went down them sideways, clutching the rail because I really don’t want to find out how good Dutch medicine is.  Those stairs are awful. 

I wandered around to a street market.  I’m curious now.  Is this an everyday thing, all these festivals and markets just popping up everywhere?  If so, The Netherlands is more of a party country than I realized.  There is always something going on to catch your interest, even if you’re not into drugs and hookers.  The market sold pretty much anything you can think of from clothes to household items, meats and cheeses, as well as hot foods from snacks to full meals. 

I walked the stalls for a while then headed to this insanely designed building.  The Markthal is full of cafes and restaurants along with a few retail stores.  That was interesting enough, but then I exited the place and realized that there are apartments all around the sides of the building.  That is insane to me.  But again, efficient.

I finally broke down and got some fries from inside the Markthal and took my treat to the nearby park to eat it.  Fries are considered more a meal here than a snack and the Dutch prefer to eat them with garlic aioli rather than ketchup.  The sauce on these is more a mild cheesy mayo called fritesauce.  They were delicious but fair warning; don’t immediately dig in.  The things are fresh out of the fryer and you will burn your mouth.

And while I’m on subject of food, a few notes.  I went into a cheese shop and was automatically offered some free cheese.  It was good, but I couldn’t purchase anything since I was leaving soon, on an airplane, and didn’t have a fridge in the hotel.  It’s a shame because the variety of cheeses they produce in The Netherlands is insane and I’d love to try them all.  If you go to Amsterdam, make sure you at least enter a cheese shop.  They’ll give you free cheese and who doesn’t love free cheese?

This is a stroopwafel, a mini one I got with my breakfast cappuccino one day.  They are made up of two crispy wafers with syrup between them.  They sell the larger size in the grocery stores, but you can also buy them at stands around town.  They’re not bad.

Unlike my return trip to Schiphol on Friday, this trip from Rotterdam went off without a hitch.  I spent the rest of the night getting ready for my flight on Sunday.  And that temper tantrum I thought I’d have upon leaving Amsterdam?  Nah.  I’m good.  It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the city and would happily return.  I was just ready to move on, very glad that I wasn't returning to the states.

Unfortunately, I took with me a souvenir that I really didn’t want.  On my last full day in the city, I woke up with a scratchy throat.  It developed into a mild cough that had me scrambling to find some cough drops on the way to my plane in Schiphol.  You know what’s hard to read?  Cough medicine labels in Dutch.  I found something I thought sounded good and asked the cashier about it.  Turns out I was right. So, me and my Dutch cough drops boarded the plane to my next destination. 

(I feel like there is so much more to say about Amsterdam, but three posts are already a lot.  As I write this, it's 3 weeks later and I have moved on to 3 other locales in that time.  Let me just say that Amsterdam is awesome and everyone should visit.  Become one of the stinking hordes of tourists, have some cheese, and try not to pee in the canals.  The Dutch really don't like that.)

  

Amsterdam Part 2

 

T-shirt in hand, I continued my wandering.  Following a crowd, I ended up at Vondel Park, one of the city’s highlights.  And with good reason.  This place is amazing.  It’s huge with multiple ponds scattered about, wide trails to accommodate bikes and pedestrians, and lots of benches and swathes of grass for meeting up.  I love when a city provides nice green spaces for the citizens to get away from the cars and crowds of downtown.  This is by far the nicest such park I’ve seen.

Using my phone to navigate again, I figured I’d visit the Rijksmuseum since it was nearby.  There’s an extensive tram system that will take you from the train station to all the tourist sites, but I was happy to walk.  Being on the ground in Amsterdam really shows you how open the city is.  The souvenir shop will be next to a cheese shop, next to a head shop selling mushrooms, cannabis, edibles, and paraphernalia, next to a café, next to a sex shop.  You can get all your vices fed on one street with zero shame.  I walked into one sex shop, compared the dildos for color, shape, length, then passed by the ball gags and the stand of pornographic postcards, then just left for the next shop.  Easy.

And just a note -- what is up with these duck shops?  I've seen them in mutitple European cities.  Why?  What's the deal with the ducks!?!

Getting into the museum was not so easy.  There is no ticket booth.  Instead, there is a barcode on one of the doors.  You have to scan it with your phone (it is truly scary how pervasive those things have become – to the point where you can’t enter a facility without one) and buy the tickets online.  Except it wouldn’t let me.  I found the site just fine, but I guess the museum was sold out for the next few days.  Oh well.  I can really take museums or leave them.  Same with churches.  They are pretty to look at and I can appreciate the history, but I’ve always been weirded out going into them as a tourist.  Even for a heathen like myself, it seems sacrilegious.

Thursday arrived as another pretty day.  The Moxy offers a decent breakfast, not as good as the free breakfast in Woodstock, but still worth the $15.  And just to top Mykonos, this place not only had two of those coffee machines, it also had another machine that dispensed water and juice.  Very nice.

After a hearty breakfast, I got my token for the shuttle, rode to Schiphol, and headed for the train into the city.  I then went straight to the Lovers Canal Tours.  12 euros gets you a one-hour tour through the city with a recorded voice (dubbed in 16 languages) pointing out the sites.  The boat was enclosed (the main reason I picked it because the freaking wind was so strong) and a pleasant way to the see parts of the city one might miss because of all the walking involved.

Wandering off afterwards, I found yet another park.  Not as nice as Vondel, but it’s still another gathering space that I highly enjoyed.  Yes, I can admit it.  Even having no kids, I am still an old grandma at heart.  I prefer a park to a nightclub.  And, continuing that theme, I’m usually asleep by 10 or 10:30.  So if you want to know what the night life is like in Amsterdam, I am not the one to ask.  I’m sure it’s full of drunken, high tourists looking to get laid and peeing in the canals.  A little too much excitement for me.  Just hand me some breadcrumbs so I can feed the birds.

Just beyond the park was a strip mall of sorts.  A few restaurants were next to a museum.  The eateries weren’t to my taste, so I headed to the Fabrique Des Lumieres to join the other culture aficionados.  Honestly, I was just looking for a bathroom.  But, hey, I can spend 16 euros for some culture after my call of nature break.  I entered the space in near darkness.  Turns out the display is a roughly 10-minute loop of Dali’s paintings projected in vibrant color in a 360-degree rotation.

After the Dali display there was a similar 5-minute one of Gaudi’s works.  Classical music played during Gaudi, but Pink Floyd was the soundtrack for Dali.  And it was very fitting considering his trippy work.  I can just imagine someone picking up one of the multitudes of pot products in the city then going to this exhibit and tripping out.  Dude.  The colors.

Directly across from the museum was a street fair full of food trucks.   An overwhelming amount of food trucks.  

Any variety of food you wanted could be found here.  I wanted to sample some of the BBQ, or tacos or desserts, but was concerned that I didn’t have any cash on me.  In fact, I hadn’t hit an ATM the entire time I was in Amsterdam because I didn’t need to.  The Dutch are very big on tap to pay – as long as you have a credit/debit card with a chip, you are good to go anywhere in the city.  Including, as it turns out, this street fair.  Seems they know that no one carries cash here so everyone has either the hand-held readers I’ve seen all over Europe, or they have a set up on their phones.  No worries as everyone is prepared to take your business.

There was a stand in the back full of Jamaican people just burning some chicken.  The smell of it wafted over the entire fair, drawing enough people that they had their own cordoned-off line.  This is the choice of cart that I made and it sure was tasty. 

I followed it up with a warm apple tart from a British stand.  That was strange – less apple and more of a mixed berry tart with marshmallow (the Devil’s Pillows), ice cream and topped with dried flowers, but still a nice end to the meal.

Please note that this was on a Thursday in the middle of the day.  The museum exhibit was packed as was the street food fair and the park.  And you can’t tell me that all these people were tourists – too many of them spoke Dutch.  It’s a testament to the culture that so many people have enough leisure time to just spend in the park in the middle of a workday or have enough personal leave to take the family to a street fair.