For some strange reason my best friend and my cousin enlist me to join them on a tri-city tour over seven days. Why strange? Because it’s still a bit nippy, but being the sport I am, I say, why not, we’ll just hope for the best……… so here goes!

AMSTERDAM
Once we arrive in Amsterdam, we decide to walk it out to the Hotel Pulitzer. We figured, since it was Amsterdam, nothing would be that far. So we walked out, admired the station’s beauty, the number of bikes all around and then got to stepping. And we stepped alright, stepped for about a half hour until we found the hotel.

Once we discover it, we also agree that it is awesome, one of the coolest hotels I’ve ever seen, with old world charm and new school amenities including a stand-up shoe polishing device. That’s what the kids call, “Baller.”

Once we drop off our stuff and wash our well-traveled faces off, we decide to wander around Amsterdam for something to eat. What we stumbled upon surprised us: Mexican food.

Who knew?

We ordered tacos and cervesas and happily ate our food, enjoying the fact that we had travelled all the way to Europe to eat tacos.

On Saturday, we all came to the conclusion that two-wheeled transport would be the best way to get around Amsterdam. Now, you have to understand that bikes are the chosen form of getting around in The Netherlands, cars and walking don’t even come close. It’s amazing to see the volume of people travelling this way, as a way of life.

Maybe that explains why no one is fat and everyone is tall. Bikes, that’s the solution. I wish I biked when I was younger, maybe I would be taller now If I did.

It should be noted that no one, and I mean no one, wears bike helmets. Now, maybe it’s just me, but I think this is slightly dangerous. But who am I to judge? I must pound the pedals to try and catch up to Hank (my best friend, Henry.)

That boy can bike, let me tell you. His little Chinese legs were pounding those pedals like pistons. It was actually quite funny to watch, but I couldn’t laugh because I was huffing and puffing trying to not let him get too far ahead.

Once we get off the bikes, we explore the Amsterdam flower market and have dinner at a pub not too far away from our hotel. I eat some pork, stuffed with rosemary and I think I might need to try that recipe myself.

On Sunday, we explore the Jewish quarter and even though Henry’s rookie mistake, leave us without a market to explore, we manage to get to the Van Gogh and ponder some of the greatest works in the art world.

After an afternoon of exploring the art museums, we quickly grab a bite to eat at a nearby café and made our way back to the hotel to pick up our things and then on to the train station for the next leg of our adventure, Paris.

PARIS
It should be noted that Amsterdam and Paris are not close at all. In fact it takes about four hours via high speed train to get there. We travel in the late afternoon and arrive between 7 and 8 p.m.

That’s when the trouble begins.

I had forgotten to print out the reservation for the hotel and only have the name, not the address or phone number of the Best Western we were staying at. After a good 30 minutes in the taxi, we find our Best Western, one of about 50 in Paris. The odds are not in our favour.

Anyways, we are simply excited to just lay down for a bit and relax before grabbing something to eat for dinner. Our excitement turns to horror when we discover that the hotel does not have our reservation.

We did not plan on that happening, then again, we didn’t plan on getting lost either.

So we sit there, me trying to explain things in French, while trying to pull up the reservation in my e-mail and all of it getting nowhere because the front desk clerk can’t find the reservation in his system………his system, being a piece of paper that he looks at a hundred times hoping that our names appear so he could go back to his MSN conversation.


After at least an hour of going back and forth, trying to sort it out with the hotel’s head office, we decide to take a break and got something to eat. Because we were in the Opera district, everything is going to be expensive, we know that, since Paris has a reputation.

Paris is expensive: confirmed. Toast with chorizo sausage: 8€, glass of wine 6.50€, food in your belly after arguing for more than an hour: priceless.

So it is back to the hotel after our grossly overpriced meal and finally come to the conclusion that the manager would arrive in the morning and would take care of things. In the meantime, the hotel would provide a room at a discounted price and we would have a room to stretch out.

We end up getting a duplex room and it is nice and comfy. We relax knowing that we could deal with the problem in the morning.

Monday morning came and went. We all slept in. We missed the morning and the hotel-provided breakfast. The result is sort of a mixed blessing because we get to try the crepes at the corner and they are absolutely fabulous, banana and lemon. By this time, we are all starving and we wolf down the crepes with enthusiasm.

Afterwards we walk to the Richard Branson owned Virgin Music Store to purchase some entry tickets for the L’Ouvre.

Every guidebook in the world says not to purchase your tickets at the museum, so we decide to take their advice and buy tickets elsewhere. Now the end result is bypassing the line and entering one of the lesser used entry ways into the museum.

It’s amazing, the size of the L’Ouvre, because you’ve heard how big it is, but there is no way to describe it in terms of size. It’s gigantic. Mercifully divided into wings, the museum is sorted by period and style, so you don’t have to walk through everything to see what you want.

Of course, most people want to see the Mona Lisa and we are no exception. We make our way to the masterpiece and are impressed by all the Italian art we see along the way - sculpture, paintings, drawings, tapestries. Amazing, but also it can be quite overwhelming with the crowds and volume of art. I see why people take days to go through it all. It’s a matter of how much the brain can absorb.

I couldn’t help but think of the DaVinci Code as I walk through the museum because a lot of the action from the book takes place at the famous museum.

On Tuesday, we do more walking around Paris, this time, being fueled by hotel breakfast and make our way to Sacre Coeur Basilica, one of the most amazing cathedrals I’ve ever seen. We had to climb about a thousand steps, but once you get to the top, it offers a fantastic view of the city.

For dinner, we found the Steak Frites we were looking for, at Relais de L’Entrecot. There is no menu. They only serve Steak Frites. That’s it. They do it well. They have a special sauce and they fry their frites in palm oil. I don’t think that palm oil is healthy, but it sure is tasty.

After we had fill our stomachs beyond belief, we decide that we need to walk it off. What better way to walk off a giant meal than by walking down to the Arc de Triomphe? I agree. We make the decision that we need at least one photograph of all of us together, so Henry sets up his tripod and we all get in on the picture. The results are good, but the fun isn’t over yet. I decide that it would be cool to get a picture of me kicking Henry by the Arc. It took about 50 tries, but it works (sort of) and the looks from people passing by were classic!

LONDON
On Wednesday, we wake up at the crack of dawn to make our 7:43 a.m. Eurostar to London. We manage to grab some breakfast at the train station before boarding. Now it might be the accumulation of walking, or eating or late nights, but basically as soon as I sit down on that train – I fall asleep. Like dead asleep. The two-hour journey seems like two minutes. Greg passed out like a wino, so it is only Henry who is awake for the entire journey. He reminds us of that when we awake in London.

Once we gather our wits about us, we decide that we are re going to explore the city a little bit before meeting up with Meredith and Mike, who we plan to stay with for the remainder of our adventure. They both work and will meet with us around 6:30 p.m.

We walk around Oxford Street where some of the best shops are and it’s easy to see why people see London as a shopping Mecca. It’s got everything one could possibly ever want.

We try to get fish and chips, but it’s too early and the pubs are only serving breakfast. We settle on something a little less British for lunch, Pizza Hut. And not just Pizza Hut, but the Pizza Hut buffet. How American. We couldn’t resist, it was seven pounds!

After picking up some cufflinks and gear from the shops around Oxford Street, we met up with our hosts for dinner. You’re not going to guess where though. Think back to Paris. Think back to Steak Frites, think back to Relais de L’Entrecot. Yes, that’s right, same restaurant, different city, two nights in a row! This isn’t a bad thing, just an interesting thing. We finish off our long day with a pint from a local pub and then it is off to sleep. Much needed sleep.

I wake up not the next morning, but the next afternoon, around noon. I think I might have taken a Nyquil before bed, that would explain it. Henry had no excuse and Greg, I think, was up at 9 a.m. pacing back and forth until we woke up.

Greg grabs some coffee from Starbucks and we fuel up before heading off for some traditional fish and chips. I forget the name of the place, but it doesn’t matter because I won’t be going back. Here’s why.

We go into this old, rustic fish and chip place that looks like it hasn’t changed in 50 years and sit down. The owner is there, greeting everyone and there are obviously regulars in there as well. This is the place to be for fish and chips in London, or so I think.

We order our Cokes and they come with bottles and glasses. Perfect, we order our halibut and chips. Awesome. They arrive in front of us. Now I would normally just start eating, but Greg wants to find out what oil they use because he’s allergic to sunflower oil. Cool, so I ask.

Peanut oil.

Excuse me?

Peanut oil.

I thought you just said Peanut oil.

I just did.

Once my heart stops beating out of my chest for coming one bite away from death, I am able to order steamed fish and mushy peas. It tastes as bland as it sounds.

It’s better than being dead though, rest assured. I promise myself that I would have fish and chips later and that my heart would stop beating so hard eventually.

After leaving the restaurant, we head over to London Bridge, and let me tell you, it’s cold on that bridge. I take the time to put Henry in the torture rack of doom at London Bridge and the results on digital film are great.

We walk through some gardens to make it to Buckingham Palace and while we always think of Buckingham Palace as England’s White House, it actually wasn’t all that impressive. Maybe we don’t give it all that much attention since we are cold and there are no tours running (August and September only), but we find it to be no more than just a huge house with guards outside.

We walk from the palace to a pub called “Bag O Nails” and I finally have my beloved fish and chips, cooked in vegetable oil. Man, were they tasty. The boys have the traditional Bangers and Mash and they enjoy them thoroughly.

Afterwards we make our way to Harrod’s, Mohammed El-Fayed’s super-expensive department store. The only part of the shop that is busy is the food department, selling high-end everything.

That evening also has us on a wild goose chase for Marks and Spencer for jeans, but by the time we find it, the bloody store is closed.

By this time, we are suffering from sore feet. We call it a day by walking back to the apartment, playing dominoes and a prison card game called Bid. I don’t know if the game actually originated in prison, but that’s what Greg says.

On Friday morning, we actually get out of bed at a decent hour to get a jump start on the day. Hank and I grab coffee at Starbucks (I know, we should branch out a little bit) before heading to the much-hyped, Borough market. The Rough Guide to England and my friend, Alice, had suggested the best market in the city is Borough. They weren’t joking.


Borough Market is definitely the coolest market I’ve seen in Europe so far, including those in Brussels, Christmas markets in Germany, nothing compares. The food stalls, the sweets, the produce, the smells, like you wouldn’t believe - baked goods, preserves, cheeses from all over the globe. Needless to say I was in Heaven. And even though I just had a muffin with coffee, the aromas compel me to eat again.

But what to choose?

The human stomach has a limited amount of space available. I have to choose wisely. I settle on the ultimate grilled cheese sandwich filled with white cheddar cheese, yogurt cheese, red onions and grilled on a Panini press until golden brown. And yes, it tastes just as good as it sounds.

Hank and Greg opt for the sausage route, drowning in sauerkraut. They enjoy it, but I doubt they enjoy it more than I enjoy my sandwich. The perfect complement is to have an artisanal juice. I feel like a champion after that meal.

What better way to end than with a coffee?

We decide on Costa Rican coffee from a stall that was doing filter coffee and the result is some of the strongest, most bitter coffee I’ve ever tasted, but it grows on me. And I’m sure hair grows on my chest as well, but there is enough sugar available to mellow it out.

After coffee we head to Marks & Spencer to rid them of their entire Ginger Snap stock since they are the most delicious treat on the face of the earth. So much so that Greg and Henry must each buy a carry-on to take them back for friends and family.

I look for my Mom’s Mr. Bakewell Tarts and Malt Loaf, but there are none to be found. She only asks me for two things and I can’t find them. Instead I send home some body butter and ginger snaps from “Marks & Sparks” as the Brits affectionately call the stores.

After all that walking around, we need a little snack and found just the thing, a Pastie. Like a Jamaican beef patty, but British, thus, not Jamaican at all. You get the idea.

We travel back to the apartment and get ready for the big night out. A while back, my friends, Jacinta and Alice, had thought of some cool venues for us to check out in London. The crown jewel of all that planning is an evening spent at Home House, a private members club in London and then onto the Sanderson Hotel bar with the longest bar in London, thus the name, Long Bar.

The private members club, Home House is just as you would expect a private members club to be – boars’ heads, marble floors, spiral staircases, high back chairs, crystal chandeliers. I am expecting someone to check my credit card limit as I step through the doors, but we are on the guest list.

Alice and Jacinta have a boss who is a member at the club so via that connection, we get without a problem. We stay around for a few hours, tour the house, all the various rooms, with different themes, patios and gardens and it is great to see how the other half lives. They roll out son.

Conversation is easy with husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, new friends, old friends. And most of us have just met. It is nice to see that people can hit it off like that.

From Home House it is on to the Sanderson Hotel to Long Bar. Yeah, they are right, the bar is pretty long and the chairs have eyes on them. Cool place and we stick around for another hour or so and then it is time to say goodbye.

So it’s the end of our crazy week, but visiting Amsterdam, Paris and London at light speed with my best buddies, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

Great, boys, what a trip!

Summary Observations
AMSTERDAM: I’ve spoken about weather in all three cities that we visited, and Amsterdam is no exception. While it was bitterly cold for the three days we were in Amsterdam, we could not have had more fun on two legs and two wheels.

The best way to see the city is from the streets, and by the streets I mean rent and bike and get going. The city is the most bike friendly place I’ve ever seen, with bikes lining every street. It probably explains the lack of obesity and length of human beings in that country. They feel free to grow to enormous heights because they aren’t walking or running, they’re biking, thus lengthening their limbs.

We didn’t make it into the Anne Frank house and when I return to Amsterdam, I will be sure to get up early and check it out. Judging from the line outside, it’s worth the visit.

PARIS: If you’re mad over culture, history and/or red wine, Paris is the place for you. Boasting some of the most scenic, postcard images in all of Europe, it is the city that you can take in all the pictures that you’ve been seeing for years.

The Eiffel Tower (do climb it), Arc de Triomph (go to the centre), L’Ouvre (don‘t try to do it all), Notre Dame, Sacre Coeur, etc. are all worth checking out. That being said, once you’re finished with those places, there is still a lot to be discovered.

While I didn’t find the food to be overly delicious, it did the trick. The best meal we had was the Steak Frites we had at Relais de L’Entrecot.

Since we were in Paris, we were assuming that everyone we saw on the streets would look like models, straight off the runways, but this was not the case. Perhaps we were in the wrong neighbourhoods, but there were just a handful of attractive women in Paris. Disappointment would be putting it lightly. We did find more attractive women in the evening, so one can only assume that the attractive women work during the day. This is good to know.

Again, I would be willing to visit Paris again (my friend Jason lived there for a number of years) to look around in the neighbourhoods, further away from the tourist parts of town. From what I understand, there are some roads less travelled there and they are worth the look. More time equals more freedom. Come on summer, give me the chance.

LONDON is probably the most liveable of all the cities I’ve visited in my brief European travels. It has all the things that travellers look for, great food, style, culture, history and a mixture of people that reminds me of Toronto. The diversity is everywhere from the sidewalks littered with people of all races, ages and genders, to the cars that range from super-compact to ungodly gigantic and grossly overpriced.

Speaking of overpriced, London, by far was the most expensive city I’ve visited. The London visitor must spend a pound the way they would normally spend a dollar. And when the pound to dollar ratio is almost 2 to 1, its very hard to spend the cash in your pocket, that is unless you plan to buy ginger snaps, and then it’s never a problem.

People also tend to complain about English food, having no taste and no variety, but our three musketeers didn’t find this to be the case. We were all well fed in London, from Steak Frites, Pasties and Bangers and Mash, to Fish and Chips with Mushy Peas. It may not be all molecular gastronomy, but it sure was tasty to us.

In terms of culture, it is easy to see why people are able to visit multiple times for the vast museum exhibits, palaces, churches and monuments that go from river to city. London was the easiest city to get around in via public transport. The tube is clean and efficient, quick and most importantly, criss-crosses the city in a number of different ways.

It was my first time in London, but it certainly won’t be my last. I would love to see it in the summer time, although the crowds will be horrid.