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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”
This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)
That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”
For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.
In the meantime:
October 10, 2026 – The last post talked about my first day in Amsterdam. (Before meeting up with my brother and his wife, then hiking 140 miles on Holland’s GR5, through Holland and Belgium.) That first day started last August 17, after I got to Schiphol Airport early in the morning. This post will talk about my first full day, after recuperating from red-eye flight jet lag.
I wanted to meet up with Tom and Carol at Amsterdam’s “Centraal” train station on Wednesday the 19th, so on the 18th I planned to hike the seven miles up there just to make sure it was where it was supposed to be. (And maybe check out the oldest pub in Amsterdam?)
Yet another reason: To get in a good practice hike to prepare for the real one.
I wanted to get an early start but slept late, until 10:15; delayed recuperation. The forecast: 66 degrees going up 71 – it was in the 90s when I left Atlanta – and rain chances 20 to 30%. So I wore my rain jacket both for warmth and rain protection. The Ramada by Schiphol offered a big breakfast buffet, but it cost 22 Euros and I usually don’t eat that much money’s worth. I wanted to get going, and figured I could find a cheaper place on the way to the station.
I did, eventually; 3.3 miles and a good 90-minutes’ hike from the hotel. (I did have the foresight to eat the protein bar from Lidl the night before, and some English breakfast tea.*)
At first, heading out Sloterweg the weather was overcast and cool. Then that rain jacket turned out a good idea; a bit later I got sprinkled on. But I reveled in the fact of having good directions on my phone. As I texted my partner back home – hiking up Sloterweg – “Loving the Roamless wifi. And knowing where the hell I’m going!” (She’d hooked me up with it before I left.)
That’s how I found Benji’s Nieuw-West, off Sloterweg at “Maassluisstraat 243.”
Like the Cafe Cachet I’d visited the afternoon before, I had trouble deciphering the menu and trying to find something both edible and “fiscally responsible.” I ended up getting scrambled eggs on a big slab of brown bread. The cost? Nine Euros, along with a large Café Americano, at 4,8 Euros. (Eight Euros less than the hotel buffet.) This place was also very chic, so I didn’t ask for ketchup for the scrambled eggs; I didn’t want to appear gauche.
Using my Roamless access to Google Maps I could see I was almost halfway there; I’d hiked 5.4 kilometers with 6.8 left to the station. Leaving Benji’s I texted home, “Tomorrow I’ll hike back to the station from the hotel, with full pack, but only there, not there and back. A mere seven miles.” (I’d meet up with Tom and Carol at the station, and from there go to our lodging.) On the way I hiked through Vondelpark, Amsterdam’s largest and most famous park, with a “lush, English-style landscape of winding paths, expansive lawns and scenic ponds.” (Including the Brouwerij ‘t IJ neemt ‘t Blauwe Theehuis; a brewery in a tree-house I somehow missed.)
Crossing over the Singelgracht canal – a mile and a half from the station and half a mile past the tree-house – I saw a Hard Rock Cafe. I texted a photo to Carol; by then they were in Paris, getting ready to take the train to Amsterdam. (She collects Hard Rock souvenirs from all over the world.) From there I hiked another mile and a half and saw that the Central Station really was right where it was supposed to be. (“BTW, the WC in Amsterdam’s Central Station charges. Not sure how much. I’ll use the one at this Cafe.”) As in: I sauntered into and through the vast glass-roofed edifice, checking things out, then headed over to that Cafe Karpershoek I’d heard about.
Established in 1606 it’s said to be the oldest pub in the city; “Coming out of Amsterdam Central Train Station and faced with a hail storm, this bar just across the road was a great place to stop and get a drink.”) I didn’t see a hail storm, but it was indeed a great place to stop after my long hike. It was so good – I felt so good being there – that I didn’t take the usual picture of my beer or lunch. I checked my wrist-(stop)-watch, which said I’d done three hours actual hiking time to get there. My feet were getting a bit sore so figured I’d take a bus back to Niew Sloten. That would take 5.2 miles off the hike back but still leave a mere 47 minute walk to the hotel.
It was a beautiful plan. Unfortunately, once back inside the station I found the bus-ticket office busy, crowded and intimidating. (All in Dutch.) As I texted back home, “Wanted to take a tram back but the waiting room line was all screwed up.” I found I later I could just have used the tap on, tap off system, with my credit card. (No need to buy a ticket in advance.)
So I ended up walking the whole seven miles back to the hotel, the last part in the near-darkness down Sloterweg. Once inside I texted home, “Got back to the room with battery dead and needing a 1.5 hour recharge. 14-plus miles. Gonna see if there’s a bus or tram station near here. And get a beer.” I went down to the hotel bar, ordered a nine-Euro Birra Moretti – rather incongruous, I thought – and found out there was a bus stop eight minutes away. (I’d acquired a taste for Moretti on Italy’s Way of St. Francis in 2022.) Later, at 5:42 a.m. body-clock time, I texted home, “Hitting the sack. Legs achy, incipient blister on my right foot. ‘Tomorrow.’” As in, “I’m to meet Tom and Carol at Amsterdam Centraal,” but not hiking seven miles. (If I could help it.)
The forecast for tomorrow was rain until 11:00, so I definitely wanted to find that bus stop eight minutes away. And the rain prompted my decision to splurge for the no-ala-carte hotel breakfast at 22 Euros. I got two cups of coffee, plenty of orange juice and a wide variety: cold cuts, fruit, cereal. Back to the room, with all my worldly goods stashed in the 20-pound backpack, I took one last look around the room I’d grown to love, and headed out.
With my Roamless wifi I’d seen that there was no direct route, so I took a bus – from that stop eight minutes away – then a train, and then another train. Tom and Carol were scheduled to arrive at 1:56 p.m., but then I got a Whatsapp text. Train delayed, they wouldn’t arrive until 2:20, so I had plenty of time to wander around, then wander around some more. I positioned myself where I thought they’d come out, but either I was wrong or they were sneaky. The sun came out, so I walked outside, looking for a dry spot to sit. “Waiting, waiting, waiting,” as the guy said in Casablanca. (But not quite reflecting a “sense of despair and stagnation.”)
Finally I figured I could wait more comfortably the cafe, so I headed over through Stationsplein Square and past the Lovers Canal Cruise boats. I got through the front door, waved to the waiter who’d served me the day before – and there they were. Tom and Carol, sitting in the sunlit nook shown in the photo below, chatting amiably with two couples at the next table who spoke the first “American” in three days. And that was that. The three hiking-amigos were together at last, almost ready to start their 140-mile trek through parts of Holland and Belgium.
(I’d mentioned the Cafe Karpershoek in pre-departure emails, and they took it to heart.)
Next up? Tom figured we could hike the mile and a half to the apartment, then get supplies for Thursday and Friday before Hook of Holland. During those two days we’d do some touristy stuff – like the Van Gogh museum and maybe the Heineken tour – but that’s a story for next time.
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The upper image is courtesy of Vondelpark in Amsterdam. See also the Wikipedia article.
Re: English breakfast tea. I had to use the tea bag it came in, despite long ago discovering that Tea Bags Contain Microplastics. Meaning if I do another trip to Europe next year I need to bring along that stainless steel tea filter I got some time ago.
Re: The treehouse brewery: “Since its establishment in 1985, it has been impossible to imagine Amsterdam East without the artisanal Brewery ‘t IJ. Located next to the original windmill De Gooyer in Oost, it has now become an icon of the city. This summer ‘t Blauwe Theehuis in Vondelpark will be transformed into a tasting room of the famous beer brewer.” (And somehow I missed it.)
“Tap on, tap off.” See How Amsterdam public transport works. Scroll down to see “The universal rule: tap on, tap off.”
The lower image is courtesy of “cafe karpershoek amsterdam Images.”
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Re: The Israelite. Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina. Thus the “Carolina Israelite.” I on the other hand am a “classic 75-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia. Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”
Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s. He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.” (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.” But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life. As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today. He still got a kick out of life. For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.
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