Nov 28, 2006
AV...
"I meant to stay in Amsterdam for one week, and ended up staying one month at the Flying Pig Downtown. It has a great staff, besides that techno-pretty-boy bartender (all the other bartenders were awesome, I fell in love with one named Nadjia). Some of the best memories of my entire Euro holiday were at the Pig Downtown. Everyone staying there had a story of how they got there and everyone was friendly. The only warning I might have is avoid the Americans, and this is coming from an American. I was so comfortable I wrote a book at the bar. This is the best hostel I ever stayed at!"
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6 comments:
You going somewhere?
You turn into grapehead?
Who's AV?
I always thought the Flying Pig looked like the most touristy Americany hostel in town.
Every time I remember walking by there would a line out the door of traverlers (mostly American) trying to get in...
I stayed in an attic above a falafel stand one night. I probably would have preferred the pig. The other places I stayed just sort of blended in with the substances that were in my body at the time...
CORRECTION: Should read...
there would "be" a
this is adam venter's debut.
Staying at the Flying Pig is fun, but the one further west by the park (a good place to read & write) is much better. The area near the train station (Downtown) wears thin on you after a few days. I initially stayed at Downtown and hung out with Americans for a few days until they became completely unbearable, not because they were that crude or snobby, but control freaks who did all the stupid stuff in town. The Downtown also seems to get some really hardcore druggies.
You meet a lot of great people at the hostel, but of course the temptation is sometimes to never leave its chill room, which is more social than a coffeeshop where you can get work done (I filled up a notebook in an hour and then lost it in the next hour). Also everyone in the chill room is proud of their coffeeshop purchases so no one wants yours, so the only way to come off as generous is to bring local cheese (Brits will insist on knives rather than breaking off pieces) and foot powder/ Icy Hot. Once at the park hostel the ceiling seemed to be closing in on me so I walked outside to the park and there were Mongolian throat singers right there, which brought on a sort of epiphany.
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