Out in the morning to Cyberlounge and then, old-hand skilled navigator that I am, across on Marnixstraat all the way without stopping or consulting a map to what I intuit is the Haarlemmerplein without ever seeing a sign.

Here's a shot of the Orangebrug, which is not all that far from the Haarlemmerplein:

And so, hooking a right onto Haarlemmerdijk I cruise along very carefully watching facades to my right so that I won't miss that wonderful Moroccan place that Rina and I had approached from the other direction and of which I remember neither the name nor even the location other than that it was on south side of the trail of streets named Haarlemmersomething.

I spot a post office first, and since I had been dreading walking to the main Post Kontoor where there is no place to leave the Segway, I was real happy to see that parking would be easy. How easily we accustom ourselves to changes. Three weeks ago I would have been dumbfounded at the concept of "parking is easy" in reference to a Segway since one of the very finest features of the Segway is that parking is sooooooooo easy because all you have to do is chain it to the nearest fixed object. Alas, in Amsterdam, you are not the only one who wants to chain something to a fixed object. Bicycles. Hundreds and hundreds of thousands of bicycles.

Thus, near every fixed object that is not a proper bicycle stand are signs ranging from the universal symbol of a bicycle inside a circle with a bar through it, to the graciously formal, "no bicycles, if you please," to the more abrupt, "don't place bicycles here," to the horrific "to give thee warning, if thou placest thy bicycle here it will be put through a machine that grinds it up and extrudes it as a couple of feet of chain-link fencing." So a legal place to chain your fiets or in my case fietsje is difficult to find, particularly one that because of its atypical shape can only be attached to things in atypical ways. I should also mention that almost all the illegal places are festooned with bicycles.

As I'm about to pull away from the post office, I get into conversation with a bicyclist, joined by a couple of pedestrians. I must say, as much as I dislike stereotypes and all, that persons who come up to me and want to talk about the Segway tend to be better-looking than usual, and in Amsterdam that's saying a lot. And when I say "persons" I mean folks of all ages and sexes and inclinations. Those two young women who stopped me yesterday afternoon in front of the university were so gorgeous and buffed in the lean Dutch way that merely answering their questions made me feel like a dirty old man.

Anyhow, as I leave my bicyclist I inquire whether he knows of a Moroccan store on this side of the street somewhere around here. I mention that the Moroccan sells some aubergine spread (baba ganoush) and some Turkish yogurt that are the best of their genres that I ever ate. He tells me the place is only a couple of blocks down the street.

Yes, as I suspected, the Moroccan speaks French, and I'm expecting it to be a pleasant relief from struggling with Dutch, but before we even get going, he is distracted by something outside and runs shouting to his door. It is the bicyclist with whom I had just been chatting. The two Moroccan have a rapid fire conversation in Arabic but suddenly the shopkeeper turns and looks at me with a great smile on his face. Clearly, the bicyclist has passed on my inquiry about the shop. Well yes, there is nothing sweeter than a compliment given you by someone who never dreamed it would get back to you.

The bad news is that when the shopkeeper comes back into the store and we start talking, I discover that I have forgot much of my French, and I find myself stumbling around horribly. Little did I realize that the Dutch that I'm acquiring would be at the expense of my French. Sigh.

At least I can still eat. Culinary alert, folks. You read it here first. To 250 ml. of Yayik Ayrani (otherwise known as "yogurtdrink" and made in the Netherlands according to Turkish methods) add a roughly equal amount of Egyptian mango nectar. Mix well. Serve chilled. The mango nectar by itself is so thick and sweet that it's a bit cloying. The yogurt drink by itself has a pleasant tart taste but has the texture and appearance of milk of magnesia and thus has too many negative associations to be fully enjoyed on its own. However, their combination is so delicious that it's a good thing I didn't have a gallon of each component on hand.

I tell you one thing, as soon as I return to SF I'll be checking the Turkish consulate for the names of the shops where they buy their yogurts and yogurt drinks. Late Note: When I returned to San Francisco I discovered that once again, I seem to have unnecessarily invented the wheel. Somebody beat me to it. Centuries, if not millennia ago. It's called kefir and many fruit flavors of it are sold in San Francisco markets. It tastes very much like that mixture I concocted above.

A popular soft drink here that I don't expect to be seeing in the US is the "Sisi Fruitmania," which I found cloyingly sweet.

After a midday rest I went out on foot in search of the DVD that I read about in a Dutch gay magazine (well, after all the kind help I had to buy something in that gay bookstore). The DVD is of the six shows that Sacha Baron Cohen made for Dutch television. Cohen is famous for his alter ego as Ali G on British television, and I mentioned having seen one of his shows in 2001. His new alter ego is Bruno, an amazingly stupid gay Austrian interviewer, the opposite in every way but the stupidity of Ali G. In these six shows for Dutch TV, Cohen conducts interviews in America of various Americans from all walks of life, including a professional football player and a skinhead, who share only one thing in common: They are unaware that Bruno is a famous British comic. So the interviews are, well, straight. I can't wait to see this. Late Note: These shows were chopped up and televised in America in late 2004.