Entry 3 – The Lost Diary of Vincent Vega
10:47am
I’m in the hotel room.
Smaller than I expected. Clean though. Window looks out over a canal. I’ve never had a room with a canal view before. I don’t know how I feel about it yet. I’m going to reserve judgment.
The taxi ride from the airport was something.
The driver didn’t speak. Just drove. Aggressive accordion music on the radio. I didn’t say anything. It’s his car.
What I will say is the man navigated through what I conservatively estimate was forty seven bicycles without slowing down once. Not a flinch. Not a brake tap. Like the bikes weren’t there at all. Like he and the bikes had an arrangement nobody told me about.
I held the door handle the entire ride.
When we arrived he turned down the accordion – just slightly – and said one word.
“Amsterdam.”
Like he was introducing us.
Like I needed to know.
I tipped him anyway.
The bed looks good.
I’m going to sleep for two hours and then figure out this city.
10:23pm
I didn’t sleep two hours.
I slept four.
No regrets.
I went out around three in the afternoon. Just walked. No destination. No plan. Which is not how I normally operate but Marsellus didn’t need me until Saturday so I had time to figure out what normal looks like in Amsterdam.
First thing I noticed – the bikes are everywhere. Not just on the roads. Everywhere. On the sidewalks. Parked in rows along the canals. Moving in every direction simultaneously with complete confidence. Nobody wears a helmet. Nobody seems concerned. I nearly got hit twice in the first ten minutes.
the second time the rider looked at ME like I was the problem. Moi! Can you believe that??
I may be the problem.
the city is beautiful though. I’ll say that. Narrow streets. Old buildings that lean slightly like they’re listening to the canal conversation below. Everything feels like it was built a long time ago and nobody saw any reason to change it.
I found breakfast at a place around the corner from the hotel. Small. No menu in English. I pointed at what the man next to me was eating.
Eggs. Bread. Some kind of meat situation I couldn’t identify but didn’t need to.
The coffee was real coffee.
Three years of worrying about the breakfast situation and Amsterdam delivers on day one like it had something to prove.
I walked past a coffee shop on the way back.
Not a coffee shop like a coffee shop. the other kind.
There was a handwritten menu in the window. Several options. Prices listed. A man sitting outside reading a newspaper like he was waiting for a bus.
I kept walking.
I’m not ready for that conversation yet.
I found a cart near the canal. Long line of locals. Always a good sign.
Ordered fries.
The man put mayonnaise on them without asking.
Just did it. No hesitation. No consultation. Like ketchup wasn’t even a concept he was familiar with.
Vic warned me about this.
I stood there looking at them for a moment.
Here’s the thing.
Ketchup is a tomato. Fries are a potato. Those are two different vegetables that never agreed to be together. Nobody asked the potato.
Ketchup takes over. One dip and the potato is gone. What you’re eating at that point is ketchup. The fry is just the transportation.
Mayo shows up and asks the fry what it needs.
Egg and oil. No agenda. Makes it better quietly.
the Dutch figured something out that everyone else is too stubborn to admit.
I’m not saying I’m converted.
I’m saying they have a point.
There’s a difference.
Vic knew that.
That’s why he smiled.
Tomorrow I’m going to find out about the beer at the movies.
That’s the one I’m most curious about.
– V
