After Ashford, we went to Braavos.

Or Amsterdam, as the Dutch prefer to call it.

A  lot of my readers think that Braavos was inspired by Venice.   Because of the canals, of course.   Thing is, though I’ve read a lot about Venice, histories and travel books and the like, I have never actually been there.   I have always wanted to visit, Venice is plainly a magical place, and if I had a bucket list it would be right up near the top… but so far I have never found the time.   One day, I hope.   When the novel’s done, perhaps.  Yes, certainly, there’s some of Venice in Braavos.. the Sealord, and the manner of his choosing, was certainly inspired in part by the Doge… but there’s some of Prague in Braavos too,  and bits of other places, along with some things that were purely imaginary.  The Titan of Braavos, of course, was my twist on the Colossus of Rhodes.  As for those canals…

Did you know that Amsterdam has more canals than Venice?

That startled me as well, the first time I heard it.   That was back in 1990, when I visited Amsterdam for the first time, after attending the first (and so far, only) Dutch worldcon in the Hague.   That was a good worldcon.   I liked what I saw of the Netherlands before the con, the windmills, the countryside, the castles, and the magnificent fireworks display we happened to run into at the Hague… but it was Amsterdam that I fell in love with.    There was so much to see and do.  Great art in world class museums (the Rijkmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum among them), all the history on display in the Maritime Museum, Indonesian rijsttafels,  the coffee houses and “coffee” houses of the old red light district, the beer in the medieval taverns and sidewalk cafes, the tall narrow houses with their pointed roofs, the houseboats along the canals…  Day or night, Amsterdam is a gorgeous city.

One of the museums that I had missed on my previous visits to Amsterdam was the Anne Frank House, which should need no introduction.  I made certain that we did not miss it this time.   I had read Anne Frank’s diary many decades ago, when I was not much older than she had been when she died, and of course  I knew the broad outlines of World War II and the Holocaust… but standing in that house, climbing those steps, slipping through the bookcase into the secret rooms where Anne and her family hid during the last years of their lives… there was something profound and moving about that.   It is one thing to read of camps and trains, of millions shipped off and millions starved and gassed and killed… but the story of Anne Frank and her family, of the Dutch who helped protect them, of their ultimate capture and betrayal,  a story full of hope that ends in death… there’s a power to it that goes beyond all the statistics, that brings home the humanity of Anne and all the others who died in a way no history book can match.   There’s often a long line in front of the Anne Frank House, and the wait can sometimes be lengthy… but it is worth it.   You will leave there sadder than when you entered… but wiser too, as you contemplate all the horror and heroism of which the human race is capable.

My visit to Amsterdam was not all about museums and sightseeing and Indonesian food; our summer trip combined business and pleasure, as almost all my travel has for the past couple of decades.    It had been a decade or more since I last met with my Dutch editors and publishers, and my agents and I agreed that it was past time.   So my first stop was at the offices of Luitingh-Sijthoff, to meet the team.

(Megan Ellis, my newest minion, is there in the middle in the black dress, next to me).

And of course, they had a few books for me to sign.

I believe I scribbled in 600 books.  Dutch editions, of course.

Afterward, my editors took us out for a lovely dinner at an outdoor cafe, where we were joined by a Dutch filmmaker, a book reviewer… and Melisandre of Asshai, the Red Lady herself, in the person of Carice Van Houten.

Our lodgings in Amsterdam were at the Hotel De L’Europe, a glorious old luxury hotel in the heart of the city, with big rooms, a grand lobby, some fine restaurants… and balconies on many of the suites.   Despite the glories of Amsterdam, many a night I found myself unable to sleep after my minions had headed off to bed.  Instead I wandered out to  my balcony, and sat looking out on the moonlit city while I mulled life and art and the woes of the world.   It was a welcome respite from all the conflict that I had been dealing with for the past half year.

The best thing about the hotel was its location, though; right on one of the canals.   The canals of Braavos are its glory, and the same is true of Amsterdam.   Sid booked us a cruise on a canal boat one afternoon.  I had cruised the canals before, on previous visits to Amsterdam, but this was different.   We got a private boat just big enough for the three of us, rather than one of the long glassed-in supper boats crowded with tourists, and for close to three hours we wound our way through the waterways of the city.

It was lovely, and peaceful, and ended too soon.   Bayonne, New Jersey, where I was born and raised, is nothing at all like Amsterdam… but for my most of my childhood we lived in the projects on First Street, right across from Brady’s Dock and the deep waters of the Kill Von Kull, where the big freighters made their way from New York to Newark.   As much as I love Santa Fe,  I miss the water.

One of these days I need to write that story about Braavos we were developing for HBO.   They shelved that one a couple of years back, alas, but that does not mean I won’t go back to it… after WINDS OF WINTER is done, of course.

Maybe then I will have enough free time to visit Amsterdam again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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