Amsterdam

My dad has traveled pretty much everywhere. Along with traveling this country to play music, he and my mom played for several ambassador tours with the Virginia Department of Tourism in the early 80s, including one of Asia where they met and entertained the Princess of Indonesia. Along with those, my dad has taken several spins around the globe with the Masters of the Steel String Guitar among countless other trips to share his music with other cultures. I think one of the reasons he is so tolerant of so many types of people when he comes from a tiny spot in Virginia where intolerance of anything other than what is known runs rampant is due to that opportunity to travel to so many different places in the world and see how other folks live. 

As it is well established, I do not have the talent for anyone to willingly listen to my play an instrument, so I don't think I'll be invited on any of those ambassador tours, but I have an itch to see everything, experience new places and see what there is to see so I have figured out my own way to get around and see the world through my job. My mom has always encouraged me to do pretty much anything I am interested in, be it sports, rock climbing, law school, flying across the country at sixteen to attend track camp. My dad however has been a bit more reserved to encourage only things he is familiar with and knows are safe. The rock climbing got a hard veto from him. Surprisingly, the underage flying across the country was a go.

Any time I say, "Hey Daddy, I think I want to go [insert whatever place]" he either says, "Oh, I've been there, do [this thing] at [that place]." He then proceeds gives me a list of things he liked and didn't like about that place or a story of how he and John Cephas got into mischief while on a break from their tour ensues. More rarely he says incredulously, "Huh, I've never been there." When I told him I had a guitar order from Amsterdam and planned to go he said, "Oh, Amsterdam is really fun. Take a boat ride!" I cannot imagine my dad thoroughly enjoying anything other than playing his guitar so when he says to do something that isn't playing his guitar I listen.

It has been a difficult summer and some health issues, if I can call a pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage 'issues', threatened our trip but I had booked the flight and started to make the guitar when I first found out so we were going regardless. While I was fighting a heavy dose of stress, all of the hormones and emotions, exhaustion, and nausea, my dad selflessly sprayed finish for me and helped me with the worst of the dusty and most physical jobs. At 11 weeks it ended up my precautions and his extra work weren't necessary, so I worked to finish the guitar as quickly as I was able to get back on my feet. It is ok though, don't feel sad for me and Nick or our family. I'm trying not to feel too sad or sorry, so you shouldn't be either. Knowing how many other women have gone through the exact same experience (with the exception of having to find someone to step in as finish sprayer and research safety of working as a luthier while pregnant) has really helped me feel less alone and sad so that is why I decided to share. As my dad tells me when I have a hiccup in building a guitar, those bad things are always going to happen no matter how hard we try to prevent them, just keep going and learn from them and hopefully next time it'll go right. The time he exploded the side of my guitar when unscrewing it from a clamp comes to mind. Of course, he's right. I couldn't have prevented the outcome, but I can control how I deal with the pieces of the blow up. A trip to Amsterdam to deliver something I successfully made was a welcome opportunity for us to glue back the pieces of our loss.

Even though I say this about pretty much all of them, the guitar I made for my new Dutch friend Frank is one of my all time favorites. The neck is large but somehow still fit in my tiny hand anyway, and it willingly let me play the few tunes I know, singing out proudly without buzzing or reluctance. I do feel like they all have souls and personalities and this one is just a little extra. Perhaps somehow it knew I needed it to come easily, without protest, but in any event this one is special and it is kind of a bummer it now lives so far away.

You may not know this about me, but I love being part of a good surprise. Frank from Amsterdan approached me several years ago about making a guitar for him as well as one for his dad, also named Frank. When I emailed them this spring about starting their instruments it took a while to figure out to whom I was conversing, but after that was finally straightened out, it was decided that a trip to Amsterdam was in order. As is the curse of a long wait, the dad Frank was still in the market for a guitar, but the younger Frank had had three kids since he placed his order so his priorities had changed. Frank Sr. ordered the guitar, but told me that he was planning to give it to his son so unbeknownst to Frank Jr, I made the guitar to his specs rather than his dad's. To help keep up the surprise, I am lucky they are both named Frank so when I inscribed the underside of the top and shared a picture there were no questions!

I honestly can't say enough nice things about Delta's treatment of me when I fly. I have never had a problem bringing instruments onboard their flights, and attendants have always helped me rather than hindered me in doing so. This time was no different. They found space in their closet for my guitar and we had a nice uneventful flight across the Atlantic. Frank Sr. met us upon arrival.

One of the happiest feelings is knowing someone loves what I have made for them. I feel like one of the surest ways that has been displayed to me is when they ask to be put back on the list for another instrument during that first encounter. I had a feeling he might regret planning to give this guitar to his son as it is one of the most beautiful and best sounding I have made, but love for one's offspring is something I have yet to fully understand so perhaps I'm wrong in that. Even though he was still excited to give this guitar to his son, I don't think I was totally wrong in my hunch as he only opened the case and looked it over, didn't play it yet, before deciding he wanted for one for himself.

After finishing the coffee and tea we ordered at the airport café, Frank drove us from Shiphol airport into the heart of Amsterdam to our Airbnb. He drove off with his new guitar, and we were left to negotiate the traditional extremely steep and narrow canal house stairs of the apartment building. I seriously can't get over how steep these stairs were. They were surprisingly easy to negotiate without luggage, but hoisting our bulky bags up the uneven red carpeted steps was no easy task. I have literally no idea, with the amount people drink and do drugs in Amsterdam, how we didn't see more people limping from sprained ankles or sporting casts from falling down those stairs.

To ward off jet lag, we spent the first day exploring Amsterdam. We learned quickly to look both ways multiple times before attempting to cross the narrow streets lining the canals as more cyclists than I had ever seen in one place whizzed past without caution. The beautiful canals reflecting the house boats tied along their edges and the brightly colored row houses squeezed closely together were quite a sight. We strolled through the busy Dam Square, one of the few open spaces, filled edge to edge with small black cobbles worn shiny with age. As the afternoon sun burned bright accompanied by a swift breeze, we took a quick ferry trip over the IJ river from Central Station to the A'dam Tower where we met Thomas, the owner of our Airbnb. He was kind enough to take some time to give us a tour of the tower and provide a private look around Gibson's new studio where fancy Dutch artists come to record and play Gibson instruments to help promote the brand. The space was beautiful and I enjoyed seeing all of the colorful electrics lined up. A new Nick Lucas was hanging on the wall, but I've heard Gibson is quick to sue, and though I don't think I have infringed on any of their copyrighted material, I was reluctant to mention that I had made a few reminiscent of that body style in case anyone important was listening.

View from A'Dam Tower 

Dam Square

bitterballen

The following day we met Frank Jr. at the Van Gogh museum. It was fortunate we had planned to visit the museum around noon that day even before we learned he worked there! After exploring the museum and studying the incredible pieces Van Gough and other Dutch masters have created, we walked with Frank outside through Museum Square to a little Dutch café for lunch. While everyone we had met thus far was more than happy to speak (very good, proper) English, he ordered his lunch in Dutch when it was his turn. When I asked him what he ordered he replied that he chose the traditional Dutch lunch of old cheese and plain brown bread with a little bit of mustard. When he saw my face he laughed and assured me it was his favorite lunch, but I felt something must have gotten lost in translation. Turns out, old cheese is incredible aged gouda and the bread is freshly baked, and the little pop of mustard that comes on the side makes a perfectly delicious meal. While I absolutely loved jumping face first into the cultural dishes primarily featuring cheese, fries, and bread, I can't tell you how badly my body craved kale upon our return home. For example, one of the traditional Dutch snacks is called Bitterballen. I described it to my dad as deep fried gravy balls which would probably be his favorite thing. While they were pretty dang good, I could only handle a couple of them before my stomach said no thanks. Side note: We traveled to Brussels, Belgium after our adventures in Amsterdam and I easily found waffles, chocolate, and beer, but there wasn't a single endive salad or Brussels sprout to be found anywhere! I was not pleased.

View from the canal

The next few days were filled with exploring the beautiful and vibrant city. We took that canal boat trip my dad suggested, and thoroughly enjoyed the information we gleaned from our guide Gabi and Captain Hans as well as the view from the canals. While the Red Light District wasn't really something Nick and I were interested in, we took a stroll through the cramped alleys and took in the red lights glowing, the women peeking from their curtained booths and smelled the marijuana wafting from the clubs. The no embarrassment, devil may care attitude was fun and refreshing, but the gaggles of tourists cramping the extremely narrow cobbled streets felt claustrophobic so we spent the majority of our time in the outer rings of the canals where our Airbnb was located, simply enjoying the culture of the residents of the quaint neighborhood of the Jordaan.

Spoils from the Farmer's market

Before we left for Belgium I had agreed to meet a client of George Gruhn's who understandably wasn't comfortable shipping his priceless Lloyd Loar L-5 across the Atlantic Ocean for George to consign. Knowing how much I hate to ship instruments, I was happy to help them both out and bring the instrument home with me to ease their minds. Joram invited Nick and me to lunch at his beautiful apartment near central station. He and his husband Tony provided a significant spread of traditional Dutch dishes (more old cheese, mustard, and even pickled herring....) to send us off. Seeing the famous historical paintings and fixtures of Amsterdam was amazing, but as is always my favorite part of travel, and guitar building generally, is the people I am fortunate enough to meet along the way. I loved learning about Joram and Tony, their backgrounds, how they met, their hobbies and interests, the stories of the instruments they have collected (Joram has been a member of prestigious mandolin symphonies throughout his life) and how they came to land in Amsterdam as they both had high power jobs in New York City when they met twenty years ago. Lunch, where I even ate that pickled herring, was delicious but the stories they shared with me fed my soul as much as the old cheese and fresh bread fueled my body.

Growing up I would always look forward to the trinket my dad would bring home for me from one of his trips. He always sent a postcard to my Granny and would bring her a commemorative thimble representing the place he had traveled. She saved the postcards, they are still sitting in a over stuffed rotating photo holder sitting in the living room that crinkles as you rotate the postcards resting in their cracked plastic sleeves. Before she died she displayed every one of the thimbles on the wall. Now only a few remain, but the rest sit safely in a storage bin under the guest room bed. Some may think these practices are a hoarder's dream, but to me these little trinkets represent love in a tangible form. As I said, we are a family of traditions. Nick has little patience for souvenirs, and I typically blanch at a legitimate tourist trap, but everywhere I go I always take a few minutes to stop in the tackiest store I can find and pick up a post card and see if they have any thimbles.

boat ride!

Apparently Napoleon taxed houses by width, so this one is only 1 meter wide...

The Grand Place in Brussels

Mannequin Pis