By this point I had noticed that some of the buildings along the canal across from my hotel looked like gingerbread houses. Unfortunatelhwhuy (the way I pronounce that word lately), I don't have any good pics of those buildings.
Anyway, I see that I've gotten away from the trip narrative while posting these photos from Amsterdam. Earlier in the day, after I'd put my laundry in the washer and before setting out to see the big windmill, I set out to buy a postcard for my brother. I'd bought one for my wife in London; my father in Bruges, and my mother in Antwerp, so this was the next logical step. Two workers in one souvenir store were talking about one of them having an unknown illness, which I presumed to be the new coronavirus, so I got the fuck out of there, and eventually found another store that sold magnets, postcards, and stamps. I bought them, went back to the laundromat, and read my book in the touristy alleyway outside while holding up my umbrella.
I walked back along Damrak/Rokin to the hotel, ate a donut and some Belgian mini-muffins (so many carbs), and then I headed out to see some sights, including the windmill.
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