Where’s William Now? William is currently sitting at Winkel 43 on the outskirts of Jordaan. I have just begun my birthday dinner for one: a Grimbergen Blond (6.7%), a plate of Bitterballen (deep fried meatballs served with mustard), and saving room for the best slice of apple pie in Amsterdam. The apple pie is what brought me here–with raving maniacs posting on social media that it has a virtually unbreakable thick crust. It is evidently accessorized with a Matterhorn sized mountain of whipped cream. At the ripe age of 58 today, that sounds like my kind of party.

My hotel room is exceptional. I had a bit of trouble finding it at first. The door is red, but the entry is otherwise nondescript. It has 12 units as far as I can calculate, with steep steps and no on-site staff. The location is just the way I would want it: a 50 yard walk to a well-regarded Italian joint, a 25 yard walk to a classic Amsterdam Pub, and maybe a cut driver to the center of the Red Light District if I happen to get curious. I walked through the madness last night after eating about 10,000 calories of lasagna and focaccia. But this sort of eating behavior is approved when you’ve traversed 60 miles on foot in 5 days!

Frankly, the Red Light District seemed a bit more tame than I expected. But after some research, I realized the sweet timing spot is 11pm-2am. For a man on his last day of 57, with tired legs and a belly full of bread and sauce, that’s WAY past my bedtime. The other thing Amsterdam is famous for is copious amounts of weed. It is hard not to turn any corner in the city and not smell the pungent odors of random people getting high as kites. The terminology goes this way: A cafe is an actual coffee shop. A coffee shop is a public place to smoke marijuana. I have been in the first but not the second.

The city is very cool, with every possible language and origin country observed during my long ass walks. I am actually enjoying a couple of days away from golf–as I prep mentally and physically for a demanding rotation of Irish classics. The weather forecast is not exactly the way I would want it–with rain predicted every single day. But I’m not focused on score on this trip–and the weather just makes it even easier to rip up the scorecard.

I am starting to lean more European and less American on this trip. For example, I chose a “stand up” ticket on the train to the airport for 7 Euros vs a 60 euro Uber ride. I am properly yielding to bicycle traffic. I also must say that for a city of 2.5 million residents, I have not been jostled or shouldered one single time. I’ve had a few cyclists ring their cute little bike bells to alert me of their presence. Everyone just politely yields to one another. Maybe everyone is high except me? I have no idea how it works. But as a native Jersey boy, I can guarantee you I will get bumped in Newark Airport like a point guard in the paint when I return to the states. That’s just how we Americans do it.

Up to Manchester for a day or two tomorrow. Then the ferry to Ireland.

The apple pie just arrived. I can confirm the hype!