Bulbs, bikes and bridges: Amsterdam in photos

In Amsterdam, as with everywhere, the cliches exist for a reason. Bikes zoom skillfully in and out of tourist crowds, and there really are tulips on every street corner - at least there were during our spring visit. Take a look: 

The Dutch will squeeze flowers in anywhere there's space.

A typical Amsterdam canal scene on Prinsengracht, with traditional canalside townhouses.

Here's a closer look at one of those houses - notice how wonky some of the windows are. Subsidence is a big problem for property owners in the city.

A wall-mounted box of books, free to take, on Witsenstraat 

I love this pyschedelic canal boat, moored up on Witsenkade

A no-alcohol zone - ironically, just across the canal from the Heineken brewery.

Even the roundabouts are the prettiest I've ever seen. Evidently these ladies think so too.

Canalside views.

I loved this beautiful old-fashioned letterwork above one of the shops in the central district.

A typical Amsterdam view. The greenhouses to the right of the shot are the rear of the floating flower market on Singel.

There really are tulips everywhere in spring.

With pedestrians, bikes, trams and cars, there's so much going on at ground level, it's easy to forget to look up.

This floating display was part of the Tulip Festival. Very clever marketing to put such an Instagrammable display directly in front on the IAmsterdam sign. The building in the background is the impressive Rijksmuseum

Vondelpark is basically a giant sea of tulip in the spring.

My favourite house entrance in the whole city.

No explanation needed.

The city's most Instagrammable shopfront - a florist on Berenstraat.

...and another shop, just a couple of doors down.

The cliched bike-on-a-bridge-over-a-canal shot. If the bike in question is pink, all the better.

Trams, trams, everywhere.

ARTIS (the Amsterdam Royal Zoo) is the most well-kept zoo I've ever visited

See also:

• A visit to Amsterdam's famous flower market
• Marrakech in photos

Scribbling Lau is now on Facebook. You can also find me on Twitter and Instagram.

Inside Amsterdam's Flower Market

Travellers to Amsterdam can widely be put into one of two categories based on the type of plant they seek out. There are those who come, usually in spring, in search of the rainbow of tulips the city has to offer. Then there are those who seek grass of an entirely different kind.

We fall firmly into the former category - our whole trip to Amsterdam was inspired, several years ago, by a mutual love of tulips - so can offer no tips on the latter. If, like us, you're heading to Amsterdam seeking nothing more sinister than tulips and daffodils, read on.

Dodging the chaos of tram lines, cars, roadworks and the ever-present bicycles where Muntplein meets Singel, under the internationally recognised symbol of the golden McDonald's arches, we ducked into the first shop of Amsterdam's famous Bloemenmarket - or Flower Market.

The shops themselves are a terrace of conjoined greenhouses teetering on the edge of Singel canal, ironically perhaps the ugliest buildings in the whole city when contrasted against the neat gabled townhouses that it's famous for. Once inside, though, it's easy to forget the ugly exterior.

Bunches of statice and other colourful flowers hang from the ceiling of the first shop, drying, their fading pastel hues putting us more in mind of the fields of Tuscany than the narrow streets of Amsterdam. Blooms, real and fake, sit on tables and in buckets on the floor, silk and wooden flowers attempting to trick the casual tourist browser.

And tourists there are many. In fact, almost every customer in the market is a tourist, and they're well catered for; a decent chunk of the shop is given over to what some would affectionately label 'tourist tat' - magnets, postcards, keyrings, shotglasses, novelty clogs and the like. In the same way that London's Camden Market or Barcelona's La Boquria cater primarily to the tourist market, so too does Bloemenmarket.

Wandering along to the next shop in the market, it becomes clear that the decor of the first shop is a ruse to lure tourists in. Here, there are no bunches hanging from the ceiling, no painstakingly decorated arches crying out to be Instagrammed. The overall effect is more clinical garden centre than exotic flower market, the bulk of the stock seeds and bulbs rather than flowers and plants. The subsequent shops are similar - wooden flowers where we had hoped real ones would be, and focus on seeds and bulbs. One or two of the shops specialise in certain items, such as cacti, but other than that, they're much of a muchness.

While the greenhouses sit on one side of the pedestrianised pavement, backing onto the canal, the other side of the path is lined with shops - coffee shops, gift shops, and the intriguing Magic Mushroom Gallery (again, I didn't indulge so can offer no further information on that particular point of interest). If you're starting to flag, head into the cheese shop - one of many identical outlets in the city - for a few samples to see you on your way. You could almost forget that the delights of the Torture Museum lie in wait just the other side of the canal as you lose yourself in a sea of colour and a coma of dairy products.

The Flower Market is a colourful (read: Instagrammable) experience, but don't go expecting a florist shop experience. Half of the flowers you'll see will be wooden rather than real, and focus is more on bulbs and seeds rather than fully-fledged plants and flowers.

If that's your thing, look into taking a trip to the Keukenhof bulb fields outside of the city during the tulip festival. It's something we didn't have time for during our time in Amsterdam, but it looks stunning.

Bloemensingel Flower Market, Amsterdam.

Scribbling Lau is now on Facebook. You can also find me on Twitter and Instagram.

Riu Tikida Beach Adagir: hotel review

I'm not normally one for reviewing the large multi-national hotel chains - the glossy photos on the website usually speak for themselves - but our recent stay at the Riu Tikida Beach Hotel was so excellent, I've decided to make an exception.

The building itself is a whitewashed arrangement of neat stacks, two storeys high in some places, four or five storeys high in others. The balconies and verandas hint at a visual cacophony of floral colour in the summer, but in February, we make do with the few bougainvillea plants in bloom.

The entrance, beyond the airport-style scanner, is a mosaic tiled floor - so far, so Moroccan. Reception sits subtly over to the right, the hotel shop to the far left, while the centre opens up into a light-flooded atrium. An impressive black vase, filled variously with lillies and roses of ever-changing colours during our stay, hogs the spotlight on a circular glass table. The floral offerings add a splash of colour to the reception area. It's not drab, but rather stylishly muted, all browns and greys, African hunting lodge meets old English country house.

The hotel lobby is like a museum, with something different to see every time you walk through. Some of the artefacts are immediately obvious - the life-size chimp sculptures, the plethora of deliciously mismatched lampshades and bases, the wealth of inviting sofas and armchairs, stools and settees, all as comfy as each other. Other items take a bit more teasing out like the historic photos of a Natural History Museum - possibly London, possibly elsewhere - tucked away in an impressive display cabinet.

The highlight though, is the library, a mezzanine-level treasure trove lined with leather bound books, overlooking the piano bar and accessed via a rustic metal spiral staircase. Sadly, the staircase is roped off; these are books to be admired from afar rather than read up close.

The exquisite decor continues throughout the hotel. The main dining room is painted a mushroom grey - dull enough not to offend sleepy eyes over the breakfast table, but a classy enough backdrop for the stylish evening meals. The lunchtime restaurant is a treat of a different kind, with focus drawn unfalteringly to the panoramic view of the beach through the floor-to-ceiling glass.

The food is as expected from an all-inclusive hotel. Seafood features heavily, but if you're not a fish fan (don't worry, I'm not) there are plenty of other options including salads, pastas, soups, tagines and meat joints. Being an adults-only hotel, the usual child-friendly chicken nuggets give way to the more grown-up chicken tagines, but even the fussiest of eaters (again, hello) won't starve. The delicious breakfast pastry selection warrants a special mention, as does the evening dessert chef who missed his calling as an architect:

Aside from the decor, what makes this hotel so memorable are the friendly, welcoming and helpful staff. Everyone, from receptionists and bar staff to cleaners and gardeners, asks how your stay is going - lovely, but no chance of getting anywhere in a hurry when you're stopped every 10 seconds. Bar staff have a knack of remembering everyone's favourite tipple from night to night, and practically have it poured for you before you've even taken a seat.

Location-wise, the hotel is disappointingly a 30-minute walk from the centre of Agadir, and a further 15-20 minutes to the marina. Taxis are readily available and inexpensive (make sure you use one of the orange taxis to avoid being ripped off) but if you enjoy a short stroll of an evening, this may not be the hotel for you.

The beach is right across the promenade from the hotel, with a private area and sun loungers available to hotel guests. In theory, it's gorgeous, golden sand. In reality, the hotel beach is situated right next to a river outlet, meaning that heaps of rubbish, plastic, and goodness-knows-what-else ends up on the sand and in the sea.

The hotel pool is lovely though - the larger of the two is heated, but the highlight is the pool furniture. Sunbeds, wider than you'd find at most hotels, are provided with cushions and pillows, not to mention the mattress beds whittled into the terraces of the hotel's gardens.

The only niggle was the fire alarm's persistence at waking everyone at 6.30am for the first four mornings of our stay, despite us, and several other guests reporting it (it was going off across the whole hotel). The staff's disappointingly laissez-faire attitude to getting it fixed tainted an otherwise excellent holiday.

Hotel Riu Tikida Beach, Agadir. We visited off-season (16-27 February 2017).

Scribbling Lau is now on Facebook. You can also find me on Twitter and Instagram.

Marrakech in photos: part two

Since returning to grey, chilly London, Marrakech seems not only like another place, but also like another time. I won't say it's a calmer pace of life -- it's not, it's got a ferocity to it that makes the City of London on a Monday morning seem like a meadow of tranquility. But it's more colourful and more vibrant, and as that's something we could all use more of on these chilly November mornings.
(The first lot of photos are here - stick the kettle on and catch up before you read on).

Donkey carts used to transport goods outside the city centre. 

There is greenery in Marrakech. This was taken looking up among the trees at Jardin Majorelle, the gardens outside the city centre that were redesigned by fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent.

Jardin Majorelle is known for its bright colour scheme.

A peaceful spot in Jardin Majorelle

Spice stalls are everywhere - more often than not, shopkeepers try to reel you in by asking if you know what the spices are as you pass.

Marrakech has some really beautiful signs (if you're into that sort of thing).

A colourful stall just outside the spice market in the Jewish Quarter, to the south of  Bahia Palace

This'll give you some idea of how close the slaloming motorbikes and mopeds get to pedestrians, sometimes in alleyways no more than 5ft wide. It's unfathomable how often you feel one pass you, yet not once did we see an accident.

The calming rose petal fountain in the oasis of our riad.

Men in these costumes tend to gather in the main square - I'd love to know what they are/what they're doing. Answers in the comments please!

A typical Marrakech shop

Another donkey, this one much closer to the central souks.

Travel tales: The Sunday surfers of Armacao de Pera

Way above our heads, the old church bells rumbled into life, demanding attention like a petulant child. The din drowned out the crashing of the waves, shaking the small town from its Sunday lie-in, and the effect it had was quite a spectacle.

Knowing that the heat of the burning Portuguese sun would render any exploration impossible by 11am, we’d headed out straight after breakfast to acquaint ourselves with the town of Armação de Pera, situated just west of Albufeira on the Algarve, and our home for the next ten days.

Strolling down the pedestrianised promenade, the glistening blue waters of the Atlantic were already tempting at this early hour, and the sandy town beach already full of sunbathers. On the other side of the promenade, an eclectic mix of tourist shops fought for the attentions of passers by, their Mickey Mouse towels, beach footballs and picture postcards hanging from every nook. Shop owners switched seamlessly into the native language of each and every passing tourist in a bid to sell their wares.

Rounding a corner as the promenade juts out into the sea, the landscape changed. The beach view was blocked by a colonial-style, raspberry pink house, different to any other building in town and almost grand enough to be called a mansion, teetering alone on the cliffs. Its foreboding perimeter walls and intriguing gated entrance distracted us so much that we barely noticed what stood behind us.

A church, petite but unapologetically beautiful. Entirely whitewashed with a tiled roof and stained glass windows, it wouldn’t have looked out of place on a small Greek island, serving a parish of five, yet here it was in a town square, slap bang in the middle of the Algarve. The tall, slim bell tower cast a shadow over the dogs sleeping in the square, but the most eye-catching part of the building was the pointed arch around the door, livened up with blue flowers which, closer inspection revealed, were each delicately handmade from crepe paper.

And then it happened. The church bells sprung into life, announcing the arrival of 10am and almost instantly people appeared from all corners of the petite square, making a beeline for the door of the church, as if they’d been lying in wait.

The intricate arch was immediately swarmed with parishioners. The cacophony as they greeted each other in Portuguese was astonishing, their conversations expertly timed to finish just as they reached the wooden church door, allowing them to enter the building in a respectful silence. Sunglasses and eccentric sunhats were removed at the entrance, giving the impression of a town on pause from sunbathing for as long as the service would take.

They poured in from the town centre, many with shopping bags from the local market, bananas and carrots peeping out of the top. Some came loaded up with umbrellas and surfboards, treating the church trip as a minor pit stop on the way down to the beach.

Behind us, they came from the beach, many still wet and with sand stuck to them as they climbed the rickety stone steps, no time to think about appearances. Mothers clucked around with towels in an attempt to make children look respectable. Some wielded picnic baskets, their culinary contents too valuable to be left unattended on the beach for this brief encounter with God. Others came completely empty handed, as if they’d dropped everything when the bells beckoned.

We were in awe. How were this many people fitting into such a small church? How were there even this many residents in Armação de Pera, a small fisherman’s town which relies heavily on the tourist industry? From our vantage point – we had been rendered immobile both from a desire to watch the spectacle, and from fear of being trampled – we could see that it was standing room only at the back of the church, and yet still they came. Finally, the wooden doors of the church were drawn shut from the inside, and the square was still again, left in the hands of tourists once more. 


See also: 

• In pictures: Armação de Pera (it really is a beautiful place).
• The knitted trees of Armação de Pera