Hans Brinker Budget Hotel i Amsterdam är brutalt ärliga i sin marknadsföring. Och inte att glömma, roliga. Att döma av recensioner och artiklar om hotellet så har det varit en väldigt lyckad strategi.

Hur var det nu igen? To thyne own self be true.

“What goes on tour, stays on tour…”

Or at least that’s how it’s supposed to happen. Then mobile phones and interfering girlfriends get involved, and it’s not too long before you’re being filled in on the gossip by people who aren’t even in the same country…

Not that I mind… It’s the reason I’m allowed to write this blog entry: because everyone already knows what happened.

So it ain’t all bad. What did happen then? First it might help if I introduce Pete, the lucky man who’s getting married in a few weeks. Pete’s my best mate, in the truest sense of the phrase. You don’t make arrangements weeks in advance to meet up with Pete, you turn up at his front door, and not only will he be happy to see you, he’ll halve his dinner to share it with you, and then help you put the world in it’s place by spending hours talking complete bollocks with you (including a complete run-down of what’s happened on ‘The Biggest Loser’ since you last went round).

Pete is a nice bloke. An ex-holiday rep, like myself, who’s never stopped being the life and soul of the party. I find it hard to talk about my mates and compliment them without it sounding like I fancy them, so I won’t keep going on about it, but basically he’s a great bloke, and it was always going to be an enjoyable weekend whatever happened.

Andy is Pete’s best man, and the whole weekend had been planned months in advance by him, with the rest of us trusting that his professional career and generally reasonable level of intelligence would stand him in good stead to do a good job of it…

So it began last Thursday. Andy and I both had the day off work, so, after going shopping for a nice pink dress for Pete to wear on Saturday, we decided to go play some mini golf at Star City, like the pair of big kids that we are. Naturally, I kicked his ass, but I did have the added advantage that I’d been there before. Then, Angels & Demons (OK, fairly predictable, wait for the DVD) and round to Pete’s for some Guitar Hero and food. So far, it’s sounding pretty gay… Bear with me.

We needed to be at the airport for about 9am the following morning, so I was stopping over at Pete’s for us to get a lift together, rather than trek all the way from my countryside retreat in traffic on my own and get miserable. Andy had somehow persuaded the landlady of his local boozer to open up early for us, so we could have a beer before getting in the taxi to the airport.

Arriving at the pub at about 8.15am, the first beer of the weekend went down surprisingly well, as did my comedy moustache. Taxi to the airport, and two more Wetherspoons’ inside the airport… We’d had four or five already before getting on the plane, and it wasn’t even 11am. We found out that Simon, Pete’s brother who had been travelling to the ‘Dam separately from Scotland, had cocked his flights up. He thought that he was going to arrive at the same time as us, but in fact had arrived when we were just leaving the UK, so he had to spend a few hours in the airport at the other end waiting for us: Bellend.

Some more beer on the plane (which was free, surprisingly… good old KLM), and the weekend’s finally starting to sound a bit more like a stag do. Everyone was in good spirits, and when we got off the plane at the other end the sun was shining as brightly as we’d left it in the UK.

It was time to see if Andy’s organisational skills had lived up to expectations. A minibus to the hotel, which was right in the middle of Amsterdam and within walking distance of the main square… Perfect.

Then we were introduced to the Hans Brinker Budget Hotel. You’ll only know the true extent of the feeling of disappointment that flooded through each of us if you’ve been to the hotel before. Imagine prison, if the inmates had been allowed to take cans of spray paint and poster pens in with them to decorate the walls. And without the televisions, or gymnasiums, or drug searches. Andy told us he’d booked a cheap hotel, but no-one could believe he hadn’t Googled the fucker before handing over the cash.

I can’t remember the exact wording of the poster in the foyer, but it was along the lines of ‘We don’t believe in cleanliness, as it doesn’t give your body’s immune system the chance to build it’s own resistance against germs and diseases, so basically we ain’t cleaning shit’. The bar was fresh off of the Sixties, as was the barman, complete for some reason with a solid silver toilet brush, a crown, and a spear that were kept on a shelf behind the bar.

I’d never been to Amsterdam before, so I was hoping this wasn’t a sign of things to come. I was assured by the others that the rest of the city wasn’t quite so disgraceful.

Saying that, we had a laugh about it and figured it was only going to be a place to kip for a few hours. The multitude of warning signs demanding that we remove all valuables from our rooms and place them into a safe at reception didn’t fill us with too much hope that our stuff would be there for long, but you make the best of a bad situation, and drink some more beer.

Friday was pretty much a blur for most people. I remember all of it, if only in a jumbled-up kind of order (as tends to happen when I get as drunk as I did that day). Most of it is well and truly ‘not-safe-for-work’, but we were in Amsterdam for-fuck’s-sake, you can imagine what I mean.

Dutch women are hot, no doubt about it. I think it’s something to do with the fact that they ride bikes everywhere, and their restaurants are so awful… I didn’t see a single one that looked like she weighed more than I do, which was a nice change from our usual Midlands haunts. They can drink too! And they hate the Germans!

Crawling in to bed as the sun was coming up, we soon discovered that the poster hadn’t been lying when it spoke of being ‘anti-cleanliness’, and it was only because we were so exhausted and pissed that we were able to fall asleep for a few hours, in spite of the itchy rashes that appeared within seconds of making contact with the bedsheets. Combined with the fact that the windows didn’t open beyond 2 inches, there were no curtains to stop the beaming sun shining down on us, and of course there was no fan or air conditioning, it made for an uncomfortable few hours.

Saturday morning was when Pete was introduced to his outfit for the day – a fetching pink TK Maxx special, complete with headband, pearl necklace, and legwarmers to accessorise. He looked stunning. Saturday morning was also Andy’s next organisational test. He’d booked us in at a gun club to do some shooting, and the taxi was picking us up at 10am. With absolutely no danger of anyone over-sleeping, some early breakfasts were had by those who could face food, and sure enough the taxi arrived on the dot.

On the way, we were treated to Kris’ words of wisdom about Leonardo Da Vinci: “I was reading that Da Vinci Code… Leonardo Da Vinci, he’s a fucking twat isn’t he!” We never got to find out what his justification was for such a sweeping statement, as we were too busy laughing at him. And he made the wise decision to not even attempt to bring the subject back up again for the rest of the weekend.

We arrived at a pool hall in the middle of Amsterdam city centre… A pool hall? Had Andy completely fucked up, and confused ’shooting guns’ with ’shooting pool’? It wouldn’t have surprised anyone. A leather-clad biker with a gammy leg and a dodgy goatee told us to make ourselves at home and play some pool, and we wandered around in disbelief. Then we were informed that we were indeed in the right place, the shooting range was down a small corridor, and we were introduced to the stunning brunette that would be ‘taking care of us’. Suddenly, everyone relaxed.

With Andy and I being the only single lads on the trip, it was left to us to establish if the barmaid was fair game, or whether she should be left to pour our drinks and return to her cigarette in peace. It was quickly learned that she had a boyfriend, who was taking her to the Dominican Republic in a month or two, and was very happy. Which was the point that I lost interest in what she was saying, and preferred instead to concentrate on the lacy material that was protruding from her shirt, which was struggling to contain her more than ample breasts. Andy, however, persevered. He was adamant that she’d given him the eye, and so remained glued to the bar, chain-smoking with her, while the rest of us played pool and darts, and had much more fun.

The only time he could be dragged away from her was when we lifted his drooling chin from the floor and took him down the tiny corridor when it was his turn to shoot. He did better than Talbot, who managed to not only miss the target completely, but to hit the wires which were holding it in place – twice. But Andy had clearly been affected by the barmaid – perhaps prematurely shooting his load while in the bar – or more likely the fact that he was starting to get the shakes as he hadn’t drank any beer since the night before.

We shot a fairly dated .22 rifle, some kind of pistol, then a .38 revolver, and a .44 Magnum. I’d fired air rifles before, but nothing like any of these, and the Magnum in particular kicked like a mule. So I was as surprised as anyone when I came 2nd overall behind Karl’s cousin, Dean, and even more surprised that I’d beaten Simon, who shoots for a living! Cue the excuses: “The sights weren’t calibrated to my eyes”, “I don’t fire these kind of guns” etc. Kris came third, and the three of us, along with Pete, were treated to a shot of green Limoncello (not nice), a peck on the cheek from the gammy-legged instructor (really not nice), and another peck from the barmaid (very nice).

Andy wasn’t impressed that he’d missed out, and so spent the remaining three hours continuing to try for his own peck on the cheek, returning to his spot at the end of the bar. The rest of us, now allowed to drink some actual alcohol having finished with the live weapons, knocked some pool balls around the tables and threw some darts in the general direction of the dartboard. Now more comfortable in each other’s company, the banter also began to flow more freely, and until that day I’d never seen anyone get so upset about someone saying that they were playing on ‘the small table’…

The afternoon was set aside for a tour around the nearby Heineken brewery. Most of us rushed around without bothering to read any of the boards or look at the exhibits, instead wanting to get to the bar at the end as quickly as possible, where our promised free samples were waiting. Pete, though, in his fetching and extremely masculine outfit, became something of a celebrity, and couldn’t get to the bar for having to stop and have his photo taken. Of course, some of that was Pete butting in to people’s photos without invitation, and he got distracted by a Welshman playing table football, but there were only a limited number of free drinks on offer, and the longer it took him, the more the supply of tokens dwindled.

Following the brewery tour, we were introduced to Karl’s “NEED FOOD NOW!” alter-ego, where an otherwise quiet and likeable bloke suddenly became an angry and impatient beast. We found the nearest restaurant, suffered the increasingly intolerable exchange rate and got superbly shafted, but fed Karl some fodder and everyone was happy again. Especially Andy, who was, between flicking his Heineken wrist band at passing pigeons, telling the most awful jokes that anyone had ever heard.

Saturday night was a bit less hectic and blurry than Friday, partly due to the fact that those lads unfortunate enough to have other-halves had to spend half the night ‘nipping out to make another phone call’. The nightclub we’d been VIP’d into was awesome though… For those of you familiar with Birmingham nightlife, imagine Snobs, but inside a much smarter venue. My ’special shoes’ became like ice skates with the film of spilt beer on the already smooth dancefloor, and the moshing ended up with me on my arse, but un-hurt you’ll be pleased to hear. I haven’t danced so hard for ages, particularly loving ‘Bonkers’ when the DJ got so fed up of each of us requesting it and put it on to shut us up.

A quick trip to Hans Brinker’s ‘nightclub’ before bed… You’d have been forgiven for forgetting where you were and thinking you’d ended up in the deepest, darkest corner of Stechford. Another sticky and itchy night’s sleep, out of the hotel for 10am, and time for breakfast before heading to the airport.

I made the wise decision of opting for the ‘pancake with chocolate’, having already established that the cuisine in Amsterdam was less than desirable and there was little that could go wrong in the preparation of such a meal. Some of the lads went for the burger (thinking along the same lines – what could possibly go wrong?), but were soon reminded of the Dr Pepper adverts when the waitress launched Kris’ at him, and smothered his groin with ketchup. Instead of picking up the soggy remains, she left them where they were while she returned to the kitchen to prepare him another, which magically appeared within mere seconds. Microwaves are wonderful things. I was assured that the burgers were possibly the most disgusting excuses of meat ever eaten by those who ate them, while my pancake wasn’t too bad, and I pointed out as we later passed McDonald’s that they could have eaten there for less than a quarter of the price.

Some more beverages at the airport, and it was time to return to normality, and a city of much uglier women. Overall, it was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend, where the negative points of the hotel only added to the ammunition for the banter, and a good time was had by all. It was nice to just spend some quality time with the boys, and Pete put it aptly when he said that we’d probably never get to go on holiday with the same bunch of lads again… Unless someone else is foolish enough to put a ring on someone’s finger, anyway.

The Hans Brinker Budget Hotel In Amsterdam has taken bad hotel management to an art form – or at least their advertisements have.

Their early ads proclaimed “Now: A door in every room!”, “Now, Even Less Service” and other slogans that play on their budget status. Later ads played on the theme of “accidental ecology”, still later the ads focused on “improving your immunology” with the idea that exposing yourselves to the bugs in the hotel will er, strengthen your immune system. The most recent ads focus on unique design.

The joke has become so iconic that the hotel has now produced a book – available on amazon.co.uk.

It’s a budget hotel for young backpackers, it comes in at 3.5 stars on Virtual Tourist with most people commenting that it’s pretty basic and a bit noisy. Still you get what you pay for – it’s 20-40 euro per night.

You can check it on street view

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As I mentioned in a previous post, every week I will post about a graphic designer or a group. This is an advertising agency that I searched for last year, for my visual language class. None of their advertisements are mainstream. They are an agency in Amsterdam and you may know them with their Diesel or Absolut ads. But what I most loved is their Hans Brinker Budget Hotel. Just look..

PS: I don’t actually like posting so much photos but about Kesselskramer it is essential as you can’t find much information on net. So this will be something like a compilation

Hans Brinker Budget Hotel campaign. I should note it is a low budget hotel . More like a bad dormitory=)

Um dos cases mais originais do mundo vira livro depois de 15 anos.

A agência holandesa Kessels Kramer  acaba de publicar um livro que engloba todas as peças de comunicação criadas para o Hans Brinker Budget Hotel

KesselsKramer es una de las agencias de publicidad más creativas del mundo, y como tal, todo lo que la rodea es original, raro, sorprendente y exageradamente divertido!. Lo que más me ha llamada la atención es su(s) Web(s). Cada vez que entras aparece una página diferente que simula una empresa distinta, así que nadie se asuste si intenta entrar y se encuentra con una Web de sombreros, de bicicletas, de material de oficina, de museo de historia, de lentillas, de investigación científica, etc. El diseño de las páginas es horrible y solo funcionan los botones que llevan a la información real, por ejemplo a sus campañas. Cada página muestra una campaña de publicidad que está relacionada con la supuesta empresa de la Web. Es un caos pero, como no, es divertido y muy original.

Otra excentricidad de KesselsKramer es su oficina en Amsterdam. Se trata de una iglesia restaurada y convertida en agencia de publicidad. En la página Web de Fashion Architecture Taste podréis ver un vídeo de la agencia-iglesia, es realmente chocante ver a la gente trabajando (o haciendo toques con una pelota de fútbol) al lado de una ventana con mosaico de cristal o un cuadro de Jesucristo. 

Y, evidentemente, su publicidad no podía ser menos. Han trabajado para muchas marcas importantes como Diesel, Chanel nº5, Nike, Audi, Levi Strauss, Oxfam, Pepe Jeans, Absolut, etc., pero muchos ya habréis visto la mayoría de estos anuncios, así que he seleccionado gráficas de otras marcas/empresas (la mayoría menos conocidas) que me han sorprendido por ser de estilo 100% Kesselskramer. ¡Seguro que no os dejan indiferentes!

Hans brinker budget hotel (Amsterdam):

JB “Start a party”:

2 kilo of KesselKramer (el libro que recoge sus trabajos):

Sometimes in life there is a moment when you have to choose between staying behind and wondering or seizing the day. Thank God I chose to go with the flow.

This weekend, we signed up with Outgoing.co.uk for their 3 day 2 night Amsterdam Halloween Weekend. I debated a lot before going because, well, lets be honest, the wild-and-crazy bar hopping thing isn’t really my style.

That’s been a key issue with my England experience. I was really worried when I came here that as a low-key partier, I might not fit in with the student culture here. However, I have had no problems fitting in, even when I choose not to drink or spend a lot of time in the clubs. There are tons of amazing people here and I have never once felt judged or socially berefet for not participating when my friends enjoy a pint. I think I’ve realized that it’s not so much about the liquids imbibed, rather, it’s about the social experience that can be enjoyed. I’ve found I’ve missed out on nothing, even though my beverage of choice is water.

Back to Amsterdam. Because of my lack of party skills, I was really nervous about committing myself to ANOTHER weekend in Amsterdam. The last had gone so disasterously that it had left a bad taste in my mouth and I was worried that I’d spend a miserable weekend being dragged around the bars of Amsterdam and wanting to go home.

Thank goodness for Abby.  Abby signed up for the trip a week before I did, and convinced me to go along. Even as we were getting on the bus to leave, I considered backing down at the last moment. But I didn’t come to England to sit in my room, I came to try new things. So I got on the coach.

We had, without a doubt, one of the best weekends since arriving here. The trip was well organized and everything was taken care of (except for meals). I think having the stress of worrying about how we were going to get home made the trip more enjoyable, but we also wound up in the RIGHT part of Amsterdam this time.

We stayed at the Hans Brinker Budget Hotel, which is right in the heart of central Amsterdam, about a 20 minute walk from the Red Light District and only about 10 from the famous Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh museum. Of course, being the nerd I am I dragged everyone there, but at only ten euros admission, it was totally worth the price. There is something mind blowing about seeing Rembrandts up close–if we’d wanted to, we could have touched them. Something so priceless as a Van Gogh or a Rembrandt just hanging there, like it was in someone’s living room–it’s hard to remember that they are real. I’ve seen so many prints and photos and posters of these works, and then suddenly, its not just a print. It’s the actual work. Rembrandt sat there with his brush and painted this, put hours into creating the perfect shade of paint and laboriously created, out of nothing, this masterpiece.  Oh, and there were also swords there. Double bonus.

There was an event going that weekend that unfortuanately we couldn’t get tickets to, but they opened all the musuems until 2:30 at night and converted them into quasi-clubs/performance spaces. We tried to get tickets, but we were too late. All of the museums had been completely sold out. Which, while disappointing to us also made me feel good, as that meant people still are interested in culture.

We visited the Red Light District a few times, once during the day and then back with two separate groups at night. The nice part about the Outgoings tour was that once we arrived, we were given free reign to do whatever we wanted for the weekend. We had to be back at a certain time for the bar crawl, but otherwise, we had complete freedom.

The bar crawl, suprizingly, I enjoyed quite a bit. It was Halloween, so it was easy to play “spot the Americans”…we were the only ones who dressed up. Thankfully, when we arrived at the first bar, we encountered more students in “fancy dress”, but we were a minority. I went, for those wondering, as Elphaba and Abby went as Galinda. Unfortuanately, about midway though the first bar, I got overheated (thanks to the full-body green paint) so I went home and took a shower and returned triumphant awhile later, less green but much more comfortable. It was a sweet costume while it lasted.

Other experiences in Amsterdam that I greatly enjoyed where the amazing pears. We found a fruit stand that sold these giant pears, and they were amazing. I lost one when an incredibly rude man knocked it out of my hand, but aside from this experience,  I must say that I found the people of Amsterdam to be incredibly nice. We accidentally found the #1 Chip Shop in all of Holland, and I enjoyed the best fries I’ve ever had there. And then, of course, there were the waffles, which were, funnily enough, conspicuously absent from the stores until we made our way into the red light district. We also took a chance and ate at a little Italian place that we found down a restaurant-laden side street. It. Was. Amazing. Mimo’s Pizza, thank you for the most delicious meal of pizza and pasta I’ve had since I visited Italy in 6th grade. It was true, authentic (delicious) Italian and I loved being able to share that meal with my friends.

I’m not sure what changed, aside from our location, but I must say that this time was SO much better than last time. I think that if this experience taught me anything, it’s that sometimes it’s okay to be uncomfortable. After all, we are in a foreign country with new people and new experiences. Not everything will be the same all the time. I’ve tried to walk the fine line between staying in my comfort zone and tip-toeing out into the unknown, but Amsterdam:Redux proved to me that it’s not about just sticking your foot in. When we’re here, I have to take the plunge.

It’s okay, I think, to be wary, but the more we travel and explore, the more I’m learning that I can survive in situations where I might be uncomfortable or out of place. A thumping club isn’t nessessarily my cup of tea, but when else in my life will I be able to say I went on a bar crawl in Amsterdam dressed as the Wicked Witch? It’s the in the moments I seized without second thought that have been the most fun and the most rewarding, and which I know will be the most memorable.

Amsterdam redeemed herself, and I am so glad that I got my second chance.

Att jobba med reklam innebär ofta att belysa saker ifrån deras bättre sidor. Detta kan göras på olika sätt och i skalans ena ände ligger en tolkning som blir vilseledande och falsk. I den andra änden finns en liten justering som inte nämnvärt påverkar målgruppens förmåga att fatta ett välgrundat affärsbeslut (som juristerna skulle uttryckt saken). I båda av fallen finns en önskan om att vilja framstå som så bra det bara går. Uppriktighet och brutal osminkad ärlighet verkar inte sitta i de svenska företagsgenerna när det kommer till kommunikationen. Och det gäller nog fler kulturer. Det är synd, för en sådan uppriktighet hade förmodligen imponerat stort på målgruppen. Vill jag gärna tro i alla fall. Men det finns väl alltid undantag.

Så till ett praktikfall: Lördagsnatten spenderades på hotell, i Kalmar närmare bestämt. Inget större fel på bygget utan det höll vad man skulle kunna kalla normal, förväntad Scandicstandard med några decennium på nacken. Men just som jag var ute och rastade Junior för natten träffade liknelsen mig som en gjutjärnspanna. En rastgård. Jag rastar hunden på något som ser ut som en fängelserastgård och jag måste bara få undra hur de tänkte. Arkitekten. Hur resonerade han inför uppförandet av detta miljonprogramshotell? Hur motiverar man en yta som denna? Vad ska den användas till? Exerciser? Rugby? Skjutövningar? Bara fantasin sätter gränsen. Och hur resonerar hotelledningen när det enda gården utnyttjats till de senaste trettio är övningskörning med åkgräsklipparen?

Kom igen, Scandic. Var lite wild ´n crazy. Sätt denna bild på årsredovisningens framsida. Gör några “Hans Brinker Budget Hotel-annonser”.