The bicycle paths of Amsterdam can be a perilous place. I'm incredibly surprised by how few accidents and injuries that I've witnessed during my years in the city; they could probably be counted on one hand (unless you're also counting self-induced, or weather-induced accidents) -- but even so, at any moment, on any bicycle path, any individual is in danger of being scraped, bruised, or bowled over by a fellow fietser. Or even worse: by a pedestrian tourist.

I have, of course, learned some survival tricks along the way.  The bicycle bell, naturally, is the first line of defense.  At first I considered it rude and offensive to "ding" at innocent people wandering aimlessly in front of me -- but I quickly learned to overcome that inhibition, and now I freely ring away (even repeatedly, if the situation calls for it) even if it only appears as if wandering aimlessly into the bicycle path is only a remote unconscious possibility in the mind of the pedestrian.  I guess you could say I've enculturated, in this respect.  Sometimes, a tourist might get offended by my quick-with-the-bell attitude; but none of the Amsterdammers feel insulted by a well-placed "ding" helping to avoid a disaster.

Of course, it's quite often that the bell will need to be accompanied by further measures -- like a deep-throated "Hey!" to help the ignorant wanderer realize that there's actually a person connected with that metallic dinging sound they've been hearing.  Sometimes, there will be a bit of creative steering (swerving) that has to happen to avoid a collision.  And, of course, there's always stopping (though, let it be said, this is not a very Amsterdamse solution).

Recently, I've become fond of an alternative solution -- a third (or fourth) line of defense, if you will.  A careful slowing of the bicycle's pace, a delicate nudging of the bike's front tire slightly astride the clueless idiot pedestrian, and a gentle hand on the shoulder offering a subtle but determined shove toward the sidewalk.  Not in a mean way.  Actually, it's a very personal, very kind, very careful maneuever which requires the bicyclist to slow down and address the situation with human contact -- superceding the linguistic and cultural differences that are inevitable in the city (especially going through areas like the Dam, which is now a regular part of my commute) -- and it gets the message across clearly enough to allow me to be on my way.  I saw the hand-on-the-shoulder technique a few years ago during the Tour de France.  It was back during Lance Armstrong's period of dominance, and it happened during some medium-size climb through mountainous territory, when some lower echelon team like Credit Agricole or Rabbobank was pounding away in front of the American rider, as he was just starting to make his move toward the front of the pack.  The lower echelon team was either clueless that another racer was coming up through the pack, or they were obstinately (though clearly hopelessly) trying to hold their lead -- but in any event, I remember that it was obviously a breach of Tour etiquette.  Yet instead of lowering his shoulder and pushing through the pack by brute force, Armstrong simply reached out with his right hand, softly laid it on the shoulder of the nearest rider, and powered by on the left side.  That moment of the Tour is still very vivid in my mind (even though the specific year and the specific riders involved have escaped me), and it's inspired me to try a similar approach in the most congested terrains where pedestrians most frequently crowd the bicycle paths.

And it's actually worked pretty well.  I don't know how the recipients of the hand-on-the-shoulder technique receive it -- but I figure it's for their own good.  Maybe I need to refine my technique in the future (if you've got any advice for me, feel free to let me know).  But for now, I'm just glad to have another tool in the utility belt.