There’s a long line of people, who want to watch
the live sex show. 60 euros for a full show. 5 euros for a quick show.
The full show even gives you a drink while you’re watching. Did I tell
you that there’s also a church right by the red light district?
Sin and repent. Repent and sin. Feel worthless. Feel worthy. Feel shame again. Then pretend that nothing happened.
After
about 30 minutes of walking around, we all find the whole thing sad and
depressing. We leave to get a drink. Amsterdam has it all for you,
drugs, prostitutes, arts, culture, and beauty.
Every corner
smells like marijuana smoke. There’s throngs of tourists. I hear
Americans everywhere. For some reason, I find it annoying to hear that
Yankee accent, so loud and clueless, all the time.
Amsterdam is
the most Schizophrenic city I’ve been to and so clearly so. There’s pink
and red flowers and canals and water. I can see why it’s called the
Venice of the North. It’s beautiful and charming. But Amsterdam has such
an ugly side to it. One wonders how these two personalities live side
by side with each other.
* * *
I came to Amsterdam, because
I’ve never been to the Netherlands. My first proper boss in New Zealand
was Dutch. I liked him a lot. He gave me a chance, even when I wasn’t
confident I could get the job done. Because of him, I got my first full
time job in New Zealand. Because of him, I became a resident of New
Zealand. In fact, “Zealand” is a Dutch word. It means sea–land. My Dutch
boss even gave me his family recipe for Dutch donuts.
I wanted to understand the Dutch better. So, it was time to go Amsterdam.
I
took the 1 o’clock speed train out of Gottingen to Amsterdam. Across me
was a young, 22 year old, shy German guy, who wanted to talk to me. He
wore glasses and had cool gadgets. He was going with his girlfriend to
Amsterdam, just for one night. The German guy’s name was Lucas and he
was a mechanic, who liked Lacoste designer clothes.
He did
everything indirectly to get my attention. No one was taking my phone
call back home, while I was riding the speed train to Amsterdam from
Germany. So, why not? I bought an overpriced coffee at the train
kitchen, introduced myself, and started talking to him and his
girlfriend.
We talked about what to do in Amsterdam. They told
me that they were going to stay near Anne Frank’s house. Her diary was
mandatory reading in junior high, and I think even high school.
I
asked them about their favorite countries in Europe. She was from
Poland. So, they told me Warsaw. I still had no plans as to where I was
going.
You know when the train gets into the Netherlands. The
buildings are softer and cuter and friendlier and more cubish. It was
like Pablo Picasso was their architect. German roofs, in contrast,
announce that their German. They’re a dark blue and made of metal and so
austere and strong and tough. They tell you, they can weather any
storm. I’d say the Dutch houses are much more inviting.
* * *
Five hours later, about 290 miles away, I arrive into Amsterdam Train Station.
A
friendly and lovely Dutch lady tells me she makes her fried dough with
love. She takes the time out to help me find my hostel. I check into my
hostel. It’s in Uptown. I stayed at the Flying Pig Hostel in Uptown. Very great location and atmosphere.
Uptown is lovely and charming and nothing like
central Amsterdam with its red light district. I’m by the museums and
the art galleries.
After, I sit down by a river at a bistro for
dinner. The waiters are Dutch. That’s cool. I like meeting Dutch people.
They’re all so tall. Did you know the Netherlands has the tallest
people in the world?
They young waiters teach me Dutch words. I
know a few. They’re so happy I’m trying to learn. They’re very warm.
After eating an appetizer and amazing crunchy white bread, baked really
crispy, they ask me to come back.
I’m in Amsterdam. Three more weeks of travel.
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