We in the Red Light District

Answer me this about Amsterdam: If coffee shops sell weed and cafes sell alcohol and bars actually serve food, where can you get a decent latte? I half expected the answer to be something like at a “pot brewery” or something.

In case you couldn’t figure it out, this post will be about my jaunt this weekend to Amsterdam. Was that intro good enough to make you want to keep reading? Damn, where did I lose you? Too confusing? Hmm, I see your point. Regardless, get yourself interested. This post will be a bit longer than usual because it covers a good amount of time, but it will be worth it. Maybe.

Amsterdam reminded me slightly of Provincetown, Mass. In both places you walk around on brick and cobblestone narrow streets, have to look out for bikes instead of cars, go window shopping and feel like you are amongst 80 percent tourists. You walk around these quaint little villages and feel like they are the most innocent places on earth and then bam: SEX! It’s unavoidable. In each place, sexuality hits you like an angry pimp’s fist. But instead of men “touching each other’s fannies” (inside joke) like in Provincetown, in Amsterdam it is hookers banging on their windows trying to get you to come inside. Some of them were quite attractive. I debated whether it would be appropriate to take pictures of them but ultimately decided it was not worth the risk so you will have to do with this stupid picture of “red lights.” Sadly I cannot regale you with any sexcapades involving myself or anyone within my travel group. None of us indulged.

Quite the opposite actually.

I’m somewhat shamefaced to admit this, but my first night in Amsterdam was actually the most sleep I have gotten since coming to London. Maybe it was the aroma seeping from all the “coffee shops.” Maybe it was the travel that came after a night of little sleep. Maybe it was all the walking we did that day (you can walk around the entire city of Amsterdam easily in an hour). I don’t know, but I do know I was amped for Saturday.
I was well rested, fueled with a hostel-supplied breakfast. We did a lot on Saturday. Saw the Van Gogh gallery, took a canal tour, walked through some sweet markets, saw the outside of the house that Anne Frank hid in, but none of us -- when it came time to do it -- actually had the strength to take advantage of the red light district. No strip club, no live show, no prostitutes no nothing. Se la vie. Always next time. Although I don’t really think Amsterdam is worth going back to. It’s kind of a novelty that doesn’t have much “replay value.”

When Dan (my roommate pictured here in Amsterdam's central station) and I got back our hostel on Saturday night, we found men sleeping in our beds. We were staying in a big room with 20 bunk beds. Very communal including the bathroom. It was actually quite nice. But strangers in our sheets were not what we wanted to see coming back just looking to crash. “Hey buddy, you are in my bed.” “No speaka ingles.” Seriously? I just woke you up. What do think it is that I want? Anyway, my Spanish is not the best and we couldn’t quite communicate. He simply rolled over and went back to sleep. Dan and I went down to the reception desk to make sure our reservation was still good. It was. The woman came up with us, kicked the guys out of our beds and gave us new sheets. They didn’t even attempt an apology, which I found strange.

I wish I could you offer you a better story but all in all it was a fairly tame trip to Amsterdam. Just one more little tale before you go though. The morning that we left for Amsterdam Dan realized he had forgotten his toiletries back at our flat. He luckily realized this right before we entered the South Kensington Tube station. So he sprinted back to get them while I waited outside the station. Two Brits came up to me and asked me if I knew the area well. I was hesitant. “Sorta.” “You know where the big Tesco is?” Tesco is a supermarket. And I did. I knew where it was! “Walk up Queen’s gate, take a left on Harrington road and right when you hit Gloucester. You will see it on your right.” “Would it be faster to take the Tube?” “You could take the Tube to Gloucester road and pop up right there if you like. Take the Circle or Piccadilly line.” “Cheers mate.” I was proud of myself. I knew the area well enough to give directions. But then I realized that was the wrong Tesco. They wanted the Warehouse Tesco, which is in the complete opposite direction. I completely screwed these guys. I wonder what happened to them. They probably cursed me pretty bad when they realized I pointed them about 20 minutes out of their way. But I like this story because it shows where I am as far as comfort with knowing things here. I’m slowly getting it, but there is still much to this city I am yet to master. I know it is there, but I am yet to completely familiarize myself with it.

Oh and an espresso shop. That’s where you can get a good latte in Amsterdam.

Comments Welcome,

Andrew