I Amsterdam
Amsterdam is a gentle gem of a city.
This is my observation while walking in the dark, chilly drizzle during that first evening in the Netherlands. Never mind the rain; night time is the right time to get my first taste of Amsterdam, the soft city lights reflecting off canals pinwheeling in every direction, lining nearly every street. There is a hush over the preceedings, the only nocturnal noises coming from the occasional ting-ting-ting from the bell of a passing bicycle. It's cold outside, but there is an underlying warmth here that is hard to ignore. Everything is on a very human scale, and even a late-night stroll around the city makes it clear right off the bat why so many have fallen in love with this Dutch wonderland. I immediately include myself among them. The buildings, the canals, the cobblestone paths, the deafening silence when outside the city center. It is just so darn cute here, I decide. In the pitch blackness of that first evening, without having yet experienced anything that the city has to offer, I can't help but take its pulse. It is slow and steady, like that of a triathlete at rest. There is a healthy calmness not often found in cities of this size. I feel safely cocooned in its serenity, which of course causes the cynical American in me to wonder: Is it this quiet because everyone is stoned out of their minds?
The more I explore here, the less any of that seems to matter. I find that Amsterdam has so much more to offer than the few typical stereotypes I had imagined in my own mind. Yes, there is pot here. You smell it everywhere, you see it in the eyes of many of the young passersby on the street, and you know it is the cause of so many of them munching on waffles, hamburgers or Belgian frites after midnight. Personally, the smoking thing doesn't interest me much. I contemplate popping into one of the "coffeeshops" for a loaded brownie, but resist. Marijuana is largely a thing of the past for me, and though it is legal and very tempting to try it while here, I deem it more important to have my wits about me, along with my somewhat limited sense of direction, while roaming around solo. Now don't get me wrong. If I was traveling with someone who wanted to pop in for a toke, I would have joined. But alone? Eh. Not so much. Besides, I'm sure I got a contact high a few times from all the second-hand smoke permeating the city center. The smell of grass is about as omnipresent here as the splendid odor of piping hot waffles was along the streets of Brussels, only far less enticing to yours truly.
And what about that other cliche of Amsterdam, the one that speaks of a sexual smorgasbord better known to the world as the red light district? Well, my first reaction is simple. Um. Wow. There are scantily-clad women in windows, dressed in bikinis and backed by lurid red lights, beckoning the hordes of (mostly) men to come in and pluck down their hard-earned euros for a good time. My initial shock changes quickly, however, the more I walk around. This kind of thing is par for the course in this city. People have sex. It's big business in Amsterdam (the prostitutes have a union, from what I am told). And let's face it--this stuff goes on everywhere, it is just regulated here is all. There is something about the legalization of marijuana and prostitution which makes it all feel like a huge "so what?" in my eyes. Besides, going to Amsterdam with judgements on either topic is like walking into McDonald's and expecting top-quality meat in your Big Mac. You want a steak? Go somewhere else. You want a city that deems pot and sex inappropriate? Don't come here. Simple enough.
Which leads me to my next observation of Amsterdam as gay mecca. What else would you expect from the birthplace of gay marriage? Rainbow flags fly proudly here, blowing in the breeze without fear of repercussion. There are more gay bars and clubs than I have ever seen in any city, and they are not limited to one small area. Gayness is everywhere, but none of it is particularly in-your-face or at all out of place no matter where that flag is perched. We all know which side of the gay fence I stand on, and from my viewpoint it is a sincere pleasure and a big breath of fresh Dutch air to be in a place where sexual orientation is about as important as what kind of socks you are wearing on any given day.
I guess this is what I like most about Amsterdam. It's a city that dances to the beat of its own drummer. Never mind the music being played elsewhere, not as if any native Amsterdamer would be caught judging the others anyway. Take the streets here, for example. They look very different to my eyes, namely because there are far more bikes traversing them than cars. People in Holland love their bikes, and every street is set up with dedicated bike lanes and signage, creating somewhat of a cycling freeway. Now, I am used to biking everywhere in Hawaii, but this--for some reason, this intimidates me at first. After two days of pounding the pavement on foot, I finally decide its time to throw my hat into the two-wheeled ring. Best decision of the whole trip. Within minutes of riding with the late-spring sun beating down on my face, cautiously weaving my way through wave after wave of fellow cyclists, I declare to myself how awesome it is to be riding a bike in the capital of all biking cities. This is my favorite way to see the city, even if the rules of the road seem to be the following: Bikers have the right of way, they never ever stop, and if you get caught staring down the barrel of one, you will get run over. It almost happened to me once. OK, maybe more than once, until I realized that I should not be walking in the bike lanes unless I want to get mowed down. I was even tempted to say there is an arrogance here amongst bikers until around day two of my own pedaling odyssey, when tourist after unwitting tourist keep getting in my way. I wanted to get upset, wanted to ring my little bell, but I didn't. I also wound up stopping a few times to let people (and cars) go by, which on one occasion got me a Dutch tongue-lashing from one irate pedestrian. Whatever. I didn't understand a word of it. Plus I figure if we can't all get along in a place as open and accepting as Amsterdam, then where can we?
Lastly there are the people here. Early in my stay, while wandering around totally lost after midnight, I stop to check my map under the dim light of one of the street lamps. As I orientate myself wearily, I am approached by a young girl walking a bike whose chain had clearly popped off. She asks me if I can help her, and I try, but am unable to put the greasy thing back on. Blame it on the different bike styles here or my lack of ability with such things (probably the latter), but nothing works. That's OK, she says. We start to talk. Her name is Desiree, she is 16 years old and from the look of it, fairly intoxicated. But she is undoubtedly sweet, this delicately thin young lady, and she politely asks me where I am headed. Turns out we are going the same direction, so we walk together. She asks where I am from. I tell her, then ask if she has ever been to America. She says no but that it is her dream to go to New York, and she is happy to be learning English so that she can one day make her dream come true with ease. I congratulate her on speaking English so well, causing her to giggle with youthful pride.
Desiree also complains about not being able to buy weed yet. This makes me smile. You see, she has just hit the legal drinking age of 16 and has now turned her attention to her 18th birthday, when she can strut confidently into any coffeeshop to (legally) buy the goods. I tell her how it is in the States, that you have to be 21 just to drink and that you cannot buy pot so easily. She laughs and once again utters what is obviously her favorite English phrase--"What the fuck!"--and leads me to my doorstep. We say goodbye with a big hug, and off she goes. I had found my way back home and made a new friend in the process, all part of the inimitable charm of being lost in a city like Amsterdam.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
This is my observation while walking in the dark, chilly drizzle during that first evening in the Netherlands. Never mind the rain; night time is the right time to get my first taste of Amsterdam, the soft city lights reflecting off canals pinwheeling in every direction, lining nearly every street. There is a hush over the preceedings, the only nocturnal noises coming from the occasional ting-ting-ting from the bell of a passing bicycle. It's cold outside, but there is an underlying warmth here that is hard to ignore. Everything is on a very human scale, and even a late-night stroll around the city makes it clear right off the bat why so many have fallen in love with this Dutch wonderland. I immediately include myself among them. The buildings, the canals, the cobblestone paths, the deafening silence when outside the city center. It is just so darn cute here, I decide. In the pitch blackness of that first evening, without having yet experienced anything that the city has to offer, I can't help but take its pulse. It is slow and steady, like that of a triathlete at rest. There is a healthy calmness not often found in cities of this size. I feel safely cocooned in its serenity, which of course causes the cynical American in me to wonder: Is it this quiet because everyone is stoned out of their minds?
The more I explore here, the less any of that seems to matter. I find that Amsterdam has so much more to offer than the few typical stereotypes I had imagined in my own mind. Yes, there is pot here. You smell it everywhere, you see it in the eyes of many of the young passersby on the street, and you know it is the cause of so many of them munching on waffles, hamburgers or Belgian frites after midnight. Personally, the smoking thing doesn't interest me much. I contemplate popping into one of the "coffeeshops" for a loaded brownie, but resist. Marijuana is largely a thing of the past for me, and though it is legal and very tempting to try it while here, I deem it more important to have my wits about me, along with my somewhat limited sense of direction, while roaming around solo. Now don't get me wrong. If I was traveling with someone who wanted to pop in for a toke, I would have joined. But alone? Eh. Not so much. Besides, I'm sure I got a contact high a few times from all the second-hand smoke permeating the city center. The smell of grass is about as omnipresent here as the splendid odor of piping hot waffles was along the streets of Brussels, only far less enticing to yours truly.
And what about that other cliche of Amsterdam, the one that speaks of a sexual smorgasbord better known to the world as the red light district? Well, my first reaction is simple. Um. Wow. There are scantily-clad women in windows, dressed in bikinis and backed by lurid red lights, beckoning the hordes of (mostly) men to come in and pluck down their hard-earned euros for a good time. My initial shock changes quickly, however, the more I walk around. This kind of thing is par for the course in this city. People have sex. It's big business in Amsterdam (the prostitutes have a union, from what I am told). And let's face it--this stuff goes on everywhere, it is just regulated here is all. There is something about the legalization of marijuana and prostitution which makes it all feel like a huge "so what?" in my eyes. Besides, going to Amsterdam with judgements on either topic is like walking into McDonald's and expecting top-quality meat in your Big Mac. You want a steak? Go somewhere else. You want a city that deems pot and sex inappropriate? Don't come here. Simple enough.
Which leads me to my next observation of Amsterdam as gay mecca. What else would you expect from the birthplace of gay marriage? Rainbow flags fly proudly here, blowing in the breeze without fear of repercussion. There are more gay bars and clubs than I have ever seen in any city, and they are not limited to one small area. Gayness is everywhere, but none of it is particularly in-your-face or at all out of place no matter where that flag is perched. We all know which side of the gay fence I stand on, and from my viewpoint it is a sincere pleasure and a big breath of fresh Dutch air to be in a place where sexual orientation is about as important as what kind of socks you are wearing on any given day.
I guess this is what I like most about Amsterdam. It's a city that dances to the beat of its own drummer. Never mind the music being played elsewhere, not as if any native Amsterdamer would be caught judging the others anyway. Take the streets here, for example. They look very different to my eyes, namely because there are far more bikes traversing them than cars. People in Holland love their bikes, and every street is set up with dedicated bike lanes and signage, creating somewhat of a cycling freeway. Now, I am used to biking everywhere in Hawaii, but this--for some reason, this intimidates me at first. After two days of pounding the pavement on foot, I finally decide its time to throw my hat into the two-wheeled ring. Best decision of the whole trip. Within minutes of riding with the late-spring sun beating down on my face, cautiously weaving my way through wave after wave of fellow cyclists, I declare to myself how awesome it is to be riding a bike in the capital of all biking cities. This is my favorite way to see the city, even if the rules of the road seem to be the following: Bikers have the right of way, they never ever stop, and if you get caught staring down the barrel of one, you will get run over. It almost happened to me once. OK, maybe more than once, until I realized that I should not be walking in the bike lanes unless I want to get mowed down. I was even tempted to say there is an arrogance here amongst bikers until around day two of my own pedaling odyssey, when tourist after unwitting tourist keep getting in my way. I wanted to get upset, wanted to ring my little bell, but I didn't. I also wound up stopping a few times to let people (and cars) go by, which on one occasion got me a Dutch tongue-lashing from one irate pedestrian. Whatever. I didn't understand a word of it. Plus I figure if we can't all get along in a place as open and accepting as Amsterdam, then where can we?
Lastly there are the people here. Early in my stay, while wandering around totally lost after midnight, I stop to check my map under the dim light of one of the street lamps. As I orientate myself wearily, I am approached by a young girl walking a bike whose chain had clearly popped off. She asks me if I can help her, and I try, but am unable to put the greasy thing back on. Blame it on the different bike styles here or my lack of ability with such things (probably the latter), but nothing works. That's OK, she says. We start to talk. Her name is Desiree, she is 16 years old and from the look of it, fairly intoxicated. But she is undoubtedly sweet, this delicately thin young lady, and she politely asks me where I am headed. Turns out we are going the same direction, so we walk together. She asks where I am from. I tell her, then ask if she has ever been to America. She says no but that it is her dream to go to New York, and she is happy to be learning English so that she can one day make her dream come true with ease. I congratulate her on speaking English so well, causing her to giggle with youthful pride.
Desiree also complains about not being able to buy weed yet. This makes me smile. You see, she has just hit the legal drinking age of 16 and has now turned her attention to her 18th birthday, when she can strut confidently into any coffeeshop to (legally) buy the goods. I tell her how it is in the States, that you have to be 21 just to drink and that you cannot buy pot so easily. She laughs and once again utters what is obviously her favorite English phrase--"What the fuck!"--and leads me to my doorstep. We say goodbye with a big hug, and off she goes. I had found my way back home and made a new friend in the process, all part of the inimitable charm of being lost in a city like Amsterdam.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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