Amsterdam isn't a counter-culture. It's a city of everlasting social freedom.There are canals, bridges and trained cattle. Yes! I couldn't believe my pupils either - these burger-making vertebrates weren't brewing milk behind any wire fences or gates. Instead, they were enclosed by moats. They were the same water-filled trenches that you would find surrounding an enchanted castle in Geneva. Not only is this extremely economical, but it's a darn good idea. If I ever decide to start a farm (alternative to getting a job), I'm buying my dogs in Berlin and my cattle in Holland.
After stepping foot off of the train, I was marveled. The Amsterdam Central train station is architecture at its greatest. I instantly fell in love with the people, buildings, bridges, streets and swans. There was so much diversity among the people that I still don't even know what a real Dutch person looks like. I thought the Dutch were like the Germans - blonde hair, Karl Marx and a language that requires a regurgitation sound before speaking. Dutch is very similar to German, but most people spoke in English. My friends and I have used more German here than we do in Berlin. Our displaced tendency to speak in a language that has absolutely nothing to do with the country is very strange.
The Red Light District was something else. It's vivid, peculiar and exactly how I imagined it. Whores really do stand naked in windows with doors. There are streets lined with these girls caked in gaudy make-up, with a universal stench of "hussy," selling their souls for a buck. Some girls stand behind the glass with a mean grimace that is supposed to be sexually desirable, while others smack gum and listen to music, but the ones who need to pay their light bills will smile, flirt, point and scare you with friendliness. All I could do was walk and stare. For a moment, I tried to imagine going to work in a red-lit closet...but, that profession doesn't suit me. The system was easy: customers have their picking, go inside, curtains close, sex happens, walk of shame, (hopefully some sort of cleaning process is inserted here), she's back in the window. And the blue-light specials were the half-finished transvestites who looked just like the she-males that they are. Word on the street is Muslim men are their most valued customers. We were told transvestites pay higher rent because they tend to bring in more cash with their unheard-of sense of adventure. ew! Allegedly, prostitutes are made from Eastern European girls (starting at the age of 14) who sign contracts to work in the west. After they sign their bodies over, they're brain-washed and threatened to eventually become a prostitute. Sounds like a campfire story to me...
The entire liberal culture of Amsterdam was amazing! Beautiful apartments are stacked on top of the erotic stores and those notorious coffeeshops sit on almost every block. Swans and ducks paddle aimlessly through the canals, creating bits of romance that is veined throughout the city. October leaves effortlessly decorated the cobblestoned streets; couples shared space cakes leaving crumbs of hash on a napkin; and the children who biked past prostitutes and through marijuana-spiced air didn't seem shocked, choked or more susceptible to corruption. Everything was normal.
There was a carnival in Dam Square that was blocking the Dutch Royal Palace that we failed to notice until the very last day. The facade was being renovated so we skipped right over it and went to see the Reguliers Gracht. It's a bridge near the city center where you can see seven bridges all at once. Amsterdam has more than 1,200 bridges with canals on almost every street. I really feel like I experienced the city, and I think it was due to the fact that we didn't have a plan. We just showed up in Amsterdam and got lost a few times.
Densely populated hostel life isn't my cup of tea. Our Canadian bunk mates were true nomads. They were one city away from the end of their three and one-half month voyage throughout Europe. We exchanged stories, blogs, and European survival tips. I admire the spontaneity of backpacking. I'm technically backpacking with my neatly-folded suitcase, book bag full of baguette and Pringles, and Chanel purse. I'll have you know I've worn the same jeans and sweater for three days straight. I'm also taking showers in the morning because I figure the sheets on the beds are infested with germs anyway. Going to bed with dusty feet just isn't my thing (LOL, Ma). I blame my OCD-tendencies for not allowing me to explore life in a gritty fashion. I feel indian-ish.
My room mate and I are on the way to Paris - we are tracking through Belgium right now. I adopted a new cookie into my diet: Roomboter Stroopwafels - thinly sliced waffel circles with caramel. To die for.
The entire liberal culture of Amsterdam was amazing! Beautiful apartments are stacked on top of the erotic stores and those notorious coffeeshops sit on almost every block. Swans and ducks paddle aimlessly through the canals, creating bits of romance that is veined throughout the city. October leaves effortlessly decorated the cobblestoned streets; couples shared space cakes leaving crumbs of hash on a napkin; and the children who biked past prostitutes and through marijuana-spiced air didn't seem shocked, choked or more susceptible to corruption. Everything was normal.
There was a carnival in Dam Square that was blocking the Dutch Royal Palace that we failed to notice until the very last day. The facade was being renovated so we skipped right over it and went to see the Reguliers Gracht. It's a bridge near the city center where you can see seven bridges all at once. Amsterdam has more than 1,200 bridges with canals on almost every street. I really feel like I experienced the city, and I think it was due to the fact that we didn't have a plan. We just showed up in Amsterdam and got lost a few times.
Densely populated hostel life isn't my cup of tea. Our Canadian bunk mates were true nomads. They were one city away from the end of their three and one-half month voyage throughout Europe. We exchanged stories, blogs, and European survival tips. I admire the spontaneity of backpacking. I'm technically backpacking with my neatly-folded suitcase, book bag full of baguette and Pringles, and Chanel purse. I'll have you know I've worn the same jeans and sweater for three days straight. I'm also taking showers in the morning because I figure the sheets on the beds are infested with germs anyway. Going to bed with dusty feet just isn't my thing (LOL, Ma). I blame my OCD-tendencies for not allowing me to explore life in a gritty fashion. I feel indian-ish.
My room mate and I are on the way to Paris - we are tracking through Belgium right now. I adopted a new cookie into my diet: Roomboter Stroopwafels - thinly sliced waffel circles with caramel. To die for.
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