Amsterdam

It was late in the evening when we boarded the Toronto plane, bound for the old world. A couple of movies later, intertwined with a few restless hours of uncomfortable sleep the big Boing touched down on Netherlands soil. Awash with the glow of new experience and drunk with a mix of adrenaline and lack of sleep we tumbled out of the plane. Sorting our gear into a locker, taking only the essentials for our two day adventure, we boarded the train and headed into the city.
A few low-lying fields greeted us as we sped from the station on the rapid transit bullet, covering the 30km from town in what seemed like an instant. As the city began to build on the horizon, the train went underground and there the faint sensation of speed as the carriage rocked back and forth in the mid day darkness.
Central station was called over the speaker and we jumped of the train sprinting up the stairs to get to the daylight. We burst from the doors, and into the central square. This was it, this was Amsterdam!
Before our eyes, every European stereotype unfolded before us, a cloud of pigeons evaporated, dispersing into the azure blue sky. Cobble stone streets covered with bicycles, pedestrians and cars. Gulping it all in we took a few steps into the heart of the beast. Skinny row houses, 6 or 7 stories tall linked together to form a maze of city streets. Canals interspersed amongst the twisting labyrinth of humanity formed a liquid transit system subdividing the city.
Utterly gob smacked we took a few tentative steps into the new world. With heads peering around at the stunning architecture and feet moving forward through the city; our Amsterdam adventure was set to begin.
It didn’t take long to orient ourselves, although the Dutch street names were nearly impossible to decipher in our ignorant brains, the English language prevalence made navigation a breeze. We wandered aimlessly for a few hours before the hunger bug got the better of us and we stopped in for a café lunch. Beautiful food was consumed as we drank good coffee (well Soph did) and peered into the cannel that ran beside the street. Bikes rode past more then cars and the people watching was unprecedented.
After the srummy nosh, we headed down the street to the Anne Frank Museum. For those of you who don’t remember; Anne Frank hid with her family from the Nazi’s during the Second World War in a secret alcove in her father’s factory. They hid undiscovered for two years before they were discovered, sent to the concentration camps and murdered. To see the museum, which is built into the actual house was an emotional and harrowing experience. To see the secret rooms, to see the actual diary and to learn the whole story, in the place that it occurred was a very special and unforgettable experience.
The rest of the day was spent wandering amongst the buildings, along the canals and through the parks. Before long our lack of sleep became the better of us and it was time to head to the hostel. We were staying about 40min out of town and the prearranged shuttle was a pleasant drive through the country, before I drifted to an autorocking assisted slumber, I watched the sun dip behind the horizon behind a solo windmill – welcome to Holland.
The next day we woke early and jumped on the shuttle bus into town, it was set to be a big day and we wanted to get a good start on it. After another splendid breakfast at a café we cruised through the flower market, floating on boats and the canal shop after shop overflowing with tulips, bulbs and anything else you can imagine flower based.
Flowers were the theme of the day as we walked across the park to the Van Gough Museum. With 3 floors dedicated to the Dutch impressionist master; it was feast for the eyes. Chronicling his artistic career and having the most extensive collection of its kind anywhere in the world – the paintings were truly stunning.
Mid day became afternoon and afternoon turned to evening. The sun was once again low in the sky, setting the watery network aglow with crimson colours. Lonely boats cut the mirror with purple ripples of wake. For a long while we stood on a stone over bridge and watched the cityscape slip into silhouette – day was fading and it was time to leave the civility of Amsterdam by day behind and take a journey into Amsterdam after dark.
Darkness filled the streets as we started moving to the East, it was a Friday and the crowds were building. We crossed over an unmarked line in the sand and the temperature of the room changed. Gone were the memories of Van Gough and there before me in a window was a 99% naked woman dancing to a silent song, bathed by a red glow behind her head. In shock I took a deep breath and the unmistakable aroma of pot filled my nose – The Red Light District of Amsterdam has born witness to debauchery for a century, and there we were right in the middle of it.
Sophie gripped my arm and we navigated a course through a river of sleaze, drunken English lads on what seemed like a thousand Bucks’ Nights wandered the street gawking at the prostitutes as American tourists my parent’s age cut a quick path through the narrow alleyways, unsure what they’d gotten themselves into. Stoned backpackers que’d for fries and mayo and the crowds surged through the network of skinny streets like particles in the blood. It didn’t take long for us to have our fill. The hedonism was difficult to comprehend, too much excess, too many people trying to make their Amsterdam experience be what they think it should be. Too many people stoned because they think they are supposed to be. All while the beautiful city watches on.
So were we put off by all this? Hell no, we loved the place! As the shuttle pulled up to the curb and we waved goodbye to the city for the last time, we knew that Amsterdam had made an impression. An imprint onto my psyche that I won’t soon forget. The lights of the roadway flashed in my eyes as we drove out to the hostel. Mesmerized by the experience my mind drifted between what we had done in our few short days in Amsterdam and what lay ahead. The next morning we were off to the airport. Our time in Holland was done; it was time to fly to Paris. Drifting to sleep that night my mind was a tapestry of art, architecture, smut, and pot, cobble stone streets, weaving cannels and thousands and thousands of bikes. Good memories all – sleep came quickly.