Amsterdam - Day 1
We arrive in Amsterdam in the early afternoon, and check into the youth hostel. The room is similar to a college dorm room, with a bunk bed and a communal shower. Young people are milling about the hallways, speaking all sorts of languages.
Once things are settled in the hostel, we walk to the Anne Frank house. The house-turned-museum blends with its neighboring houses. Sadly, photos are prohibted inside, but there is one picture of the exterior. The Frank's hid in the two upper floors during the occupation. Both floors had all the furnishings cleared out by the Nazi troops, and are left empty by Otto Frank's wishes. Many of the family's artifacts are on display, including some of Anne's diaries and some posters. The spookiest display is the girls' height marks on the wallpaper. It shows their growth, stunted by their tragic betrayal near the end of the war.
But now onto happier things. We eat dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant -- Dutch food is purportedly boring, hence the success of foreign foods in Amsterdam. The sun is setting, and its time for the famed Red Light District. This small section of the city is packed with people on a Friday night. We stop at a nice "coffee shop" called The Greenhouse Effect. Down the street we hear a huge clamor, as a crowd of bar hoppers get drunk and wild. Contrasting that all-too-common scene with the tranquility of our coffee shop makes me wonder why marijuana legalization is so contraversial in the U.S.
A while later, we walk down the more [in]famous part of the District, namely the sex shops, theaters, and prostitute perches. The streets are full of tourists who gawk at the prostitutes. A couple of Dutch boys ride up on their bikes and try to solicit a prostitute. She turns them away, laughing their boldness. Some Dutch men on the street see this, and chastize the boys.
The District supposed to be safe, but for two exceptions. There are scary hard-drug dealers hanging around almost every street. They whisper "Hey, you. Coca? Coca?" constantly. It quickly becomes annoying, but it's best to ignore them and continue on. The dealers leave people alone who ignore them.
Taking pictures of the prostitutes is dangerous. Their pimps are known to beat an offending tourist senseless for it. The prostitutes probably want to stay as anonymous as possible. So, there is just one photo in my album of the Red Light District.
The Dutch are famous for their tolerance to foreigners, soft drugs, and prostitution. My increasing impression is that the Dutch are tolerant to anyone who stays off their bike paths. Drugs, drinking, prostitution, and masses of tourists? All O.K. if we can ride our bikes everywhere.
Once things are settled in the hostel, we walk to the Anne Frank house. The house-turned-museum blends with its neighboring houses. Sadly, photos are prohibted inside, but there is one picture of the exterior. The Frank's hid in the two upper floors during the occupation. Both floors had all the furnishings cleared out by the Nazi troops, and are left empty by Otto Frank's wishes. Many of the family's artifacts are on display, including some of Anne's diaries and some posters. The spookiest display is the girls' height marks on the wallpaper. It shows their growth, stunted by their tragic betrayal near the end of the war.
But now onto happier things. We eat dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant -- Dutch food is purportedly boring, hence the success of foreign foods in Amsterdam. The sun is setting, and its time for the famed Red Light District. This small section of the city is packed with people on a Friday night. We stop at a nice "coffee shop" called The Greenhouse Effect. Down the street we hear a huge clamor, as a crowd of bar hoppers get drunk and wild. Contrasting that all-too-common scene with the tranquility of our coffee shop makes me wonder why marijuana legalization is so contraversial in the U.S.
A while later, we walk down the more [in]famous part of the District, namely the sex shops, theaters, and prostitute perches. The streets are full of tourists who gawk at the prostitutes. A couple of Dutch boys ride up on their bikes and try to solicit a prostitute. She turns them away, laughing their boldness. Some Dutch men on the street see this, and chastize the boys.
The District supposed to be safe, but for two exceptions. There are scary hard-drug dealers hanging around almost every street. They whisper "Hey, you. Coca? Coca?" constantly. It quickly becomes annoying, but it's best to ignore them and continue on. The dealers leave people alone who ignore them.
Taking pictures of the prostitutes is dangerous. Their pimps are known to beat an offending tourist senseless for it. The prostitutes probably want to stay as anonymous as possible. So, there is just one photo in my album of the Red Light District.
The Dutch are famous for their tolerance to foreigners, soft drugs, and prostitution. My increasing impression is that the Dutch are tolerant to anyone who stays off their bike paths. Drugs, drinking, prostitution, and masses of tourists? All O.K. if we can ride our bikes everywhere.
posted by Mike Rainey at 3:40 PM
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