We were up pretty late, and back on the road by one, after a casual pancake breakfast (woot, more pancakes). The drive to Amsterdam was around 2 hours, and my brother and sister stuck in on either side of me. I was still pretty tired, so I relaxed while the trip went by. We parked outside of the city, took a tram in, and walked the last numerous blocks to our youth hostel. I tried to watch everything, but I hadn't slept so well, so I was content to listen to my brother and sister chat about the NEMO (the Dutch version of the Exploratorium), the Sex Museum (we passed it by and it didn't look all too interesting, just everything related to the subject since the beginning of time or whatnot), and even the Torture Museum, which I was mildly intrigued by, I admit. Amsterdam is built on water, so every street is interspersed by bridges, with barges and various supply ships running in the canals underfoot. Every method of transportation was over-employed, from walking to boat to car to tram to train to rickshaw to those weird bikes that you pedal with your feet and I'm pretty sure everyone secretly wants. Oh man, the bikes. The bikes were everywhere. Just hordes of them, locked in these religious congregations of rubber and spokes, or warhorses in stables, pedaling at one another (if you can imagine that). I nearly got run over a fair number of times, and I had only my martial arts to thank for my reflexes there. Apparently the trams don't stop for pedestrians either. They just make this 'ding', and then you'd better get your sorry butt off the tracks, lest you become the next mystery meat served at the tourist cafes. It was actually a beautiful city though. Every street corner, bridge, building was hand crafted and unique, looking as if the ages were all slammed next to one another, and a minstrel could stumble into an old chinese woman selling cheap egg rolls down the street. We made it into the youth hostel, an inviting place with a plethora of rooms and young travelers, most in their early twenties. We got the first room in the first hall, and quickly decided on who got which of the double-decker metal bunks with plastic mattresses and personal bedding. All of our electronics and other valuables were stowed in a locker, of course, but we left most of our clothing at the foot of our beds. Then we went out, having determined that the city was ours, and that we'd find some cheap food, after seeing some sights and grabbing a few special brownies (none for me, but for the others, how does that saying go? When in Amsterdam? Must be it). So we had it all planned out. We'd get the goods, then grab a bite to eat, and following the address given on the internet, go to a traveling comedy club, which I hoped spoke some loose manner of English. It was right about then that the 'special' part was supposed to kick in, so the entertainment value would be raised very high (bad pun, sorry). Especially for me, watching them, as I interjected to their discussion. The coffee house (that's what they call them) was quite ambiguous from the outside, but the inside already felt like an acid trip of some sort. The walls bent in and rose up to form chair-lie outcroppings, and the colors wavered between gold and red and deep purple. It was also filled with smoke, and as we entered, I was pretty sure it'd already taken an effect. But no, my eyes were not deceiving me. There was indeed a black and white cat perched and purring upon the counter. We went up and he nuzzled upas we pet him, eyes slits and rumbling. I whispered to my sister that "that must've been some gooood catnip", and she chuckled. We sat under next to one of the "stoner lamps", as my brother called them, on one of the wall-bench-things. My brother went up to order some cakes and muffins (no brownies), and we looked around. As I learned later, some film with a famous guy (Brad Pitt maybe?) was shot here, and it certainly would have been a good shot. We then headed to find someplace to eat, which involved walking back and forth along the same street until we grabbed some chinese food, and nearly bumped into a minstrel. We ate on a bench at a main square, and then headed to our location, walking some distance through the city. We headed through massive cathedrals and past grandiose fountains. I swung on an awesome swing and we got a couple pics. At one point we crossed a bridge and began moving along the river, when I caught a glimpse of a store front with red bar lights and scantily clad manikins. As we passed by, they shifted, and one of them started texting. Just sitting at a window. When I pointed and asked, my brother was kind enough to inform me that those were prostitutes, waiting for customers. We arrived at the comedy club address, only it was an apartment building, which happened to have the comedy troupe name as its name. Meaning I'd gotten the wrong address. Luckily, my brother soon learned form a barkeep that the club wasn't too far away; at least we were in the right area. Before heading out, however, we went to sit on a fence, and the cake/muffins were partway consumed preemptively. We found the club, and heading downstairs to the door, paid entrance and went in. It was modern, cozy, great atmosphere. My sister immediately found a cute bartender and watched him for a little while. We had some time before the show started, but it passed quickly, and soon an American Asian-looking woman got up and was utterly ridiculous, talking about everything from Amazon sweat rituals to anal. Then, a New Yorker, who also laughed at the European shower-heads (see? not just me. it's weird, and cool). The cakes kicked in about halfway through the first act, though slowly, and it wasn't until they were laughing far too loud that I humorously realized what an effect it was. We left happily, and wandered back, my sister giggling about something, loosing her train of thought, spying something sparkly, gasping, then returning to her giggles. D and S, and my bro and I joined her amusement, partially because it was actually funny. but mostly because she was such a sight. We made to the hostel, then my sister didn't want to waste the night, so we continued on. Deeper and deeper into Amsterdam we went, until I passed an odd car-post that was ringed with red lights, and suddenly everything was red. S made quick note that we'd entered the red light district, which was easily apparent. Suddenly there were very few woman on the streets, in the crowds. Instead, each storefront, had those same red lights, and curtains pulled back in the nighttime so the women could show off their wares behind glass walls. I was shocked; my sister was revolted. They looked like manikins come to life, animals trapped in a cage. They danced and entertained the men gawking, or whistling at them. We passed through an alleyway, and suddenly there was red everywhere. Each piece of wall instead contained a woman, each with their own miniature stage, chair to rest in, and back room, closed off by a curtain, which men could enter for a range of prices and services. I didn't bother to ask what these services entailed, it was readily apparent on the faces of every bystander and dancer. However, a couple of things to note. Apparently they do this by choice, renting the fronts from their own pockets, and keeping the funds from each night. No pimps would beat them, and they could turn away customers. They might even have day jobs, disguised amongst the rest of us but it paid quite well, the nights. Some of them were quite willing to take up jobs there. My sister wavered where she stood, and would not move, just watching the rose-tinged windows and spewing all manners of disgust. It was indeed quite revolting. I tried to reason with the Amsterdam mindset. This was commonplace, and these woman held some control over their lives, although it was likely economic issues that caused their decision to do this. They were not prosecuted, and had regular checkups. If a woman was okay with being watched like a beast at the zoo, and performing acts for customers, this would likely be the safest place to prostitute herself. However, this reasoning did not do much to qualm my innate disgust at the profession, but writing this now, I suppose it is true freedom to have the option to sell oneself, if one desires.
We returned to the hostel shortly after, and the effects of the baked goods (no apologies for that one) had worn off, so we hit our pillows snoring.
No comments:
Post a Comment