If you could take a Cuisinart and scoop up an insane number of colorful bicycles that ring as they modestly clip pedestrians at the curb, nearly-offensive little spits of Dutch and brain-numbingly similar road names –gracht and -straat, scattered light sparkling off of the thin, snaking canals hugged by five-story brick merchant houses leaning kindly in toward the water, and finally the almost eerie but easily adopted absence of authority – that would be Amsterdam.
One of the best things about being an American visiting in Amsterdam is that we’re too rare to be the most hated brand of tourist. Each coffeeshop and club is heavily weighed down by Brits on weekend holidays with at least 30 days to spare before their next mandatory drug test at work. Café menus offer traditional English breakfasts and it’s clear that the waitresses are used to everything from the nasty, incomprehensible northern England accents to the posh, smooth Londoners holding up the cues with their “quite”s and “thus”es. Don’t expect to meet many native Dutch folk at the clubs, museums, or red light district – but I suppose that’s mostly true of any foreign country.
The red light district really proves the absence of authority – or at least that image. In fact the window displays undergo regular heath checks and have even formed their own political party and frequently lobby the government. But you’d never know that based on the live, overly-practiced sex shows, dominating hoards of gawking men crowding the street and street creepers offering to sell you “jokes,” whatever frightening substances those might be, on each corner.
I can’t imagine Amsterdam ever being a hotspot for business meetings or corporate home bases. Nothing would ever get done and at 5 p.m. anyone who claimed that they had a longer day than a hibernating bear would fry most of their newly acquired brain cells in the local coffeeshop shortly thereafter. Hence the reason I should have visited after finals, but live and learn.
It was a fantastic visit. Anything longer than a week might have you permanently desensitized, but I would certainly recommend taking a few days to wander the spirally brick streets along those canals so warmly lit by lampposts and coffeeshop signs, get into a little trouble, and head back with a great story that you’re bound by word never to repeat to your friends at home.
