I stopped complaining about
the expensive room.
We had dinner and wandered
around, eventually stumbling into the red-light district. Lena and I bar-hopped
in the district for hours, passing between the rows and rows of professional
ladies advertising their assets in the red lit windows. I was impressed
with the bold displays of flesh and the variety of the aesthetics. You
can find someone to suit any fancy, for a price.
Lets
Go Europe 1996 says
it well:
"The red-light district, bounded by Warmoestr., Gelderskade, and
Oude Doelenstr., is the vice sink of Europe; it will either repulse you
or fulfill your wettest dreams. Pushers, porn shops, and live sex theaters
do a brisk business. Red neon marks houses of legal, if ill, repute. Unlike
the illegal streetwalkers, these prostitutes have regular gynecological
exams - but keep in mind that HIV/AIDS takes 6 months to detect. During
the day, the red-light district is comparatively flaccid, with tourists
milling about, consulting their maps, even bringing their children. As
the sun goes down, the people get braver, and the area much more stimulating."
It had been a long day so we
called it a night relatively early. More on the oldest profession shortly.
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This penis sculpture has
balls that rotate on a column of water.
You'd have a hard time displaying this in a gallery in the US,
but in Amsterdam it's on a public street.
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Were it not fucking freezing
I'd move there permanently. Nowhere is heard a discouraging word, though
the skies are cloudy and rainy all day. "Welcome to Northern Europe!"
said Lena while I purchased a sweater - in September! Back home
Id be jumping in the river to cool off. In Amsterdam I was wishing
Id brought a coat.
Advertising in Amsterdam is far more sarcastic than back in the states.
One store had the windows filled with the usual "50% off signs
but mixed in, unnoticeable unless you were paying attention, were a few
"Now up to 70% profit" signs. There's a fast food joint named
"Fat City" but it was a hostel that had the best advertising
campaign in town. On the tram it said "Hans Brinkel - no bellboy,
no pool, no minibar, no airco, no second bathroom, no bidet, no whirlpool,
no midget golf..." and on and on. They had posters pasted on trashcans
that read "Now 5 more watts in every light bulb at Hans Brinkel Hotel!"
When we decided to find cheaper accommodations the next morning Hans Brinkel
was top of my list. It turned out to be cheap, spotlessly clean and very
friendly.
We hit a Sex Museum, silly and not really worth the money but it did
provide to this funny interlude: Lena and I walked past a six-foot plastic
penis sculpture. I pointed and asked her "So is that anything like
your fiancée?"
"Unfor-... then a long pause, no."
I laughed for the rest of the tour.
To get the strongest contrast
we headed to the The Van Gogh museum. His work hadnt impressed me
much in the books Id studied, but in person its, well, stunning.
I saw Wheatfield of Crows and literally had to sit down, breathless.
I sat on a bench and gawked for a full 20 minutes, silent - a record
for my remote-control, MTV attention span.
You bastard, I finally said.
And there is row after row of the monstrosities.
Monstrosities?!? you ask?
Yes, theyre a fucking menace to anyone thats ever picked up
a brush. Why bother picking it up again? Its all been said. I'll
never paint again. In his works he says what I feel. I do a poor version
of saying it aloud or in print, but at least I can get my meaning across.
In paint I can't even approach reality, much less the effect of reality
on my psyche.
The next day we hit the
Rembrandt museum. Unfortunately it only contains the Dutch masters
prints. His paintings are scattered far and wide. The museum does have
some interesting works, but nothing as awe-inspiring as the Van Gogh museum.
The big cultural fest coincides
with the beginning of the theater season. There are performances and live
music and film festivals and stuff going on everywhere we go. But you've
heard enough of breathtaking views, important/impressive works of art,
and magnificent churches - time to leave the nave, head out into the street
and down into the gutter.
Quentin Tarantino writes some
hilarious dialogue. This bit, from Pulp Fiction, is appropriate:
Jules: Okay, so tell me again about the hash bars
Vincent: Okay, watcha wanna know?
Jules: Hash is legal now right?
Vincent: Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't 100% legal. I mean, you can't
just walk into a...restaurant, roll a joint, and start puffing away. I
mean, they want you to smoke it in your home or certain designated places.
Jules: And those are hash bars.
Vincent: Yeah, it breaks down like this, okay, it's legal to buy it, it's
legal to own it, and if you're the proprietor of a hash bars, it's legal
to sell it. It's legal to carry it, but but, that doesn't matter, because...get
a load of this, alright, if you get stopped by a cop in Amsterdam, it's
illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's the right the cops in Amsterdam
DON'T have.
Jules: Oh man, I'm going, that's all it is to it, I'm fuckin' going.
Vincent: I know baby, you dig it the most.....but you know the funniest
thing about Europe is?
Jules: What?
Vincent: It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over
there that they got here, but it's just, it's just there's a little different.
Jules: Example?
Vincent: Alright, well you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam,
and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like no paper cup, I'm talking about
a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer in McDonald's. And you
know what they call uh...a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
Vincent: Nah, man, they got the metric system, they wouldn't know what
the fuck a quarter pounder is.
Jules: Then what do they call it?
Vincent: They call it, uh, Royale with Cheese.
Jules: Royale with Cheese?
Vincent: That's right.
Jules: What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent: A Big Mac is a Big Mac, but they call it Le Big Mac
Jules: Le Big Mac, (laughs) what do they call a Whopper?
Vincent: I don't know, I didn't go into Burger King...
Dont quote me on this,
but heres how I understand the drug trade in Amsterdam:
Marijuana is technically illegal in Amsterdam but it's not enforced. Instead,
there's some kind of certificate you must get to run an established drug
outlet. You can purchase it in about 1 in 5 bars or cafes in town and
you'll see and smell it everywhere. I decided to check out a few places
before deciding where to spend my dough. I thumbed through the "menu"
at one place. It's a notebook full of baggies containing examples, with
descriptions and prices. It was overwhelming. In the States you'd have
one or two choices from your local dealer, if you can find it at all.
But here you've got so many choices of cannabis derivatives it was impossible
for a relative novice like myself to chose.
But it didn't matter. By day two I was already sick of the smell. It's
everywhere, and thick. It got nauseating after a while and I didn't want
to waste an evening stoned out of my mind when I could be paying for sex
so I cruised through a couple of places but never actually participated.
I realize that disappoints a lot of my readers but you gotta have your
priorities.
Again, dont quote me on this, but heres how I understand the
flesh trade works:
Prostitution is also technically illegal (I heard theyre trying
to make it fully legal so they can regulate it easier) but, like the marijuana,
its tolerated. Instead they enforce mandatory STD tests and you
cannot work without a clean bill of health, and proof of it.
In addition to that, there are live sex shows. From all reports, most
of them reliable, the shows are a complete waste of money. For $50 to
$100 you get to see an extremely mechanical sexual act performed on stage
by one or more extremely bored people.
For about half that you could have sex yourself just next door
- why bother just watching?
Lena and I took a break from
cruising the options for exotic sin and ended up in some bar packed with
an English soccer team chanting along to that damned CD by Oasis. If I
ever hear Champagne Supernova again I'll hurl. The soccer team
had the jukebox jammed with money playing the album over and over. Many
of them were falling down drunk, stupid drunk, probably-going-to-hurl-soon
drunk. Lena found it amusing and giggled every time one of them fell off
his bar stool or when their chants got so loud you couldnt hear
yourself think. I thought it was funny at first, but after the fifth or
thousandth time Champagne Supernova came on, with the whole lot
singing along incoherently, I was less amused.
Then one of the soccer guys climbed the steps to the balcony overlooking
his mates, pulled down his shorts and peed on his friends.
No, Im not making this up.
Had it been me that had been pissed on I'd have been pissed off and that
piss-drunk Englishman would have hit the floor in a puddle of his own
piss. I figured his friends would be thinking along the same lines and
was prepared to duck, watching for flying beer bottles. However, his buddies
just laughed, wiped off the recycled beer and partied on. Lena thought
it was hilarious.
Another of the team took his pants down to piss on his friends, but then
decided it would be funnier if he ran out into the street, semi-nude.
I was hoping the authorities would spot him and pummel him into submission
in the street, Rodney King style, or maybe drown him in the canal, or at
least take him to
the pokey for the night, but the passing police just waved him
back toward the bar. He returned, slowly pulling his shorts
back on.
And to think the Europeans look down on Americans as slobs and party animals.
Even my most lunatic redneck buddies couldnt hold a candle to these
guys.
OK, they probably could, but I dont think Ive ever seen such
a display.
Not in public anyway.
We continued window shopping.
On average, I'd say the ladies for rent average about 4.5 on a scale of
1-10, but there are numerous exceptions at both ends. Some were so beautiful
that we just stopped and stared. Almost all wear predictable lingerie or
bikinis.
They sit on stools and watch the potential clients pass by. Most have
perfected some quick flirt technique, tapping on the window and winking
or something even more provocative.
In the afternoon and early evening it's mostly tourists wandering the
district just out of curiosity, with an occasional businessman slipping
in inconspicuously for a quickie during the lunch break. Even whole tour
groups pass through, though nobody is supposed to take photos of the ladies.
Someone will break the rule and the woman will barge out yelling and screaming
while the rule-breaker jogs away, but other than these rare disturbances
the scene is quiet, clean and civilized.
Later the drunks come out and you'll see packs of males trying to talk
their buddies into the act, and fewer and fewer tour groups or couples.
The ladies get bolder and the harder drug dealers come out. (The only
annoyance in the entire town is the guys at the edges of the district whispering
Coke, ecstasy? over and over. Youd have to be stupid,
desperate, or more likely both to trust these guys. Why on earth, in a
town where you can buy sex, alcohol, pot, shrooms and other intoxicants
at your corner bar there would still be a market
for harder substances I cant understand, but everyone has their
own interests.)
I slowly worked on Lenas
attitude toward casual sex, in a blatant attempt to corrupt her. No, not
seduce her, just corrupt her. Back at the hostel she admitted one of our
roommates was cute. After some goading she even admitted interest in sex
with him on a purely non-emotional level. It was a small victory, but
she still couldnt even understand why Id want to pay for sex
or why Heather would just smile at the idea.
But later when we returned to window shopping, and Lena had a few beers
in her, she surprised me by pointing out a very pretty prostitute and
saying, "You could do her!"
I giggled a bit before agreeing with her selection.
However, too much staring, drinking and sisterly Lena presence got the
better of me and I decided to put it off another day. Lena was headed
home in the morning so she could get back to school, leaving me in Amsterdam
to party on alone.
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