I visited Amsterdam with a few friends this weekend, and was most impressed…
Rock and Roll
En route from Rotterdam Airport, our talkative cab driver professed not to be a football hooligan in the same breath as treating us to vivid descriptions of all the best football-related violence, which did not quite match my romantic expectations of Amsterdam. In fact it was surprise to arrive at the height of Queens Day – the city resembled a massive party zone with thousands of revellers dressed in Orange. It seems that the Dutch are as avid binge drinkers as us Brits, the city overflowing with raucous youths swigging from cans of beer . Over in Dam square, the effect was like the Notting Hill Carnival being held in Manchester Piccadilly (tram tracks and all) but with 90s techno and David Hasselhoff tribute acts.
It was amusing watching what seemed like a city heading for certain anarchy, but in fact it all seemed to pass without incident and the vomiting youths and discarded Heneiken cans had all been swept away by the following morning and the beauty of the city had budded and opened up overnight. Now I do not normally touch cycles unless they are attached to the floor in a nice warm room and have a TV screen attached, but the guided cycle tour was an excellent and fun way to see the city – you could pretend you were a local with a spot of aggressive bell ringing at pedestrians.
Drugs
Being a law abiding citizen (and too lazy to bother with a drug dealer) I do not usually partake as stimulants tend to make me sleep 20 hours a day, which is the last thing I need. However, when in Rome…..and I must say it was the sweetest weed with pleasant effects – namely, making me grin inanely from ear to ear until my face ached.
Sex
Walking along, taken in by the charm of the canals and wiry buildings, I turned a corner and wondered for a good 30 seconds or so why there seemed to be a lot of women in bikinis stood in shop windows. And why was there so much red neon?! I eventually clicked that I was in the red light district. I was surprised how good looking these girls were, half expecting strung-out crack hos. But then there did seem to be a lot of collagen trout pouts, self-suspending balloon style cleavages and possible tummy tucks.
The guide books talk about the girls having a union and control of their own destiny, a rather romantic view, as if the girls get to perform tricks with Richard Gere lookalikes all night instead of fat sweaty tourists on stag weekends. I couldn’t help coming over all paternal and wonder if their earnings are going up their noses and/or into their veins and thinking the girls would be better off working in a call centre, which may suck but must surely beat sucking unattractive men. But who am I to judge?
Being of a delicate disposition, I wished I had not looked at some of the DVD covers in one of the windows. I won’t go into detail as this is a family blog, but put it this way, Barbara Woodhouse would have been very impressed…
Thanks to our friend Angel for acting as our cultural guide and arranging a fabulous intinerary, especially the Indonesian restaurant where things got out of hand on the calorie control front!
