Amsterdam

I stepped off the bus and nearly got plowed over by a woman on a bicycle. I didn’t see her at first–my back was to her–but i did hear a tinny, incessant ringing of a bell, a far-off sound like something you’d find in a stuffy library. It kept chiming and sounded somewhat near, so I turned around and saw a woman on a bicycle, still ringing the bell and looking rather annoyed. She didn’t say anything or even attempt to–she kept ringing the bell in a rhythm that resembled High Germanic-based language speech patterns as if her voice box was surgically removed and placed on the bicycle handlebars. Apparently, “Ring, ring-rr-ringggggg” means the Dutch equivalent of “Get out of my way or I’ll run you over.”

Finally someone pointed out to me that it wasn’t the sidewalk I was standing on. I thought I was on the sidewalk, safe from the onslaught of traffic, but apparently I had a couple feet more to the left before I would be on the designated pedestrian area. I was standing in the middle of a bicycle highway. My life flashed before my eyes as I nearly avoided a permanent tattoo of my visit to Amsterdam: a 2" wide black rubber line–tire treads and all–across my forehead.

I looked around (from the real sidewalk this time) and saw a mad rush of bicycles scurrying down the streets, across the canals, and avoiding other unsuspecting pedestrians like it was a high art form or an Olympic sport. Bicycles were chained over bridges, creatively installed in buildings, anything that would keep them intact until their next use. It was clear who had the right of way in this city.

There was a little motor traffic of course, since Amsterdam is a city of three quarters of a million, but the tram and bikes cut down on it significantly to make it seem clean, relaxed, and quiet. A series of symmetrical canals cut through the center (apparently, it’s possible to navigate the town via boat, but I didn’t have the money for that option)…narrow, multicolored, multi-storied buildings sprung up next to each other in amazing consistency. The beauty of this town was incredible (although I’m still partial to Bath).

I think the best part of the city was the museums. There was a massive Van Gogh Museum and ten minutes later, you’d stumble on the Rijksmuseum (Dutch art and Dutch history), one that took me hours and hours to go through. For the more sophisticated tastes (which are not my own), apparently there’s a Hashish en Marihuana Museum, the Erotic Museum, the Sexmuseum, the Tattoomuseum, etc.

Wherever we went, we were greeted in perfect English–even though there’s Dutch blood in me, I guess I don’t look Dutch enough. I didn’t have to open my mouth before a Dutch person would start talking in almost unaccented, conversational English. And things were much cheaper than they are in the UK, something I like very much.

Now I’m sure you’ve all heard about how everything is legal in the Netherlands. This isn’t really true. The police choose not to prosecute soft drugs (cannabis, psilocybe mushrooms, peyote, mescaline, things like that), which explains the existence of “coffee shops” that don’t just sell coffee and “smart shops” that don’t really make you any smarter. Prostitution is another thing that is technically legal, where you can walk up and down the Red Light District and look at women degrading themselves in windows, waiting to be bought. Although it’s their own initiative that *usually* puts them there and I can’t complain about that, it didn’t leave me feeling any better about humanity…wondering if it would be a happier world if they put their minds to use rather than their bodies. Not especially the greatest feeling in the world.

I also read that euthanasia is now legal in the Netherlands but didn’t see any suicide shops, for those of you who were wondering.

It would be safe to say that Amsterdam is a fairly liberal city, but they do it with grace and order, where human desires are met (for the most part) with moderation and class. Although my tour through the Red Light District was constantly interrupted by pushers on the street offering ecstasy, crack, cocaine, whatever, I still felt very safe and saw that no, the world was not coming to an end. At least because of this.

I think I’m going to take it easy next weekend and go walking through western Lancashire.

Ryan