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Nether Netherland

Prior to visiting Amsterdam, I had always assumed its primary function was as a communal retreat for the morally bankrupt. A city filled with grubby Rastafarian cafes belching cannabis fumes onto the street, where lascivious whores expose themselves in every doorway and canal-side clubs are packed with English yobs looking for trouble. Needless to say it was a pleasant surprise to be proven wrong, and indeed find myself in the midst of a very relaxed and diverse city which truly has something to offer everyone. Whether your interest is social, architectural, artistic, pharmacological, or indeed sexual, Amsterdam has it licked.

Amsterdam, the capital of the Netherlands, is a truly cosmopolitan city which opens its arms to over 15 million tourists each year (source www.amsterdamtourist.nl). The official language is Dutch, however standard of English spoken by locals is excellent, far superior to that of the average market town in the UK in fact. The population (as of January 2006) is approximately 739,000 people (source www.lonelyplanet.com) making it the largest city in the Netherlands. Despite the huge influx of tourists and the ethnic diversity of the population, the city still feels very Dutch. This is greatly influenced by the architecture, in particular the quaint crooked houses which squat alongside the canals, leaning into one another to such an extent that it’s hard to work out which one was built first.

The name Amsterdam comes from Amstel Dam; the Amstel being the river which flows through the city, and the dam being the foundation on which the original fishing village was created. The most distinctive feature of Amsterdam has to be the canals, many of which were built during the Dutch Golden Age in the 17th century. The canals radiate concentrically from the hub of the city, carrying a calming influence alongside busy roads, and dissecting the central area into what feels like a series of small islands. The private car is a genuine poor relation in Amsterdam, with even cyclists taking priority over it at junctions.

Cycling is the de facto method of transport in Amsterdam, to the point where it is estimated that there are more bicycles than people. It is impossible to walk down a street without seeing a bicycle leaning against a wall or fence, and the relaxed atmosphere means one is tempted to just hop on the nearest one and go for a ride. Cycling seems intrinsic to the Dutch mentality; everyone from little old couples to smartly dressed ladies in skirts and high-heels (with their hair still in place) can be seen wafting along the streets.

The flat terrain makes cycling the ideal way to get around, and the cycle lanes are so well organised that, when observed aerially, the cyclists resemble a colony of ants weaving through the metropolis. In typically laid-back style, the most popular Dutch bicycle is a simple loop frame which has no front brakes. It relies on a back pedal brake, whereby the rider has to reverse the direction of the pedals to slow the bike down, or in an emergency, simply bail out and try to land in the nearest canal in order to avoid serious injury.

As a pedestrian in Amsterdam, it is essential to stay alert at all times. It is easy to spot the daydreamers; they tend to have black eyes, bruised flesh, and/or missing limbs thanks to the sheer volume of movement within the city centre. Aside from the constant stream of cyclists whizzing about, there are also trams (which are very quiet), private cars, and other people all converging on you from every conceivable direction. It would be all too easy to be wandering along, daydreaming of a windmill in a poppy field and suddenly find yourself impaled on the handlebars of a bicycle, or worse still, treated to a rather brutal facial by a tram.

Amsterdam is notorious for its Red Light District and relaxed attitude towards prostitution. The district itself is a neatly organised network of brothels and is akin to a large supermarket. You wander down the aisles looking through large glass windows at the products on offer and simply take your pick, make payment, and consume. The difference being that grocery products do not gyrate and writhe at you from within the cabinets of course. The place is a spectacle to be admired, and because it functions primarily as a business, it doesn’t feel particularly seedy. It is far superior to the English equivalent, which generally involves the choice of a rendezvous in grotty bed-sit, or a ride in the backseat of a clapped-out Sierra.

In spite of being quite impressed with the setup, I was overcome with a certain sense of sadness during my visit to the district. I began to wonder what the point of life is for these lost girls: do they have families; do they have partners; have they no greater ambition than to rent their sexuality to strangers; what brought them here? I soon realised I was guilty of moralising at this point, as I was assuming that the lost girls didn’t simply choose this career because it pays better than more orthodox forms of retail, and that they aren’t in fact completely happy people. I was basically being an Englishman abroad.

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