Seventh Stop: Amsterdam

I think Amsterdam gets a bad rap. Maybe its super-liberal policies and laid-back political philosophy have something to do with it. I believe it is not these ideologies, but a unwavering adherence to them when addressing tough issues (hard drug use, prostitution), that leads to image problems. In a place where almost everything that could possibly be legal is legal, you'd expect dingy streets, packed with degenerates and misfits with raging erections, high on every drug in the drug encyclopedia.

In reality, the city is painfully charming. The Dutch people are some of the friendliest I have encountered. It is really challenging for me to say anything negative (and mean it) about my time in Amsterdam. Sure it has its blemishes, but don't we all?

I arrived by train at Central Station on Monday evening, just in time for the last metro ride. The directions to the hostel were easy enough, a few blocks and I was there: City Shelter Christian Hostel. Patrick, you say, what possessed you to stay at a Christian hostel? What the hell were you thinking? No, I wasn't there to pick fights. No, I wasn't there to spread the seed of non-religion among the patrons. I just needed a place and places were scare. And this one had free hot breakfast.

In hindsight, I probably wouldn't have stayed at this certain hostel again because you couldn't even drink inside, but it turned out not to be as big of an issue as I thought. That said, the first three people I spoke to seemed nice, but the conversations always somehow led to Jesus. Jesus guides me, one said. Jesus loves me, said another. Yet another: my car runs on Jesus (I didn't make that up). On top of all this J-man talk, there were many strange folk in the hostel - lots of grey beards and shifty eyes. As I sat on a computer to check my e-mail, one lady sang softly to herself, passionate, eyes closed, not ten feet from the computer in a common area chair. Creep-city.

Fortunately the tides turned and I started meeting some people who weren't so overwhelmingly frightening. I started talking to two girls from Sweden who agreed (or succumbed to my irresistible charm, depending on who you ask) to join me for a few drinks. We went to a few spots they had been to earlier. I found out that 80% of the Swedish population is atheist or agnostic and that they were staying at the hostel for the same reasons I was, which was reassuring.

The next day I set out to get my laundry done, joining forces with a roommate named John. I thought it would take all morning, but it turned out that Amsterdam is fantastic laundry services that, for 8 euro, wash and fold your entire load. I was expecting to pay that much to slave over dirty clothes myself, so I was all for this. With laundry away, John and I walked around the city a bit.

It was still early for the people here at 11 AM, so the streets were pretty dull. However, we made our way toward the newly built public library for some free Internet. Little did we know, we were about to enter the most amazing library space I have ever laid eyes upon. The building's architecture is Amsterdam-typical contemporary, with lots of big windows and very clean lines. If the inside resembles anything, it is an Apple store. Expansive open spaces, everything white, while computers or books or paintings contrast with the backdrop. There are seven total floors, four of which actually contain books, others house multimedia like DVDs and CDs or magazines and periodicals. Each floor has more computer workstations than you'd ever think could be used. Many have huge Macs near leather couches or oddly shaped chairs. In the childrens section, there are little nooks with bean bags and pillows. There are even restaurants, cafes, and bars as well. A piano player fills the area with classic music. This is the urban library-goer's paradise.

After the neo-library, we walked around a little more, popping in and out of weird little record shops and stores that sell knick-knacks. By this time is was late in the afternoon, the sun was shining, and Amsterdam had come to life. Once empty streets were full of people, cafes burst out into the street while the street seemed to extend into the buildings, blurring the lines between public and private space. The Dutch are a social people and this was prime socializing weather.

John and I took a seat at a cafe, ordered some coffee and sandwiches, and looked around. It has been said that Amsterdam is one of the world's best places to people-watch. I quickly began to understand why. First, let me explain something. Amsterdam is a city of canals - think Venice without the gondolas. The streets run along and over these canals, but the room left for each individual street is miniscule. Cars can barely squeeze by in most cases and that goes without even mentioning the bicycles.

Did I forget about the bicycles? Well, they have a lot of them. I bet you would probably say they have too many. Not only do they have the hardware, but the city has undertaken an astounding infrastructure project so that cyclers have lanes, signals, and signage, much like motor vehicles. Everyone rides them, young and old, rich and poor.

Back to the point here. The beauty of the people-watching situation is this: I sit at the cafe table, my island of calm amidst constant movement. The movement isn't loud or unsettling, but it is interesting enough to grab your attention. People stay long enough to grab your attention but they are off again before you get too attached. There are plenty of people following behind anyway. It would be easy partake in that pasttime all day...

Side note: I picked up my laundry. It was folded by the high sensei of laundry. I wish my mother could fold like this. Don't be alarmed, Mom, you do my laundry with far more love. But love doesn't fit perfectly in my bag, so I was glad to have the masterful folding here.

That night I went with some other people from the hostel to a free jazz (free in form and admission) show at the music conservatory. The girl who brought us all there attended Cal Arts in LA, so she had some fascinating stories for me, one of which included her roommate who was Nic Cage's son's "life coach". Next.

The show was great and the beer was cheap so we stayed for a while, until about 1AM. On the way back, I thought this was a good time to check out the red light district. Thankfully (to God, maybe), our Christian hostel is located IN the red light district - there are red lights just 10 meters away. It must be tempting for all of those god-fearing people who stay at the hostel; sin is literally burning holes in their eyes.

The red light district is an interesting place. There are women in glass boxes, or at least they look like glass boxes. They stand there with skimpy clothing and attempt to coax you into their areas. These aren't your neighborhood hookers here - the women are tall, beautiful, curvy in the right places and never in the wrong ones. I guess with legitimacy comes high standards. Anyway, they try to lure you in with calls of affections and seductive looks. Many succeed.

The whole strip is filled with men, joking, smoking cigarettes, and having fun. It seemed to me that most of the people there were just there to witness the spectacle than to actually pay for sex. The red light district has to be seen to be believed. It is shrouded in mystery, but when you are actually there, it feels like there are no secrets left when all its secrets are shared from behind glass windows.

The next day a guy from Canada named Henry, after we both ate our breakfasts of eggs, ham, cheese, and toast, joined me for the day. I had met him the night before at the jazz show and he seemed like a nice fellow, so we decided we would rent bikes for the day. It was 6 euro for the day, which was not bad at all. Henry and I took a ferry across the river and rode into the countryside a while. We stopped at a market and had a traditional Dutch snack: herring. Just raw herring, onions, pickles. The texture was questionable, as was our choice of eating herring straight from the sea before a day-long bike ride.

The bike ride was soothing at its best times and grueling at its worst. Henry couldn't take the heat, so he left me at around 4 to head back to the hostel (this is a kid who is supposedly hiking the 30 days through France and Spain). I rode to the Van Gogh museum to get a daily dose of old important art stuff. The paintings were beautiful. They were made even more impressive by the fact that Van Gogh really get into painting until he was 26 after encouragement from his brother.

Alas, Van Gogh went crazy and I still have one night to do the same. I leave for Paris tomorrow, not on a high-speed train, but on four slower trains. Four. Oddly enough, my trip only takes 3 hours longers than the direct train and I get a little downtime during transfers to see a couple more sights. Yipee!

One final word on Amsterdam - the fact that this country operates the way it does with the policies that it has enacted should show the rest of the world that this type of open society can exist. We don't have to make laws against every little action or piece of contraband. We need to cultivate meaningful communities and social bonds that can become far more powerful tools to combat crime and poverty than strong-armed government enforcement. We could all take a lesson from The Netherlands.

I want to keep preaching, but I am getting hungry and you don't want to hear that. See you from Paris!