The Lights of Amsterdam

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It was a very restless night for the both of us and we were hoping that it was nearly over when Sharon awoke at about 10:30PM; but, of course it had just begun. I think we both finally got some sleep; and, of course at 7:30AM Sharon didn’t want to get up. But we had a pretty full day planned, including three tours, the first of which required us to hoof it to Anne Frank’s House (or Huis as they spell it in Dutch). So we set out first on a sleepy Saturday morning to find some breakfast. We headed back the route we had looked for a restaurant the day before, expecting to stop at any one of many bakery or Cafes that we spotted along the way. Speaking of Cafes, we were to learn later on our canal cruise what really goes on in the Coffee Shops of Amsterdam. The first place wasn’t opened, and the next wasn’t open yet. A small city vehicle came down the street spraying both sides as we walked near the building. I’m not sure if he stopped spraying when he passed us, or if he wasn’t worried about whether the misty spray would get us damp. It does explain why all of the streets were damp when we emerged from the Swiss Hotel this morning, without a cloud in sight. With hardly any pedestrians we came up with a plan B: cut through the alley to the main street that our hotel was on and that should put us pretty close to the Starbuck’s that we’d seen the day before. Near the end of the alley we spotted where one homeless man had spent the night, still curled up in his heavy coat and wool stocking cap. We both got chocolate croissants that the clerk heated up for us. Sharon got a bottle of cold water and I got a Mocha Frappuccino. Sharon’s giving me a hard time about us winding up in Starbuck’s. I will say, this Frappuccino was far better than the stateside equivalents, where the emphasis of this drink was definitely the chocolate part! From our cruise trivia we learned that the Dutch are the highest per capita consumers of chocolate and I believe it; although, I think we both give the nod of the best chocolate croissant to the one that we got in the Barcelona airport a couple of years back.

We got a map and basic directions to Anne Frank’s House from our hotel clerk, and we were on our way. Sharon was trying to get Google maps up on her phone as we exited the hotel and almost walked into a swarm of motorized racing wheel chairs for the handicapped. Sharon finally responded to my second warning and looked up in time to avoid terminating our cruise before it began. Except for that one group of about thirty zipping around on what appeared to be racing trikes, the rest of the city was still slowly coming to life.

It was a short walk, not even half a mile to get to Anne Frank’s House, and there was a line to enter. Our tickets were for entry between 10:30AM and 10:45AM and were purchased online about two months ago. There are no day time tickets available on site; although, the clerk checking people’s tickets did note that additional tickets had been released and were currently available online for the next few days. Alternatively, people could come back after 3:30PM but there was no guaranteed entry time. As 10:30 approached they called for those holding this time period to enter the queue. It takes up to one hour to go through the entire house, aided by an audio tour headset. The default setting is tuned to English; although, other languages are also available. There is no photography allowed inside the house. Anne was a remarkable girl with an incredible insight into her family’s situation and a refreshingly optimistic feeling to life and humanity, despite the most horrific of conditions inflicted on the Jews. Her father Otto was the only one of her family to survive WWII and it wasn’t until after the war when he read Anne’s diary for the first time that he saw his daughter in an entirely different light. There are several very steep staircase that people visiting the house must negotiate to complete the tour, space is cramped, and turning back really isn’t a viable option; so, keep this in mind if you plan to visit.

After this tour we headed to the Amsterdam Boat Center that is the ticket office and location from which our covered canal boat would depart at 1:30PM. We found it, and had already bought our tickets online, so we only needed to show up about fifteen minutes early to board the canal boat. We got directions for finding a place to eat, and soon found ourselves in a restaurant; but, we had to wait until noon before they would wait on us. We got a seat inside by an open window, so it was almost as good as eating outside which they said wouldn’t be available until 2PM (when the outside staff shows up). Sharon ordered the fixed price 3-course meal, getting grilled chicken, a lemon pie for dessert, and leaving the Dutch Pea Soup with sausage and ham for me. I ordered the filet with mushroom béarnaise sauce. Service was slow, and several large tour groups came in after us; but, we finished and got back in plenty of time.

Our cruise was full with twenty guests, and then three more were added at the last minute. Our captain’s name sounded something like “Stewart”; but, he pronounced it “Schoo-wart” assuring us that it was a common Dutch name. He had come to Amsterdam seven years ago to study, and evidently in addition to serving as the captain and tour guide on a canal boat, he is still pursuing his studies. He explained to us about the “Free Education” that is available in the Netherlands. He noted that it is not “exactly” free because what the government does is offer students a loan to cover their education and expenses; AND, when you get your degree the government forgives the loan as a gift. The catch is, you must complete your degree in ten years, or the government expects it to be repaid with interest and penalties. It was only later that I pondered whether our captain had three more years to complete his studies.

Our captain touted the “Free Health Care” of Netherlands where everyone is covered. He knew of course that nothing is free, noting that it is all part of the very progressive ideas that the Dutch embrace, and all paid for by their taxes (surpassed only by the Norwegian taxes). In the Netherlands there are three tax tiers toping out at 52%. He also admitted that the Health Care comes with a 100 Euro deductible, so those covered must first pay that minimum amount, and then everything else is covered beyond that. He kept referring to the Dutch policies as “progressive” as if that was a “good” thing. “We Dutch are very progressive,” is something that he mentioned more than once. One thing that is not progressive is faith, and again he seemed to remark as we passed a clearly religious building that was shared by the Catholic Church, a Protestant Church and a Jewish Temple that the observance of religion is down substantially in the Netherlands, and the implication that this was a good thing due to progressive thinking. We noticed that on this rather long enclosed canal boat that we had just one captain, the only crew member aboard, who was serving at least double duty as our tour guide. He kept popping from the forward, I’ll call it a wheel house, but it was only where the marine wheel for steering was located, back ten feet or so into our “cabin area” where we were seated along each side of the vessel. He did give a brief talk before we got underway, about life vests under our seats, and how there is free coffee or tea aboard, and also other items including soda, beer and liquors (which used to be free). It seems this boat was used at one time to “conduct business”, and there seemed to be a great emphasis on conducting business while underway on the canals and drunk. But today, we would be on the honor system and we’d simply tell him at the end of the cruise what we’d drunk, and he laid out the prices from three to five euros. So he was sort of the beverage steward as well, and bar tender. He seemed to know what was going on around him on the canal at all times, even though he kept popping back to talk to us about one thing or another, he would always dart forward again to turn the wheel just in time. Not that we were going all that fast. I think he mentioned that we were restricted to 5 kilometers an hour (although I thought he said 5 MPH; but, it seems strange that he would use those units). Anyway, we proceeded slowly on one busy canal after another, sometimes on waterways that seemed particularly narrow. He did mention the coat of arms of Amsterdam and noted the three crosses, citing that we would see this about the city. The three crosses stand for heroic, courage and merciful. And he seemed to be proud of these Dutch traits. He had explained that no music may be played on the canals, and we saw the signs indicated sound coming from a speaker that you can hear with your ear and the red slash through the pictogram. He noted this also means that he cannot have an intercom system on board to talk to us in the cabin, hence he must keep popping back as he steers us through the canals. He was pretty good at projecting his voice, and after ten minutes or so I became less nervous about us hitting something and needing those life vests, which we at least knew were under our seats. He noted with some chagrin, “Here in the Netherlands, you can go to a Coffee Shop,” and then he paused… “You know what a Coffee Shop is for, right?” Somebody must have had a quizzical look on HER face; because, he explained that is where you go to buy pot in Amsterdam. “You can go to the red light district and do whatever you do there; but, you can’t have a PA system on a tour boat.” He was also proud of the electric engines (very quiet) on our boat, which would be required by 2020 on all commercial craft in Amsterdam. Much cleaner and quieter than the previous diesel models. He noted that the canals themselves are about 3 meters below sea level. Amsterdam is built on what was once a large swampy area by a natural harbor and a single fresh water river feeds into the city. As land was built up the salt water swamp was replaced by a series of fresh water canals protected by a series of dikes, dams and locks which are opened or closed depending on the tide. In addition to crews assigned to clean the river, the water in the canals is flushed using their water control systems about twice per week, and so the water in the canals is actually quite clean. The captain reached for on overhead wine glass and proceeded to scoop up some canal water from his open window by the wheel, then brought it back to us, holding the glass high for us to see as if saying “Cheers”. The man across from us exclaimed, “Oh, you don’t have to do THIS.” The captain looked at him, and shrugged, “I’m not going to DRINK this. It’s for you to see how clear the water is… And it did look clear; but, I wouldn’t try drinking it either.

The Glory Days of Amsterdam evidently came in the 1600’s, and it was due to a technology innovated by the Dutch: The Saw Mill. Who would have thunk! It used to take three men laboring hard to saw one plank of wood used in shipbuilding in three days prior to this innovation. Afterwards, these same three men could produce nine planks in a single day. The result was that the Dutch fleet quickly surpassed the naval sizes of the British, Spanish and Portuguese fleets combined. And it spawned the creation of the Dutch East India Company which started out by taking over all trading from the tip of Africa to Indonesia from the Portuguese. The wealth from this trade poured into Amsterdam and the money was returned to the stockholders… the butcher down the street, the weaver at his loom, the pub owner on the docks that quickly catapulted Amsterdam into the stratosphere making it the wealthiest city in the world. The dividends often returned 25% to its stockholders in a single year. And what did these newfound people of means do with their money? They wanted larger homes; and, so they built them… in Amsterdam. Today many of the typical canal side homes fetch millions of euros. Our guide seemed to think that with the advent of Brexit these valuations will soar; although, I don’t quite follow the logic of this line of thought. Sure, there are vast fortunes to be made in real estate, which has always proven itself a worthy investment. And, the tendency in the Netherlands is not to sell the land; but, if not residing in a residence yourself, to lease it out… and in Amsterdam leases can command maximum value. But, as with what our guide briefly referred to as “Tulip-mania”, when a single tulip bulb (from Turkey) commanded a value more than one of these residences back in the 1600’s, the bubble eventually burst, especially after someone discovered that a simple onion bulb could be pawned off on some unsuspecting “investor” as a coveted tulip. Now, I’m not equating the booming real estate market in Amsterdam to the tulip market of the 1600’s, it’s just that when you anticipate that an investment is “too good to be true”, that’s usually exactly what it is. And history if full of bubbles that burst all of the time.

Our captain pointed out how some of the buildings would appear leaning or slanted. We saw one free standing building near the canal’s edge that appeared to be leaning a full ten degrees. Most of the leaners appeared in the long blocks of adjacent buildings, where each individual residence was perhaps 10 meters wide and directly connected to a long row of similar residences. And some of the buildings in this group would appear askew; but, nonetheless supported by the entire block. And at the top of each building would be a main beam protruding forward out of the top of the house, where goods and provisions could be hoisted up from the outside to the top window, where they would be stored inside on the top floor. This was to avoid them from becoming damaged by flooding were they to be stored on the lower or lowest floors. I’m guessing that a storm surge would not be good in Amsterdam.

Sharon’s GPS got us back to our hotel, and she had the (I thought not so bright) idea of taking a nap. I warned her that she’d just postpone a day recovering from jetlag. In the end I took a nap too. My bad! We’d decided to go out about 7PM and grab something light from the KFC just down the street (near the Starbuck’s). We really have reverted to a couple of homesick Americans. As soon as we step out of the hotel we encounter a throng of weekend people. Coming from Dam Square there is a commotion, someone has lighted some sparklers and it appeared to me that some street performance is in progress. “What is that?” Sharon wants to know. “Is it safe to be here?” I just keep walking to the other way to the fast food row. Sharon hesitates but decides to follow me. It was an interesting KFC, complete with upstairs dining and a front counter with about eight to ten clerks taking and filling orders; but, with no apparent line. No sooner do I return to Sharon with our food packaged to eat in than Sharon asks, “Do you have my phone?” I don’t. “I’ve lost my phone.” Then she complains “Someone’s stolen my phone.” And she isn’t having any of eating the food now, she’s got to go back to the room now, as if that is going to keep her phone from being any more stolen. So we each needed to wrangle our food, the chicken was at least in a box, and the separate French fries, and a soda for each of us, back into the throng of people. And then she complains, “Those people are coming this way.” I’m thinking that it’s a good thing we don’t live in a big bustling city… oh yeah, I guess we do, sort of. We juggle our food, and fortunately we don’t need to use our room key to open the elevator, as someone has obligingly opened the door for us. We have some trouble opening our door, and Sharon glances around and confirms, “My phone IS stolen!” I’m thinking, well this is going to work out well with the international calling plan on her phone. But, then a glimmer of hope, “Wait, YES, my phone is there.” And I’m relieved that I’m not going to get blamed for not putting her phone in my pocket, the way I’d forgotten to do with the hand sanitizer on one of our earlier outings. You see, I knew where this was headed because I am the only person that forgets things! It may wind up there yet. We finished our dinners, not quite the same original seasoning for KFC, but cooked every bit as well. And the only option for potatoes was French Fries!

We set out at 7:30PM towards the Red Light District. That’s right, Sharon had found a the tour after I had asked if our hotel was going to be near it. We just headed down the street our hotel was on, and finally I stopped and suggested that we check with the GPS to see where we should turn. Sharon looked up at the street numbers, and marveled “I think that we’re here!” Number 26 was a tour office, and that was where our walking tour was to leave from. We were in the last of 6 groups to depart. There is evidently a limit of 22 persons per group that they can take into the red light district at any one time. The district was located to be convenient for ships that were in the harbor and obviously their sailors. We had to cross a busy street that our guide assured us was the most dangerous part of our visit. The then crossed a bridge over a canal and assembled at where the Red Light District originally began. We walked a block and down an alley and now we were where the district officially starts today. He noted that it begins by the old church. I see the Dutch have a sense of humor. Our guide pointed out that there is also a Day Care Center, and I’m guessing that you can figure out what that is for. Our guide seemed to think that the Dutch were very reasonable progressive people, because they both allow prostitution AND allow people to pay for sex. He noted that in some countries where prostitution is legal, it is also not legal to be the person paying for sex. I found interesting that the same reasonable progressive ideals didn’t quite extend to drugs. While it is legal for the “Coffee Shops” to sell the drugs, it is not legal in the Netherlands for people to use drugs. And it is also not legal for a supplier to provide drugs to these “Coffee Shops”. Our guide noted that we have Richard Nixon to thank for the existence of Coffee Shops in the first place. He claims that he was the first president to ask the question “Why don’t we just legalize drugs? Then we won’t be overcrowding our prisons with all of these petty drug offences!” Well, In the Netherlands they found this to be an acceptably progressive idea and they acted on it. And in honor of Tricky Dick they used the American term for café for these joint dispensing outlets: The Coffee Shop. Our guide pointed out the Mad Dog Coffee Shop, and from its gaudy neon signage we could see that there were three on this side of the canal and one on the other over the next hundred meters. But we were in the one proclaiming it as the First Mad Dog Coffee Shop.

Our guide then headed us down one alley and there were a number of windows topped by a red neon light. In Amsterdam; while, prostitution is legal, street-walking is not. Nor is being a pimp. The girls in the windows are in business for themselves, and no one else. Well maybe that’s not exactly true. There are the landlords that will collect between 80 and 180 euros for use of the space for an eight hour shift. And then there are outfit makers who make the skimpy clothing that those in the windows are wearing. And yes, I’m sorry to say all of the girls we saw in the windows were completely covered; albeit with provocative and very expensive outfits. And the girls will earn between 50 to 200 euros for “the basic service”, it’s more if the customer wants something more. The amount will depend on whether it’s a Tuesday afternoon or a Saturday night, as it was when we were walking the district. Many of the windows we passed had the curtains drawn, meaning of course that the girl was in the process of taking care of business. Girls who work in the brothels must be from the European Union… It’s the law. This includes Eastern Europe and also parts of the Caribbean. There is a concerted effort to prevent the trafficking of girls for the purpose of prostitution, and the girls who rent the windows must provide proof of identity (e.g. a passport). Those being trafficked wouldn’t have these documents because the traffickers keep them. Our guide also requested that we note, “All of the girls appear to be happy.” For them, this is a job and they are glad to have it. Currently, most of the girls come from Bulgaria where the under-30 unemployment is approaching 50%. And those fortunate enough to find work end up earning about 200 euros a month back home in Bulgaria. In Amsterdam, the girls can earn upwards of 10,000 euros per month, and that is what gets reported for tax purposes. It’s not uncommon for a girl to return home to Bulgaria with several hundred thousand euros and a new Mercedes and is able to live like nobility. A new mansion can be built their for about 50,000 euros, and they come home, and nobody knows about the life that they lived in Amsterdam. That is why our guide noted that no photos are allowed of the girls in the windows, to prevent the chance of someone back home seeing them in a photo posted online.

Our guide had noted the Amsterdam coat of arms with its three crosses, and then told us what the crosses are for. “The first is for water. The second is for land. And the third is for dykes.” Then he paused and asked if there were any Aussies amongst us, and one couple raised their hands. Then he asked about Americans. Sharon and I acknowledged this query, as did a few others. “Well, then I must explain… When I say ‘Dyke’, I’m referring to a type of levy… not the other kind.” He went on to explain that in the Red Light District, there is something for everyone. He took us to the “Young Section” where the slender twenty-somethings were available. There are other sections for the 45-to-55 crowd, and a section where you find well, shall we say plumper versions… Why was he looking at us, we’re not in the 45-to-55 crowd! And looking around, it was quite evident that most of the other people on this walking tour were probably in the thirty-something and extremely fit crowd. Someone asked if the girls are required to get periodic medical exams. “Absolutely not,” was his immediate reply. “Nobody has the right to tell you what you can or can’t do with your body. We Dutch are very progressive,” a mantra that is becoming all too familiar. He then modified that response, “…except in the case of an Ebola outbreak.” Ah, so that is a bridge too far. But who cares about AIDS or other STDs. It’s all in good fun. And the girls need the money. And as for the three crosses, I’m pretty sure the progressive Dutch can have them stand for pretty much what they want them to stand for, perhaps even the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Early in the tour we passed the “Prostitute Information Center”. This was started by a former prostitute Maryska. Our guide said that she had come from a good family and had been spoiled rotten growing up. But at one point she asked for something that her father refused to allow… he said “No.” And she decided that she would figure out how to get what she wanted by herself. And so she wound up in Amsterdam, many years ago, where she started working at the age of 16. Prostitutes are required now by Dutch law to be a minimum of 21 years of age. Maryska worked for 7 years when she retired, and decided that she should open this business “PIC”. In the U.S., this business might have been named the “Prostitute Education ‘N’ Information Service” so the acronym would have the same meaning in English as her acronym has in Dutch. The service is not only for the public, to find what you’re looking for in the red light district, but also to help girls coming to Amsterdam to find out what they need to know to be successful in the business. Our guide once asked her, what it was her father had refused to get her. She told him she had wanted a dog. He also asked her why she decided to retire. And she told him that she’d gotten tired of sex… and men. Our guide had asked Maryska what the record was for the number of clients that a girl had ever had in an 8-hour shift, and she had told him 33. It had been on a New Year’s Eve, which is the busiest night of the year for these girls, followed closely by Christmas Eve. Our guide had asked each of the men in the group how long they thought the average was, that a girl spends with her customer. My guess was ten minutes, and he gave me that look that guys give guys that said “You’ve been here before without your wife, haven’t you?” Someone else guessed five minutes. Another said one-half hour and the guide gave him the “You wish” wink. When someone said 45 seconds, the guide had to explain. “If you spend one or two hundred euros, and the girl only spends 45 seconds with you, you’ll go away thinking ‘What an idiot I am.’ But, if she spends five or ten minutes with you, you might go away feeling pretty good, and she just might have found herself a repeat customer.” The actual average time was eleven minutes, so I’m hoping Sharon didn’t see that look that he gave me.

Sharon’s legs were growing weary as we did this walking tour, which involved a lot of walking, but our guide kept a leisurely pace that allowed us to keep up. And my left heel was bothering me. After my nap, I’d woke up and my foot was clearly suffering from planar fasciitis, only the pain never subsided, it just kept getting worse. As we walked along one canal Sharon heard the tinkling of water and saw a guy standing by a round columnar grated structure painted green. “Phew,” Sharon grimaces. “He’s not,… He IS!” Somehow I missed it, and the odor didn’t clue me in to the outdoor urinal. Sharon made sure I saw the next one that we came across. I guess there is something for everyone in the red light district.

It was after 10PM when we got back to the hotel, and the streets were alive with life and the movement of people. Drunk people were in the canal boats touring, some quite loud and obnoxious, and they were clearly taking a much bigger advantage of the open bar than we had taken that afternoon. We made it back to the hotel and we were thankful that our whirlwind tour of Amsterdam had come to an end. After spending the evening walking around the Red Light District, it may not have come to the end that I might have been hoping for. We both wound up, collapsed in bed, my left heel screaming at me and Sharon’s knee throbbing as she’s face down in her pillow and her shoulder muscles tight and unable to relax. I did manage to massage the tightness out of her shoulders; but, she was sound asleep by then.

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