Since Keir went away to Other-Hemisphereland I have been all the way to Amsterdam with some jolly good chums, where we saw all manner of strange and magical things. I even wrote an article about it for Dusted, which I've blagged for this...blog. Enjoy!
About 7.30am, after an eleven hour slog across Europe, our coach pulls up outside the Heiniken museum and we all stumble out. Tired. Travel Sick. Cramped to the max. But nobody really minds that we are all sweaty and smell like stale crisps... because we are in Amsterdam.
The Hans-Brinker hotel is located quite close to the Red Light District- politely called 'De Valen' ('The Walls') by the locals, and prides itself on it's grubbiness. So much so, there are postcards available to buy at reception which bear slogans like 'Hans-Brinker- now a bed in every room!'. They don't lie. Our room consists of six prison-issue bunkbeds, a few kicked in lockers, and a kind of wetroom shower/toilet combo. Not much else, except for the charming graffiti'd pinboard which shouts 'I HATE VAGINAS', among other things. Oh, and there are posters in the lifts warning guests of the dangers of overindulgence. Any guesses? Yep, it's a photo of a guy passed out and covered in writing, shaving foam, fruit and lingerie. Beware.
The first stroll around Amsterdam in the morning sun is breathtaking. The streets are bustling with commuters, but the cars are few and far between. Men and women dressed in smart suits and high heels peddle to work. People rush by on bikes customised with paint and plastic flowers. Parents taxi their little children in wooden carts hooked to the front of their bicycles. This is an image of a lifestyle that I wish I was a part of. Locals leave their bikes unchained, knowing that they will be safe. Of course, for those not accustomed to bicycles en masse, woe betide you who strides obliviously across that 'pavement'.
I must be honest now and admit that although there are many fascinating galleries and museums in the city (most popular are the Cannabis museum and the Sex museum), I was too caught up in the magic to visit them. The real romance of Amsterdam lies in it's streets and coffee shops, and I found plenty of things to see tripping dreamily between the smokey cafes and street markets- a specialist glass doorknob shop, fast food vending machines and market stalls selling Virgin Mary paraphenalia. After dark is the time to really explore. The city opens up to show it's bright and colourful lining, and the real fun begins.
The Red Light District is not for the faint of heart. Or for claustrophobes or people who are scared of shop dummies. At it's dark heart it is a dizzying network of narrow alleys, lined with full length windows lit up in a lurid pinky-red. Inside, prostitutes stand displayed like living manneqins in underwear. It is an unnerving sight. One or two such alleys that we visited are so narrow that to get past the row of people coming the other way, you must press your face against the wall and inch along past the mad graffiti until you are spat out on the other side. There are cinemas devoted to showing hardcore porn, and even a 'discount erotic store' which sells, amongst the naughty things, cheap 2009 diaries and paint-by-numbers kits.
The locals, if you are lucky enough to meet one (Amsterdam is very cosmopolitan) are generally friendly and take an interest in the experiences of the tourist. We were chased by a man in a wheelchair, personally serenaded by a man with an accordian and joined in a few photographs by a teen who called himself 'amsterdam guy'. Wouldn't have met them in a Cannabis museum.
Despite the eye bags and sore head on departure, I think the time was right to be going. Amsterdam is a beautiful and hedonistic city, with the balance just right. Everyone is relaxed, nobody is rushing, nobody causes trouble. What you decide to indulge in there remains between you and the city. Oh, and some very good friends.
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