My trip to Amsterdam started at 5 in the morning. I had to be at the train station by 6:15 am, and because I always like to get places early, I left my room by 5:30, walking from my flat into the pitch black morning. As soon as I stepped outside, I was greeted by a windstorm. After just curling my hair into perfect waves, I arrived at the train station with matted and static-stricken hair that looked as if someone had just rubbed a balloon over my head. What a waste of 30 minutes the night before in creating the perfect curl. Oh well. And it's not like I didn't have options...I could have gotten a taxi to rescue me from the wind. But after going over my European bank statements with my Mom over winter break, I decided to save the extra 5 pounds and spend it on something a little more important...food.
Once my train arrived into London, Paddington I hopped on the Heathrow Express train (which is more expensive than taking the tube), but my flight was so early in the morning, and in order to make it to Heathrow Terminal 4 in time, I had to spend a little extra. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.
Arriving about an hour and a half before my flight, I browsed through the airport's Harrod's, and I actually found I really cute bag for sale. But don't worry Mom, I resisted. After browsing for about forty-five minutes, I went to check my gate number, only to find out that my flight was delayed an hour. Usually, I would be mad. But being delayed inside a terminal of a European airport is not the worst thing that could happen. The shopping, I mean browsing, is just too good to get upset over. And I don't mean to contradict myself either. What happened in Heathrow in December is a totally different story from being delayed an hour to Amsterdam. It's not like I was stranded for nights at a time and about to miss Christmas. So there I was, delayed an extra hour to shop in Harrods. Hard Life.
The flight to Amsterdam was only fifty minutes. BUT THEY WERE THE SCARIEST FIFTY MINUTES I'VE HAD IN A LONG TIME. Remember the wind that I mentioned earlier? Well apparently, no matter how high you are flying in the sky, winds like that can almost bring down a plane. And I'm being for real here. I didn't think I was going to make it to Amsterdam. Meanwhile, I had a gum-chewer sitting next to me. And on that flight, I learned that with the more turbulence, the more unlikely a person is to close their mouth while chewing gum. Now, I understand if you want to crack your gum and chew as loudly as you want, but ONLY and I mean ONLY, if you are in a room by yourself. Once you are in public and sitting next to somebody (especially me), you BETTER keep your mouth shut while chewing, or you BETTER believe you will see lots of eye rolls coming your way (especially from me). But luckily, the plane landed without being thrown to the ground, and the gum-chewer and I departed separate ways.
Even though my flight was delayed a little, my friend, Ari, wasn't getting in for another two hours. But rather than shop/browse around the different stores within the terminal, I decided to sit on a bench and rest my nauseated body after a flight filled with turbulence.
When her plane landed I was feeling better. We then proceeded to take the tram to our hotel only to find out that it was okay to smoke in the rooms, because well, we were in Amsterdam...the city without rules. I was worried though. I am not one to be able to breathe in a smoky room. And now that we were in Amsterdam, what did a smoking room even mean? Tobacco only? Or was marijuana and crack-cocaine okay too? What about needles? Was shooting up heroin allowed in hotels? Had the people who stayed in the room before us been smoking hash? I was nervous. And I knew that I had to expect everything because after all, I was not in England anymore.
But thankfully our room was to my liking and not only did it not smell like smoke, but there was a fresh lemon scent to the air. After walking around for a little and eating a plentiful dinner, Ari and I went back to the room to change into more appropriate outfits to explore the Amsterdam nightlife. But before hitting the pubs, Ari and I decided to take a little walk down the Red Light District. And for some reason, we didn't end up on the main drag, but happened upon many little ally-ways with red lights shining upon the almost naked prostitutes in the window. Now, I don't know what I thought it was going to be like, but for some reason, I thought going to the red light district in Amsterdam and looking at the prostitutes would be a fun and exciting experience. But it wasn't. It was quite possibly one of the saddest things I have ever experienced. Now I've experienced a lot of sad happenings for a twenty one year old kid. I volunteered in a Children's Hospital for three years and took witness to dying children every week. I went to Argentina and volunteered there for orphans and underprivileged children. But walking into the red light district brought a type of sadness I don't think I had ever experienced before. Seeing women actually trying to sell themselves in windows was both chilling and depressing. And the guys watching the prostitutes through the windows were disgusting. As I looked around at where I was, I noticed that Ari and I were the only girls in the ally-ways of the red light district who were not prostitutes. And it's not like I felt in danger, I just felt sickened by the way these men would watch these girls to determine how much they would pay for 15 minutes of sex. It was like these girls were puppies; the men scoping them out through a glass encasement, trying to bargain for their body. But they weren't puppies. They were real human beings, and for me, it was a sad sight. I found it particularly off putting watching the police walk past the different hookers and check them out as if once their shift was over, they were going to go pay for their 15 minutes as well. And an image that will never be able to leave my head: as soon as a man left one of the prostitutes "room" (obviously he had paid for his 15 minutes and it was now over), the prostitute reopened her curtain and started to dance in the window in hopes of attracting another dirty scum-bag from the side of the road, after just finishing up with her current skeeze. Ari and I had never felt so lucky to be in school and to be walking in the red light district as tourists. I have always been appreciative of my parents and the fact that I come from a loving family and have great community to fall back on. All the times my parents were hard on me, I knew it was for a purpose, and after witnessing women selling themselves in glass cages as if they were locked up in a puppy store, I had never been so grateful for my parents pushing me to be my best. Seeing the prostitutes and knowing that it is legal in Amsterdam and that the police walk the ally-ways to pick out their girls for later in the night, I had stepped out of my safety bubble, and my eyes were opened into a world which I never knew existed. And don't get me wrong, I knew that the red light district technically existed, but when seeing it firsthand, it was very different from hearing about it. It became real. And not the good kind of real.
The windows behind me have their curtains closed. That means that a man has paid for his 15 minutes with the prostitute. Also, I was surprised to see the physical appearance of these hookers. Some of them were young and in good shape, but the majority were older women who had not worked out in quite some time. It saddened me to think how long they have worked as prostitutes in the red light district.
The main part of the red light district - not the ally-ways Ari and I first walked down. If you look closely, there are half naked women in the red windows of this photo. This was also a shocking scene for me because there are families that walk up and down this street (this is the street looking onto the canal). I wondered if the kids who grow up there think it's weird to see prostitutes on a regular basis. Ari and I also met a few other Americans that told us they took a picture of a prostitute in the window of the red light district and she got so mad she came out of her "room" and started screaming at them.
After a full night out on the town, Ari and I woke up early the next morning to fit in a whole day of sightseeing. And our first stop was Anne Frank's house. Excited to see where Anne Frank spent her time hiding, I was disappointed to learn that her house/bedroom, was a recreation, not the actual thing. Apparently it's not even the same building, it's a remodeled version of the original. With over an hour wait to get in, Ari and I left Anne Frank's house and went straight to the I AMSTERDAM sign. Now, everyone who goes to the I AMSTERDAM sign always takes lots of pictures of themselves climbing the letters and dangling from the top. But unfortunately, the one weekend that the front of the letters were blocked off, was the weekend that we were in Amsterdam. But rather than let that get our spirits down, we stayed positive and took the pictures anyway...except the letters were all backwards. So even though the front was barricaded, I still climbed into the letters and took the ultimate Amsterdam tourist photos.
And after our photo-shoot at the I AMSTERDAM sign, we went to the Van Gogh Museum. The Museum was amazing, and never before had I been surrounded by so many beautiful Van Gogh's.
Another tid-bit about Amsterdam: Amsterdam is also known as the city of diamonds. And I LOVE diamonds, because after all, diamonds are a girl's best friend. So when walking to our next destination (the Heineken Factory), Ari and I stumbled upon the Diamond Exhibit, and Ari being the stylish girl she is, loved looking at the diamonds as much as I did.
After "oohing" and "aahhing" over the magnificent jewelry, we decided to take the stereotypical picture in front of Amsterdam's beautiful canal.
But what I found to be the hardest adjustment while vacationing in Amsterdam, were the bicycle riders. THERE WERE THOUSANDS OF THEM. With all of the cars going in the right direction on the road, I still found walking around Amsterdam more difficult than walking around any city in England. Not only did I have to keep out on alert for all of the cyclists, but they made me quite jumpy.
I always think it's very dangerous when I see a parent place their baby in a little seat on the back of their bike and then ride as if they are hauling around a backpack. But in Amsterdam, rather than put their babies in a little seat with a helmet, the parents would literally put their babies on the front handle bars and peddle as if all were normal!
Not normal. Some of the babies were to young to even support themselves sitting up so their parents would literally, not figuratively, but literally, ride with one hand holding up their baby's head, and the other steering through traffic and pedestrians. If you ask me, that's illegal, but since I was in Amsterdam, it was the norm AND most definitely legal to ride your bike with your teeny, little baby sitting against the handle bars!!! And no helmets!
Look at all of those bikes!!!! Imagine them filled with babies on the handle bars! So scary!
Although I didn't approve of the bike scene in the city, I did rock some Amsterdam bicycle sunglasses!
Another one of my favorite parts about Amsterdam, or I guess Holland in general, was their love of clogs. Clogs were everywhere! I almost bought a pair, but Ari helped me realize that for over 20 Euro, it was a waste since I would never be able to wear my wooden clogs out, especially not to parties. Agreeing with such logic, I bought a little pair of clog magnets instead, and to tell you the truth, those were expensive enough. Although I do have a picture of me wearing giant clogs, I still do kind of wish I could have brought home a pair of oversized wooden shoes. But for now, this picture will have to do.
Look at how happy I look in these giant clogs!
And then I found a clog car! Trade in the BMW, and get me a clog! This is what I am going to get my future children for their 16th birthday! Representin' Amsterdam!!!
And after all of the happiness over the clogs, we finally made it to the Heineken Factory which was cool not because I am at all a beer drinker, but because Heineken originated there and it was interesting to learn its history.
As I said before, what happens in Amsterdam, stays in Amsterdam. But because we finished our day with an interesting and somewhat shocking museum, I have decided to write about it, but only to a minimum because this is a blog....not a porn site...
For our last activity of the day, we went to what other than the Sex Museum. Now to be perfectly honest, I couldn't have been happier that I was with a friend on this trip and NOT with my parents. That would have been real awkward, real fast. There were some intense stuff in this museum, some that I can't name (I'm keeping my blog PG), and some stuff that I wouldn't even how to name. But I thought that since I was in Amsterdam, I should take it all in and explore such a place. Also, I believe that every Kinsey needs to get in touch with their inner Alfred....
Here are some pictures (the appropriate ones):
When you walked past the butt with the eyes, smoke came out of the butt and the left eye would wink as you passed by. The first time I walked up the stairs it scared me to death (I was not expecting the smoke to shoot in my face), but the second time I walked by I winked back...natural reaction.
And later that night we walked around the streets of Amsterdam. These pictures will give you more of a sense of what a regular stroll in the city is like.
And then, Ari and I went on a pub crawl for our final night in Amsterdam! We ended up meeting a lot of other American students studying abroad all over Europe for their Junior year. I even bumped into an Exeter group on our pub crawl! Small world...especially in Europe.
In our last and final pub on the crawl (it was more of a disco-dance pub), Ari and I took a seat at one of the tables only to find an older lady passed out next to us. Amsterdam is truly a strange city...
But after a great weekend in a crazy city, it was time for us to head our separate ways: I was back off to England, and Ari was back off to Florence.
Even though I did have an amazing and unforgettable weekend, I am truly glad that I did not chose to study abroad there. Not like I ever thought of studying abroad in Amsterdam, but I couldn't be any happier with my choice in England. For all of you who are studying abroad or are deciding on studying abroad, or just want to vacation in Europe, go to Amsterdam and see the sights! But for me (as I hope it is for many others), one weekend in Amsterdam is enough to last a lifetime.
No comments:
Post a Comment