Amsterdam’s Red Light District

Who knew there was more to Amsterdam — oh, you know, art, pretty canals and Indonesian food — than good-old weed and hookers? I find it hilarious that most backpackers spend most of their time here stoned out of their minds — on a couch in their hostel. Without the urge to parttake, I spent most of last night and today walking around the city, nursing several bottles of hometown Heineken, trying my best to avoid — or at least ignore — the tens of thousands of American college students flooding the city center.

Slightly beyond the tourist belt

Five minutes in any direction from the ass and grass and you’re thrust into beautiful, cozy neighborhoods… tiny streets and flower box-lined canals winding their way around. Some of the more residential areas I was walking around last night share a strong resemblance to streets in Greenwich Village in “New Amsterdam”: quirky two- and three-story brick buildings, improvised barbeques taking place along the sidewalk and quiet little streets brimming with outdoor cafes, flower plantings and potted plants.

My hostel, the Flying Pig, is legendary among the backpacking circuit. But the place is pretty disgusting, giving the squalor of the Funny Farm in Interlaken a run for its money. I knew I was in the right place when, walking down a dimly-lit alley from the train station, I confronted the thick stench of urine. The Pig, of course, has a bar — with enough smoke and enough drunk American girls, it’s perhaps the first hostel bar that actually feels like the bars I’m used to. To its credit, the hostel sports a decent kitchen, free breakfast and Internet and lots of sitting space for the inevitably baked guests.

Picture my amusement as I watched two American girls — probably stoned for the first time in their lives — celebrating after they built what in their minds was an intricate statue, using two beer glasses stacked on a few coasters. Now imagine my shit-eating grin as their monument fell over, shattering all over the bar — and bartender. Priceless.

Red Light central

I’m happy to report that the Red Light District is alive and well. I spent about an hour walking around in circles last night, amused to no end by dirty old men window-shopping for a 12-minute bride. The variety is astounding. One of the ‘tutes was dressed in an FBI hat (no love for the Dept of Homeland Security?) and leather catsuit; another wearing little more than Glad Cling Wrap. Quality seems to be related to location… the most attractive ones are concentrated along the main stretch of The District, while questionable options are available on small streets radiating out. I did not, however, have the budget to sample on this trip — maybe next time for the movie version.

Venice without the pigeons

I spent the day breaking the bank at museums. First, the obligatory visit to the Heineken brewery museum, where I learned everything there is to know (and more) about how one of the world’s most overrated beers is produced. Then, after my three free ones, I stumbled in the heat over to the van Gogh Museum and took in some culture. The museum’s permanent collection is fairly interesting, but the special exhibit of Manet and van Gogh’s seascapes was a delight, especially to my hydrophillic aesthetic senses. Paris tomorrow.