Amsterdam by day, Amsterdam by night, we were in two different cities, yet at the same.
Another fairly early morning (I don't remember any other time when I woke up often, so early and so ungrudgingly), we had little plans, and much to do. A sumptuous breakfast of bread and marmalade, I often wonder how my definition of a delicious meal has changed so dramatically in the past month. I guess I've hit the bottom of Maslow's hierarchy, the quest for satisfying our most basic need of hunger always a question on our minds. Well, almost.
We shopped for souvenirs first, going totally crazy. I wouldn't describe what I've bought now. It'll be a picture for later. Souvenirs in Amsterdam were full of vices and debauchery, outrageously funny and not very expensive.
The only thing that probably topped this was our next visit, a museum dedicated to gratifying another of Maslow's basic need. I shall leave the description aside, and just say it was very, very interesting.
The city was a maze of canals, as someone calls it, a Venice without its gondolas, and a city of bridges. Several hundreds of them. And apparently, of a million cycles. Amsterdam was full of cycles everywhere. I assume it’s to reach the narrow streets where the cars couldn't reach, or just to make the most of the beautiful cycle lanes the city is full of. The tourist cycles were vividly coloured, yellow and bright reds and oranges. And the more local cycles were much akin to the good ol’ Atlas Gold cycles, skeletal and a bunch of rods put together. Uniquely, at Brussels, the cycles were small, with tall seats and short handles. Europe is a collage of oddities. Sigh.
Hopping across roads, we passed by Anne Frank's museum. The place where she hid during the Holocaust, I would have almost missed the building had it not been for a serpentine queue for entry. Bansi and Tardi were keen to visit it, so we left them there and went on to the station, taking our time, walking by abstract wooden elephants and rows and rows of souvenir shops.
Split second decisions later, almost suddenly, the five of us were travelling to Rotterdam. Truly backpacking, this decision was made in no time and for no specific reason. Rotterdam was the Netherlands' second largest city and apparently EUROPE'S largest port.
I often run the sin of diluting the meaning of the word beautiful because I'm using it so often, but few other words can fill in the same way as beautiful does. Rotterdam was beautiful from the moment go. As opposed to an archaic Amsterdam, with its ancient buildings and narrow streets, this city was almost completely modern. A single canal ran through the city into the harbour, and we followed its trail to Euromast- a 185 metre high tower that provided a fantastic view of the city from the top. The cold air and rain playing spoilsport but not stopping us, Patwa, PritS and me went right up the tower. The last 100 metres or so were covered in a circular saucer like buggy that rotated around the tower while climbing up. And it was up there that we realized what a fantastic city this was. The unique Erasmus Bridge standing out in the panorama below, Rotterdam had a harbour that stretched on for miles. The air up there was very, very chilly, and Patwa and I got into this crazy photo-shoot mode, especially as dusk fell and the city lit up. The landing platform of the buggy even had a suite that offered a beautiful view of the city. Almost like the penthouse of a skyscraper, only with walls of glass, this place was one of my dreams.
Staying there for many minutes, I enjoyed the feel of the cold air running through my body and the sight of the city sprawling before my eyes. Tiny cars metres below, and the harbour stretching far out to the horizon as dusk set on, all captured forever.
Amsterdam. And the night. A perfect tour guide. And mild rain. 5 guys and a girl. And the famous red lights.
Now Amsterdam's prime tourist hotspot, the Red Light District is famous for rows and rows of "windows" with scantily clad women doing business. Very little open solicitation, it was almost like you are walking surreally along street after street, bounded by Venice like canals on one side, and draped in red and ultraviolet light, colouring the world with lust, little passion and a lot of dope. Scores of men satisfying every concupiscence fantasy, but more than that, many more curious tourists, mostly couples, coming over to see what the fuss is all about. We were them. I was that.
Our fantastic tour guide knew everything about the street, notorious for offering something to every carnal desire. Apparently now completely standardized (can I use the word commodotized?), with strong unions and police protection, Amsterdam’s Red Light District had tax payers, was self governed and almost completely commoditized. All it invoked really was a curiosity. A giant museum gone wrong. The roads branched into several arterial roads, narrow roads with enough walking distance only for two, with the windows on both sides, many with their curtains down. Made more interesting with stories, titbits and the experience of others, this was Amsterdam, liberty and freedom at its finest. And craziest. Phew. Glad to get out of the streets. And glad I got down to write this. It is crazy. And I would never want to describe it the way I saw it here.