I have been in Amsterdam since 1985, although I always loved
it, always. My lasting impression of the
space was of a poster of a man on the wall doing something that I did not know
was anatomically possible. It just happened. He looked at us with a come-hither
expression that gave me a pause that was hard to forget. That was a long time
ago.
But for the final week of our marathon trip, this was our
destination.
Like the light in Venice, when we walked out of the train
station, we were struck by a feeling.
You can tell a lot
about a city in your first moments in the train station. Looking around I saw lines of bikes moving
outside – bike after bike after bike.
Amsterdam is a city that moves people.
Signs for the subway and trams were everywhere. So were maps we could photograph. We got three-day cards and jumped on a tram
outside, taking in a view of the city, its coffee houses, canals, endless bike
racks, cyclists, majestic old buildings. The bike racks outside the train
station were filled with more bikes than I have ever seen, bike after bike
after bike. The smell of pot was
omnipresent.
“The stuff is really strong now,” our friends told over
dinner.
We zipped to our hostel, dropped off our bags, grabbed a pint, and made it back out
for dinner. Bikes zoomed along their
separated bike paths.
This city opened in front of us, inviting us along its
canals, tree-lined streets, with plants, majestic homes.
“See there are three red lights,” noted our friends,
pointing to three houses along the waterfront with red neon lights in
front. “There used to be like
twenty. Now there are just three. The city is buying them up.”
Dinner went on for hours, chatting, drinking, and catching
up from their return to Amsterdam after years in Brooklyn. It was hard coming
back, they explained. This is not as
progressive a place as some people think it is, they explained. Their communities had shifted. People moved
on. Some divorced.
Sleeping that night, I could hear people making their way
out there. The rain pattering on the
cobblestones. The whole world seemed to
be pumping and alive, an organic whole connected between people and streets,
the canals and red lights, the steps that brought me to the hostel and the
dreams running through my mind. It felt
enormously peaceful and tantalizing.
“Endless summer….” Noted my friend when I told him we were
coming here. “Why don’t you guys just
move here?” Maybe we should. But it feels like home. The streets we saw in the movies, the Fault
in Our Stars, the Ann Frank House we can’t visit because its sold out. Caroline recalled her first trip here when
she just walked into the museum. Its ok
to skip it this time. The city of Anne
Frank and harm reduction – it feels like home.
We were immediately taken by that feeling.
First day in Amsterdam. |
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