amsterdam at night
"James and I might go see a Sex show tonight."
"We're GOING to see a sex show." James stuck out his lower lip aggressively. Scott smiled.
We started walking toward the red-light district with the boys when we passed a blocked off square filled with people. Loud music was playing, and we saw a band onstage before a huge gathering of drunk Dutch people singing along. For a little excitement we pressed our way into the crowd. People were packed in so tight it was almost impossible to move, but there was a festival atmosphere, and all the people seemed happy. Everyone seemed to know the lyrics to all the songs the band played. I was talking to a Dutchman and he told me that now all the popular songs in the Netherlands are in English, but the band was playing the songs of the sixties and seventies from the days when the Dutch had their own music.
"I just got a free beer! It's ok. I mean it's not a great beer, but it's pretty good. Guys never get free beer!" James proclaimed this proudly. We pushed our way closer to the exit, and I couldn't help laughing as we squeezed past these jubilant strangers. In the jostle, a man spilled a little beer on my sweater, but I didn't mind.
"You want a ticket? for drinks?" a man offered me.
"Oh, no thanks." I smiled.
"Did that guy just offer you a drink? Oh, you do NOT pass up free beer!" James was indignant. But it didn't bother me yet.
Susie didn't have her map along with her, but James had apparently been to the red light district earlier in the day, so he lead us along.
"Ok, NOW I know where we are." I looked at Susie. We were obviously wandering around. We stepped into a small art gallery in a quiet, annonymous part of town. The paintings on the walls were big, bright likenesses of celebrities. We walked around the bright white room, and I admired a small rack of Groucho Marx postcards. Suddenly, a mural-covered car drove through the wide, street entrance of the gallery and parked in the middle of the room. The back seat of the car was filled with painting supplies and a crate of empty wine bottles. A slovenly old man climbed out of the car and burped. He had a large belly, disheveled clothing and wild, white hair. Ignoring us, he slammed the door and shuffled across the room to an open door. A little black dog appeared out of nowhere. The four of us exchanged glances. A second little dog came clicking across the floor. It was wearing an eyepatch. We decided to leave before the scene became more surreal. And James hadn't even found any drugs yet.
"Yeah, I want to go to a coffeeshop." James had just declared that he knew where we were for the fourth time. "We definitely passed that church this morning." It was getting old. Eventually we found some Americans who pointed us in the right direction.
"This is going to be insane. You can see the whores right there in the windows." The word "whore" made Susie visibly uncomfortable.
We found ourselves on a street filled with coffeeshops that reminded me of the French Quarter in New Orleans, with fewer Mardi Gras beads and more rastafarian caricatures. We met up with some people from school outside a coffeeshop and went inside. The music was pounding and awful. There weren't enough chairs. James bought some papers and our R.A. bought some pot. The whole atmosphere felt crowded and close in an unwelcoming way. James had never smoked before, and he couldn't roll a joint. Susie and I waited outside, and eventually broke away from the group.
The street was lined with store front windows, and inside were women in glowing neon-white and silver bikinis, dancing under blacklights. Here and there were windows with curtains drawn. Warm pink lights advertised the neighborhood's main attraction. After a long time, Susie and I stopped into a pastry shop, and then made our way back to the hostel. I fell fast asleep. Fast.
Next morning: Van Gogh museum. Incredible. The prints of the sunflower painting and the bedroom painting say nothing about the originals. They were amazing. His colors! The oranges and blues! Also, there were a lot of dark, bleak paintings that you don't hear so much about. And we saw a Manet exhibit-- all paintings depicting the sea. The way the impressionists captured the light coming through the clouds... it was just beautiful.
After eating lunch on a hill slope outside underneath an overcast sky with Allie, J.D., and Audrey... Susie and I explored a market and bought a couple of things. Including a secret present for my mom.
Then we went to a Spanish tapas restaurant and had a small, slow dinner and a long conversation. I felt so close to Susie. Finally, we weren't figuring out where we should go or what we should do. I wasn't complaining about anyone's obnoxious personality. Susie wasn't walking me through one of her dreams detail by detail. We were talking about what we were hoping for, what we were afraid of, what was weighing more heavily on our minds. It felt like a significant time together and we felt like permanent friends.
We were so caught up in our emotional, dinner experience that we were almost late to the performance of Othello. It was all in Dutch, and I was completely overcome by its power.
"We're GOING to see a sex show." James stuck out his lower lip aggressively. Scott smiled.
We started walking toward the red-light district with the boys when we passed a blocked off square filled with people. Loud music was playing, and we saw a band onstage before a huge gathering of drunk Dutch people singing along. For a little excitement we pressed our way into the crowd. People were packed in so tight it was almost impossible to move, but there was a festival atmosphere, and all the people seemed happy. Everyone seemed to know the lyrics to all the songs the band played. I was talking to a Dutchman and he told me that now all the popular songs in the Netherlands are in English, but the band was playing the songs of the sixties and seventies from the days when the Dutch had their own music.
"I just got a free beer! It's ok. I mean it's not a great beer, but it's pretty good. Guys never get free beer!" James proclaimed this proudly. We pushed our way closer to the exit, and I couldn't help laughing as we squeezed past these jubilant strangers. In the jostle, a man spilled a little beer on my sweater, but I didn't mind.
"You want a ticket? for drinks?" a man offered me.
"Oh, no thanks." I smiled.
"Did that guy just offer you a drink? Oh, you do NOT pass up free beer!" James was indignant. But it didn't bother me yet.
Susie didn't have her map along with her, but James had apparently been to the red light district earlier in the day, so he lead us along.
"Ok, NOW I know where we are." I looked at Susie. We were obviously wandering around. We stepped into a small art gallery in a quiet, annonymous part of town. The paintings on the walls were big, bright likenesses of celebrities. We walked around the bright white room, and I admired a small rack of Groucho Marx postcards. Suddenly, a mural-covered car drove through the wide, street entrance of the gallery and parked in the middle of the room. The back seat of the car was filled with painting supplies and a crate of empty wine bottles. A slovenly old man climbed out of the car and burped. He had a large belly, disheveled clothing and wild, white hair. Ignoring us, he slammed the door and shuffled across the room to an open door. A little black dog appeared out of nowhere. The four of us exchanged glances. A second little dog came clicking across the floor. It was wearing an eyepatch. We decided to leave before the scene became more surreal. And James hadn't even found any drugs yet.
"Yeah, I want to go to a coffeeshop." James had just declared that he knew where we were for the fourth time. "We definitely passed that church this morning." It was getting old. Eventually we found some Americans who pointed us in the right direction.
"This is going to be insane. You can see the whores right there in the windows." The word "whore" made Susie visibly uncomfortable.
We found ourselves on a street filled with coffeeshops that reminded me of the French Quarter in New Orleans, with fewer Mardi Gras beads and more rastafarian caricatures. We met up with some people from school outside a coffeeshop and went inside. The music was pounding and awful. There weren't enough chairs. James bought some papers and our R.A. bought some pot. The whole atmosphere felt crowded and close in an unwelcoming way. James had never smoked before, and he couldn't roll a joint. Susie and I waited outside, and eventually broke away from the group.
The street was lined with store front windows, and inside were women in glowing neon-white and silver bikinis, dancing under blacklights. Here and there were windows with curtains drawn. Warm pink lights advertised the neighborhood's main attraction. After a long time, Susie and I stopped into a pastry shop, and then made our way back to the hostel. I fell fast asleep. Fast.
Next morning: Van Gogh museum. Incredible. The prints of the sunflower painting and the bedroom painting say nothing about the originals. They were amazing. His colors! The oranges and blues! Also, there were a lot of dark, bleak paintings that you don't hear so much about. And we saw a Manet exhibit-- all paintings depicting the sea. The way the impressionists captured the light coming through the clouds... it was just beautiful.
After eating lunch on a hill slope outside underneath an overcast sky with Allie, J.D., and Audrey... Susie and I explored a market and bought a couple of things. Including a secret present for my mom.
Then we went to a Spanish tapas restaurant and had a small, slow dinner and a long conversation. I felt so close to Susie. Finally, we weren't figuring out where we should go or what we should do. I wasn't complaining about anyone's obnoxious personality. Susie wasn't walking me through one of her dreams detail by detail. We were talking about what we were hoping for, what we were afraid of, what was weighing more heavily on our minds. It felt like a significant time together and we felt like permanent friends.
We were so caught up in our emotional, dinner experience that we were almost late to the performance of Othello. It was all in Dutch, and I was completely overcome by its power.