My New Favorite Color

Graffiti near the hostel

There was more to Amsterdam than drugs, like hookers! But before I depart from drugs, I must mention the amazing array of products offered at the smartshops one can find around town. After one too many tourists died from taking shrooms and wandering into oncoming traffic, the purveyance of psyclobin mushrooms has been forbidden. But that hasn't stopped the shops from selling chocolate truffles made with mushrooms. The only drawback is that you have to eat half a box to get the same effect that just a couple putrid caps would give you. I was dangerously close to buying a peyote cactus but got cold feet at the idea of crotching it through security at 4 airports. The shop clerk told me I could say it was a present for my mom but the 30 euro price tag and the instructions for usage (which included the drawn out process of turning the plant into tea, drinking it, and then vomiting it up) killed the idea for me.

Sorry for the digression, but I really enjoyed the drug culture of Amsterdam, although I've heard it's almost entirely marketed towards tourists. The Red Light District is also for tourists, actually. And I loved it just as much. Unfortunately, because of rumors of pimps breaking overzealous tourist's cameras, I have no photo-documentation of my exploration of the world's most famous whorezone, at least not at night.

I first went into the district unwittingly while visiting the Anne Frank house, which is located on the edge of the area. My image of the Red Light District was a haze of unclear preconceptions that only involved dark alleyways and brick streets. In the day time it actually was a normal looking place. In the night it was too, for that matter. If it weren't for the g-string clad women dancing in windows, it would have looked exactly like the rest of the city.

One image I was sure would prove true was that of, dirty, down-on-their-luck hookers who I would never dream of sleeping with in my worst nightmare. My noir scenario turned out to be completely false as a doubled back down some streets just to see the would-be GQ models attempt to usher me into their small professional bedroom. If it wasn't for a bad case of self-righteousness and a bread-and water budget, I would have taken the 50 euro dive in a heartbeat.

Red Light District during the day

My objective on entering the Red Light District was to see a live sex show, which is surprisingly hard to come across in suburban Minnesota. We managed to find one after asking a couple peep show bouncers where to go. Believe it or not, it was closed! It couldn't have been past two in the morning at it was closed! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the sign, but there was nothing we could do apart from cutting our losses and heading to the strip club.

I was surprised how comfortable I felt in the strip club just as I was surprised at my comfort in the district. I thought I was going to feel alienated, like a piece of my born innocence was dying away. Well, I guess that innocence died long ago with my first glimpse of internet pornography, because I felt perfectly at home sitting next to a guy who was rubbing his face in a middle-aged woman's vagina as I waited for the topless bartender to bring me my beer. The strippers dancing at the bar were hit or miss as looks went, but were all incredible at dancing. I never knew how far the pole arts had progressed until I found myself gasping at the sight of one stripper swing down a the pole upside down as fast and coordinated as a Michelle Kwan doing a double axle.

I did my best at shooing away the strippers as they attempted to coax me into getting a lap dance I knew perfectly well would cost me 10 euro. Short of running away, there was nothing I could do to deter these women. I shook my head violently as one of the least spectacular specimens wrapped her legs around my shoulders.

"No thank you!" She didn't respond. "No thanks!" I gave up. "Well, is this one on the house?"

"No, baby." Fucking swindlers.

She rubbed her body on mine in a routine that matched the other dancers' lap dancing move for move. They all went from front to front, to back to front, to titties to face. I refused to let myself enjoy it in hopes that she would go away and leave me with my money. Of course she finished her dance the same as if I jammed my face into her willing breasts and sat impatiently next to my drink until I finally handed her a 10 euro bill.

"Try to make sure no one else does this to me." She didn't keep up her end of the bargain, but I learned the rules of the game and was able to fend off the rest of the advances that night, usually by avoiding any eye contact.

"The road of excess leads to wisdom."