i Amsterdam: Musings from the Dutch Capital
Note to self: always, ALWAYS write down the exact address of hostel in a foreign city to avoid getting lost. Especially when the directions to said hostel look a bit like this:
So began my sojourn to Amsterdam. Mere moments after silently applauding my own impeccable instinct, which had delivered me from the airport to the city via a rather confusing commuter rail (this is the part where you roll your eyes at my semi-typical overconfidence), I took forty five minutes to locate my hostel. Thank bloody hell the Dutch speak perfect English, know what I’m saying? In fact, the hostel was located on the fourth floor of a building complex and lacking any proper signage, so I felt a little justified about my searching. It was fortunately less sketchy than it sounds, a bit like a secret clubhouse with some edgy décor and all-female clientele. I was quite content during my stay there.
However, I was reminded and continue to be frustrated with how much more restricted my travels must be because of my gender. I am equipped with the same curiosity in the world around me and same desire to see as much of it as possible as any male my age. Yet as a girl I have to be especially wary, watching my drinks and returning to my hostel by dark, regardless of city. (Disclaimer: I never felt like I was in any peril in Amsterdam, but I did feel occasionally restricted by the precautions I took, hence the ranting.)When I tell friends and family that I am traveling to a new place alone, their opinions about the certain dangers awaiting me irritate me not because they are putting a damper on my upcoming voyage, but because their concern is completely valid. I read in the New Yorker earlier this year that worldwide, women between fifteen and forty four are more likely to be injured or die from male violence than from traffic accidents, cancer, malaria and the effects of war combined. COMBINED. That is absolutely one of the most disheartening reflections of the society we live in and if you don’t find it deeply disturbing then you may be lacking a sense of humanity.
Nonetheless I am still a firm believer that as long as caution is exercised, traveling alone (even as a female) can be perfectly enjoyable. In fact, it’s rather like an extended meditation; I always find myself more ready to face any future obstacles upon my return to Reims, despite my post-travel exhaustion. What’s more, traveling toute seule allows me the opportunity to meet people I might not otherwise interact with. While these interactions take place without intention of permanence, the possibility to bond with someone briefly or unexpectedly in any situation is somewhat of a reassurance. Though our generation often seems divided, we can always find something to connect over – even something as simple as a love for traveling.
I spent one afternoon with a Canadian girl named Kalea. A little hesitant in herself, with hair dyed purple-red and glasses that magnified her eyes, she had planned to move to the UK just weeks before. However, after arriving in London and hating it, she changed her plans in a way only someone in their twenties can – she began a Eurotrip, contemplating each destination as a potential future home. In fact, she was leaving Amsterdam the very next day and had yet to decide on a destination: maybe Stockholm. Maybe Prague. What freedom it is to be young like that; to have the ability to roll the dice or throw plans out and just pick up and go. Call it privilege; call it immaturity, but whatever indefinite horizon we’re all chasing serves to keep us invested in the unknown but present in the present. It’s a fantastic mentality, one that makes me dread the days of retirement plans and mortgages, the worries a concrete and settled future will one day demand of us.
And by one day, I mean like three years from now. Ick.
Two conflicting perspectives on traveling alone: a little contradictory, perhaps? Maybe, but I can think of no better way to introduce my trip to a city full of contradictions. In the United States, Amsterdam is known for its famous Red Light District and the fact that marijuana is legal, in a manner of speaking. In fact, the place is occasionally compared to Las Vegas, and I can only assume that horridly unfair comparison is a result of the one dimensional perspective many people seem to have of Amsterdam. To paint a more complete picture, I’m going to share the five most interesting facts I learned during my trip:
1) I think the idea of people indulging in their vices legally – prostitution, soft drugs, etc. – can often be associated with some level of criminality, but the Netherlands, as one of the happiest countries in the world, also has a rapidity declining crime rate. How rapid? In the past year alone, the country has closed eight prisons. It’s even more impressive when considering the rate of prison populations is surging pretty much everywhere else.
They turned one prison into a luxury hotel...
2) The history of Amsterdam is immense and so unique. From the days of the East Indies Trading Company during the 1600s (featuring the kind of wealth the world is not likely to ever see again) to the more recent WWII, the population of Amsterdam has been witness to some monumental events. On the more somber side of history, the mortality rate of Jews in Holland during the Second World War was unequaled in Europe. Jews in the country numbered about 140,000 before the war and only 30,000 after…
Probably the most famous face of Jews in Amsterdam during WWII
3) In the 1960’s, Amsterdam had a serious heroin problem. The government realized that putting marijuana users in prison with heroin users often turned them into addicts as well, and as the significantly lesser of two evils the police began turning a blind eye to pot use. As it stands today, marijuana is officially illegal, but law enforcement continues to turn a blind eye. What is not permitted is the advertisement of weed, which is why the over 200 vendors of marijuana in Amsterdam are found in ‘coffeeshops.’ (As a side note, only something like 4% of the Dutch smoke, compared to 8% of Europeans… but one in four tourists in the city visit the shops.)
4) Now, prostitution is actually legal. This might seem outlandish and disgusting at first, but consider a few points, namely that:
- If it’s going to happen anyway, might as well make it legal and tax it, no?
- Prostitutes operate as small business owners, which might seem laughable if it didn’t give them access to health care, and
- the women who work in the industry do so by choice. Frankly, you can spend time judging that decision or you could read up on the sex trafficking that occurs still today (100,000 children estimated to be involved in the US alone) and decide which bothers you more.
5) I’m going to step off my pulpit now and stop sassin’ around to fangirl about one of my favorite paintings next. Almond Blossom by Vincent Van Gogh can be found in Amsterdam, and that in itself was enough to get me to the Van Gogh museum. I’m not an art expert or intellectual by any means; I cannot tell impressionism from realism or whether Monet was better than Rembrandt, but Almond Blossom – and as it turns out, the story behind it – is the best. Our buddy Vincent painted it during his stay at a mental health clinic, but while his other paintings from the same time all seemed a bit melancholic (just still lifes of the institute’s garden and such), Almond Blossom is the exception. After he found out his brother had a son he painted it as a gift, and of course it is all quite symbolic: the blossom = new life, ya dig? I got so excited imagining his mindset while he worked on it. Here he is in the institute probably increasing bummed out by the redundancy of his days and his situation and then he hears this good news and is so excited by the addition to his family and psyched that the kid gets to start out with a clean slate that he paints the picture to commemorate that feeling. This doesn’t really count as a fact per se but I was hella thrilled with it and wanted to share.
If you’re still with me you deserve some kind of reward, but I promise I’m almost finished. Amsterdam was full of fortuitous timing for me, because even though I was alone I ended up crossing paths with not only an acquaintance from high school but some friends from Boston who are on the Spanish leg of my program. Quelle chance!
It was a relief that the weekend was such a success as it took place at the same time as my first real bout of homesickness. That’s right, even as someone who so desperately wanted to get out I am not immune to missing the United States. More specifically, one state - Massachusetts. Even more specifically, Boston, Massachusetts, when the Red Sox won the World Series at Fenway for the first time in 95 years. I hope all of you lucky bastards who were there celebrated big-time for me. I flew home from Amsterdam to France and was nothing short of disoriented after debarking from the plane to find myself not standing in Logan. It’s definitely taken some time to adjust to the fact that Boston is not necessarily My Home anymore.
One day in the future though!
