Spliffs and Spuistraat

Tuesday, June 28

Everyone was pretty skeptical when I said that I wasn't planning on getting stoned in Amsterdam, and while I have held to that, I swear to god, you can get a contact high just from stepping outside.  There are three coffee shops with outdoor seating on the same block as my hostel on Spuistraat.  They are all pretty pungent, and need I say, it's not the coffee you're smelling.  I was pretty amused to realize that when I asked the guy at the desk for a recommendation of a good coffee shop, I had to specify that I meant actual coffee.  He thought I was being euphemistic, and informed me that here, you don't have to beat around the bush - you can say what you mean: "Hello, I'm looking for marijuana.  Drugs.  To get high.  Where are the best drugs? - You can shout it from the rooftops!"  Over the next few days, he and I took to chatting whenever I was on the way in or out. Vratislav from the Czech Republic.  Hostel receptionist, and self-titled "everyone's Eastern European bitch for everything," he lived in Ireland for a few years before moving to Amsterdam, gave me all the best tips on the city, and made a point to balance out the universe by enthusiastically countering the tour guides' romanticized, idyllic representation of the Netherlands whenever possible.  "Holland:" he said, in a residually Slavic accent, "finds ways to be fucking you over at every turn."  I had walked in as he was on the phone screaming in Czech at a Dutch contractor (who almost certainly does not speak Czech) about a broken sliding glass door.  "Yes, they have their scenic windmills and adorable wooden shoes, and a CENTURIES LONG NATIONAL TRADITION OF BEING A CUNT!  God bless Eastern Europe."  

Besides Vratislav, I also spent a few days hanging around with Lynden and Cameron from Melbourne, Australia.  I gave Lynden a haircut in the middle of Volden park, attracting a few strange glances, then we walked around the city getting lost in the horse-shoe-shaped streets and canals, and visited the red-light district.  

An Australian and some street art

Space Invader!

Another Australian and some more street art

Canal.

The red-light district:  It's an interesting phenomenon - very like window shopping, each girl is displayed in a small room with a bed and a bay window lit in red neon with curtains that could be drawn when she got a customer.  Outfits ranged from see-through baby doll negligees to glow-in-the-dark vinyl bikinis to lace-up leather bustiers, and even an Eve-style, strategically placed adhesive fig-leaf sticker.  While people are usually fascinated and a little revolted by this street, I actually think it's a pretty good idea.  It's a much more honest approach to a situation that exists in pretty much every metro area of the world, and the official recognition of its existence makes it much safer for the women.  There are rules and codes of conduct, and if anyone tries to take pictures or get out of line, each girl has an alarm she can ring, which sets off a siren outside the building to alert the many security guards roaming the street.  While the girls aren't completely independently in charge of their income, it's more like renting a chair in a beauty salon than being a wage-slave or having an abusive/exploitative pimp.  The simplified version is, they pay for their spot in the window and for any advertising, and keep the rest.  It's certainly not perfect, and there are always the very sad cases of women who end up turning to it out of desperation, but for the ones who actually choose it and like doing it, it apparently works quite well.  To each her own - food for thought.  Having dinner with Glenny and Alissa and Missy and Chuck and co. tonight - more later!