Amsterdam

I didn’t quite believe the story about a Heineken tasting different in Amsterdam than anywhere else, but it’s definitely true.
When I had my first Heineken in the U.S., I decided not to have another because I really didn’t care for the taste.
Not so in Amsterdam.
After Sam, Paul and I arrived in the capital city, we took a cab to our hotel, dropped off our luggage and took a cab back to the main train station. Then we walked around for a bit to get a feel for the city and eventually stopped at one of the many canal-side cafés.
A tall glass of Heineken hit the spot.
We also indulged on some chicken satay, French fries and salad.
Paul said the chicken satay would be superb because of the long-standing Indonesian influence in Amsterdam, and it didn’t disappoint.
After we finished eating and had a couple more beers, we started walking along streets and canals of the central city.
The architecture is quaint and gives off a relaxed vibe, which is very similar to the mood of the people. In all likelihood a majority of them are walking around high anyway, so anything different would seem strange.
Amsterdam, of course, has a reputation as a sex and drug capital. The sex part isn’t readily apparent, but the marijuana part definitely is.
As soon as you step out of the train station and begin walking, the smell of dope is everywhere. The signs for “coffeeshops,” or places where you can buy weed, are all around, too.
The most notable aspect of Amsterdam, however, is the number of bicycles, both those parked along the canals and others moving swiftly up and down streets.
Our cab driver told us that in a city of about 750,000 people, there are more than 1 million bicycles. And about 80,000 of those bikes are stolen each year.
On the main roads close to the main train station and the café where we decided to eat for dinner, there is a flurry of activity, with people, cars, buses and bikes zooming along in several different directions.
So we decided to walk away from the busy thoroughfares and found peaceful, homely neighborhoods that would be a joy to live in.
We stopped at a bar for a couple more drinks, caught the last half of a World Cup warm up game for The Netherlands and then headed back to the busy streets.
During our walk we noticed the sex aspect of Amsterdam.
Some apartments used by prostitutes exist along the main roads on the outskirts of the red light district, identified by the trademark red light outside the door and a scantily clad woman sitting patiently in front of a basement window.
But if you look down a side street, you’ll see rows of red lights.
We took a walk down one of those streets and found that there’s not a whole lot to the entire red light district operation.
The women in the windows don’t show any nudity and don’t point or wave at you when you walk by. They just sit on a stool and look out the window, patiently waiting, it seems, for their next customer to walk in.
After the red light stroll it was about 11:30 p.m., so we headed into another bar for a last couple of beers.
You can’t visit Amsterdam and head home before midnight.
At that bar we met a local named David who was really into 70s rock music.
After talking for a few minutes and explaining to David how we were only going to be in Amsterdam for one night, he tried to come up with a few late night things to do.
But when he realized it was Tuesday night, here was his assessment of our prospects for the night: “You’re f*cked.”
Well then.
If a local says there’s nothing to do in Amsterdam on a Tuesday night, why argue, especially when you have a trip to Cologne, Germany scheduled for the next day?
So we finished our beers and went back to the hotel.