This is me on the Eurostar as I prepared for my trip to Amsterdam. The pic’s a bit goofy because I had to rig my camera to take the picture by setting it on the window sill–I went alone–but that smile is real as steel.
And when I got there, the smiles would be bigger.

Here’s how dedicated I was to a good time. My train got there at 5pm. I was leaving at 8:45 the next morning. I did not get a hotel room. I was going to kick it until the train station opened up at 5am.
And I did.
(And oh yeah, the train is good. Relaxing, get to see the countryside, and if you go first class, good brunch.)
Amsterdam is the most entertaining city I’ve ever been to. The second I stepped off the train, I could feel the good vibes. Everyone just seemed to be having a good time. Contrary to the immediate thoughts of most, this feeling didn’t seem entirely chemically induced. Amsterdam is just one of those cities where everyone’s having a good time.
How good of a time? Well, this was one of the first advertisements I saw once outside of the train station.

Says a lot, don’t it?
My thoughts about Amsterdam, before I got there, were all about the red light district, but I had no idea how beautiful the city is. Similar to Venice, canals make up a great deal of the city, and water adds to be beauty of any locale. The architecture is also gorgeous, and I go to experience both while taking a boat tour of the city. The most entertaining portion of that tour, though, was when some kid on a speedboat hit the tour boat, which led to an argument that had me wishing I spoke Dutch. No one seemed happy, and I’m sure somebody was cussing.
Anyhoo, the place is gorgeous. Here’s an example of the architecture.

Why that picture? Because, apparently, your granny isn’t the only person that thinks these folks need Jesus.
Here’s one that shows a few buildings and that good water.

After the tour, I bought some souvenirs and got ready to hit the town. It was a bit spooky because I was by myself. In all that debauchery, I’d like to have someone ready to fight in case someone starts feeling himself because of all the intoxicants in his system. That never happened, though. I did have a bum size up my bag after I didn’t give him any change, but everything else was just fine. It was such a relaxed good time, and I said that sober. Talking to a cat in the souvenir store, i let him know I was just in for one night. He said he did the same once…and then moved to Amsterdam permanently as soon as he could.
Really, it’s that kind of place. I didn’t get any pictures of the red light district, but it’s like an amped up version of the French Quarter. It’s everything Bourbon Street dreams of being. Think Bourbon at Bayou Classic or Mardi Gras jumps? You need to make this trip.
Went to a coffee shop. Strangely, everyone was so hungry, and no one was drinking coffee. Plus, they smoke really stinky cigarettes in Amsterdam. I wonder what all that was about.
(And for the record, I had a cappuccino and an incredibly tasty donut. I mean really good.)
I spent most of my time walking around and soaking up the scene, though. Got a bit tired of cats trying to haggle me into the live sex shows–worse than going home alone, I had no home to go to, so why tease myself?–but I wanted to soak up everything.
The most depressing thing I came across was a strip full of rooms with glass doors. Behind the panes were prostitutes legally selling their wares. Very segregated, there was one stretch for all black and one for all whites. The strip for all black was entirely populated by African women. Every last one was African. To think that leaving home and becoming a prostitute is a step up is sad to ponder. Just sad.
But other than sobering reality, that was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. Anyone that knows me will tell you that I hate going out alone. I’m too paranoid, and I want someone to laugh with at most times. By myself, in a foreign land, I had the time of my life. Literally, I kicked it hardcore from 9pm until 4am, then sat outside of the train station for an hour waiting for it to open back up.
Room? I ain’t need no stinkin room. Wouldn’t have hurt, but it was great. When someone with bad knees walks around for the better part of seven hours and never complains about being on his feet, you know it’s a great place.
Oh yeah, and Amsterdam’s got some good looking women. No matter what your speed is, there’s something for you (and I aint’ talkin abou the ones for rent, you pervert). The black women were stunning and more plentiful than I expected. The white women, apparently, have learned about the physiologically benefits of collards and red beans because even they were built to last. For real, this is the spot.
At the same time, Amsterdam was beautiful enough that one could make a romantic getaway out of it. Lots of cozy spots, lots of scenery…just a real chill spot.
Let’s put this another way–I spent too much money for a fifteen hour getaway, and I won’t complain once. And being both an economist and the son of an economist, not complaining about spent mone says a lot.
So if you haven’t been, go. Now. Take whoever you want. Just go.
Fellas, when we goin to Amsterdam? And who knows how to speak Dutch? If a magazine in those parts hits me up, I’m there, no questions asked.