The following contains my thoughts on Amsterdam on my last night in Europe. Although my flight home was from London, I was in Amsterdam because I wanted to catch a flight to London Gatwick airport the next morning to avoid returning to that wretched city. I've entitled this piece "Amsterdam. Holy Hell. Holy Hell."


As I have resolved to become a gentleman at some point in my life (most likely a result of my recent reading of David Copperfield) and pursue a nice lady someday, Amsterdam is scary. REALLY scary. My hostel is located in the said "Red Light District," a mere five minute walk from the Amsterdam Centraal Station. Upon check-in, two other backpackers were sitting, stoned, in my room. After I began to pack my belongings for tomorrow's flight home, a woman, probably in her late thirties, entered, clearly under the influence, and proceeded to ramble about the bargain she had gotten in this wonderful new gray sweater; whereupon she fell asleep for four hours--I thought she was dead.


The stories of Amsterdam are, indeed, true. Marijuana is legal, and very legal at that. So are "magic mushrooms" and a variety of other miscellaneous psychoactive herbs. Oh yeah, and so is prostitution. While I definitely wouldn't mind getting some action, somehow seeing these woman, standing and dancing in the windows of their employers, advertising themselves to be bought for a decent price, isn't sexy. At all. Neither are the throngs of sex shops, with their paraphenalia and other such devices ready for viewing and purchase.


This hostel is full of three kinds of Amsterdam tourists: those who are college-aged and here for the pot among other things, those who are well beyond their college years and are here for the pot, among other things, and those who are here to be here, into which category I include myself, as I here for the airport tomorrow.


As I write this, the aforementioned bargain-sweater woman has just rolled a HUGE joint. I think she'll have the courtesy to smoke it awy from the room, but it IS starting to get cold, so maybe not. She's also singing to herself and seems quite amused about something that isn't there. Of course, it is her consciousness that is expanded, not mine.


I write this with an attempt not to judge. Having my disposition what it is, I cannot condemn people for using pot--goodness knows I've wanted to do that for a long time and it is legal here, but the crowds that finds its way to engage in Amsterdam's lifestyle are not that alluring, to say the least.


To be sure, I am very grateful that Amsterdam exists. Humans are meant to be free and this place is truly nothing if not free. I enjoy seeing people being able to do what they desire without causing harm to another. Having said this, I'm glad that I live far, far away. This is like New Orleans on LSD. Without being overly pious, I am more proud to be the gentleman that I portend to be right now than I have been in quite some time. BMK 26 October 2004