Amsterdam: Definitely Not in Ohio Anymore

The backpackers Tom and Jim met in Scandinavia were eager to share their must-sees and don't-bothers about their upcoming visit to Amsterdam:

"Don't miss the Rijksmuseum. Awesome."

    "Too crowded. If you want to see The Night Watch, buy of box of Dutch Masters cigars."

"Take the Heineken tour. It's free and you can get a nice buzz on by noon."

    "Heineken? That's not real beer."

"You can get whatever drug you want, anywhere you want."

    "Don't buy from the Moluccans. They're aggressive as hell and their hash is garbage."

Just as they had eagerly anticipated the good, the bad, and the tawdry on their way to New York City, Tom and Jim couldn’t wait to experience canal-laced Amsterdam—The Venice of the North.

On the train from Bergen, Norway, they shared a compartment with a couple from Colorado. Ellen, a history major, was thrilled to be visiting Amsterdam for the first time. She looked forward to seeing masterpieces from Holland's Golden Age. She was especially psyched about the newly opened Van Gogh museum and the chance to walk the historic canals that earned Amsterdam its nickname.

Doug, by contrast, was a seasoned backpacker who had been to Amsterdam several times and seemed interested only in replenishing his drug stash. It was he who had warned them about the Moluccans. “And stay away from the Youth Hostel,” he added. “It’s full of thieves.” 

After parting ways with the Colorado couple at Amsterdam Centraal (not a typo) Station, Tom and Jim were surprised to run into a familiar figure on the train platform: Devron, the mysterious “Man in Black,” as Jim had dubbed him. They had first met him on the ferry in Aurlandsfjord, the spectacular branch of the Sognefjord in Norway. In his characteristic formal manner and aristocratic accent, Devron greeted them with, “I should very much like to find accommodations with you.” The three of them booked a room at a hotel near the train station, costing 12.5 Guilders each—roughly five dollars in 1977. By the next morning, the trio agreed that the cramped quarters weren’t worth the “exorbitant” price,

Since Tom and Jim enjoyed the youth hostels they’d stayed in so far, they decided to ignore Doug’s advice and try their luck at the Christian Youth Hostel—located, ironically,  in the heart of Amsterdam’s notorious Red Light District. A stone plaque above the entrance read, “Jesus Christ is Lord of This House.” (The hostel has been considerably updated and upgraded since then, but at the time it was loud, crowded, and dingy.) Several signs in the check-in area warned against pickpockets. The dorms were segregated by sex, and Tom, Jim, and Devron found themselves among fifteen to twenty men, none of whom spoke English and all of whom looked, as Tom later put it, “The greatest collection of freaks and burnouts from a wide assortment of countries.” They were loud, leering, and—frankly—in dire need of a shower.

Jim slept in his clothes that night, money belt tucked under the waistband of his jeans.

Before all that, though, the newly formed trio spent the day hitting all the must-sees. They started on a boat tour of the Canals, followed by a visit to the Rijk and Van Gogh museums. They stopped in several bars, where beers were served with cheese-and-cracker boards—no salty peanuts for the Dutch—and the vibe was bright and social. Drinking, it seemed, wasn’t the point. Socializing was.

That evening, before returning to the Youth Hostel, they walked around the Red Light District—De Wallen, as the locals call it. It is the oldest district in Amsterdam and specializes in the world’s oldest profession. Tom and Jim walked along the main canal, Oudezijds Achterburgwal, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the women in the windows lounging about in barely-there lingerie. Almost as surprising was the normalcy of it all: People returning home from work—home might be right above a red window—couples strolling along nonchalantly, families wending their way through the throngs of tourists.

“Doc,” Binks said at one point, “We’re definitely not in Ohio anymore.”

Devron played it cool, of course. The Mystery Man In Black launched into a monologue about the more sophisticated European mores versus America’s puritanical mindset. It may have been the beers sampled in the various bars they visited that led him to eventually claim that if he were to go into one of the “shops,” the woman inside would pay him. Tom and Jim laughed, but Devron didn’t crack a smile. When they half-seriously offered to pay for his hostel bunk if he’d just go inside and ask how much she would pay him, he demurred, then declined.

“I don’t want to show off,” he said.

After a restless night in the Youth Hostel (Jim still half-expecting to be robbed at any moment), the three visited the Royal Palace and then split up for the rest of the morning. Tom and Devron toured the Heineken brewery, while Jim wandered around DAM Square, ordered a coffee, and watched the street performers. Every few minutes, a young man would lean in and stage-whisper, “Haaaaash?”

The three regrouped for a late lunch before heading to their final stop in Amsterdam—a sobering counterbalance to the city’s freewheeling spirit: The Anne Frank House, located at Westermark 20 the Prinsengracht Canal. As one of the most famous museums in the world, there’s no need to describe it here. Despite the long line outside and the crowd inside, the house was eerily quiet. Afterward, Tom, Jim, and Devron were uncharacteristically quiet as they made their way back to the hostel to pick up their backpacks en route to Centraal Station. Devron was off the Italy to scout out more framing opportunities; Tom and Jim had decided on Germany for their next leg of the journey.

On the train, Tom immediately pulled out his journal and a brochure he’d picked up from the Anne Frank House and copied down her most famous diary entry:

“In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever-approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.”

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And Now for the NOW: Reflections on Amsterdam

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