Clarity in Amsterdam, Part One

Here are some writings I did while traveling about a year ago.

James and I pull our luggage out of Centraal Station onto Damrak street, the main thoroughfare near the train station. Streetcars roll smoothly along, attached to electrical wire strung a few feet above that runs as far as the eye can see. The cobblestone streets are busy. The sidewalks are at least twenty feet wide, but they’re clogged with people. Cyclists whiz by in tailgating groups of three inside skinny bicycle lanes on both sides of the street. There are two canals that run parallel to Damrak with bridges every few hundred feet. James and I head for the first bridge, drawn by the lime green fluorescent lights that shine on every floor of the Grasshopper coffee shop-restaurant-café just across the canal. We’re looking for the Luxer hotel, and we know its general location, but we quickly discover that navigating won’t be as easy as we thought. I take out my laminated map, looking and acting like the tourist I am. A small, dark-haired man in a jean jacket approaches me. “You need some help?” he asks in a kind and helpful voice. “No, thank you,” I reply brightly, still excited to have arrived after almost ten hours of travel. The man’s face changes into a snarl and his voice turns into a growl. “Faahck you!” he hisses at us and stomps off. James and I look at each other, then down the street at Myrna’s Sex Palace. Amsterdam.

My best friend Edmond arranged this trip to celebrate his wedding, which James and I attended four months ago. Edmond and his friend Dan flew in from Boston a few hours before James and I flew from Chicago. We’re meeting them at Barney’s coffee shop as soon as we find the hotel to drop off our luggage.

This trip is a post-wedding bachelor party, but since James, Edmond, and I are all married (though my marriage has been teetering on rocky slopes for months), there is a general assumption that we won’t debauch ourselves too much. We think. I’m looking for comfort and stability in my upheaved world of no money, fragile marriage, and questionable life choices. The logic of searching for what I need in Amsterdam is flimsy at best, but I’m hoping that drugs and the advice of my best friend will help me find my way.

James and I miss the Luxer completely the first time we walk past it, mainly because the street is very thin, roughly the width of a compact car, but also because of the exhilarating congestion. There’s so many shops, bars, cafés, and restaurants jammed into this narrow space flowing with people, bicycles, and cars. We pass over two canals and a dozen streets, feeling lost. I decide to examine the map again. I hate looking like a tourist, but James says that probably everyone in this city is a tourist. Within seconds, there is another man assisting us. The man directs us to our hotel after chastising us for not staying at his hotel. We promise to come have a few beers with him and leave. After checking in to the Luxer and finding our accommodations more than adequate, especially for the price, we meet Dan and Edmond at Barney’s to enjoy our first Dutch coffee of the trip. The next several hours descend into a pleasant blueberry haze.

The shit will continue.

PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN