Clarity in Amsterdam, Part Three

Continuing writings from travel about a year ago...

PART ONE
PART TWO

The previous two days were spent in our group of four getting the layout of the city. We walk to the most highly recommended coffee shops, we learn our way around the downtown area near the Luxer. After Barney’s, we needed an unexpectedly long time to recover. We try to put the blame on the jet lag, but we also remark that we’d probably be doing a lot more in this city if we were here in our twenties instead of our thirties. We visit many more coffee shops and bars, and we browse through the Red Light district.

The prostitution I witness in Amsterdam is a carefully crafted business. In the Red Light district, prostitutes stand in glass doorways outlined in pink neon lights, creating the impression of a mystical portal into another realm. Some of the girls tap the glass and smile enticingly. Others are more aggressive; they’ll lean out of their sci-fi portals and call for customers. There are bartering sessions in open doorways to discuss business, and all other windows have white curtains covering whatever is within.

What surprises me most is the organization. Depending on the location in the Red Light district, all the prostitutes could be Asian. Another street or alley might have only white girls while the adjoining street has only black girls. Another might have only heavy set women or older women. I’m impressed but a little disturbed by the meticulous sectioning of flesh by taste. The women range from grotesque to very alluring, but then again, that’s also a matter of taste.

During our first walking tour of the District, Library Girl catches our eye. She wears a white button-down shirt with very few of the buttons in use. The tails of the shirt are tied snugly around her flat stomach, pressing tighter around her breasts which are further crushed into glorious cleavage by her clearly visible black push-up bra. Library Girl’s tousled brown hair hangs long from her oval face, sharpened by the thin glasses perched low on her nose. The pearls around her neck go slightly lower than her hair, drawing the eye downwards to the black underwear and thigh-length stockings enveloping her long legs.

As people pass her door, Library Girl tilts her head downward, her eyes penetrating outward above the thin-rimmed glasses. She gives small smiles and sways her hips slightly. It’s a well-crafted look, and the four of us, like the other nearby onlookers, stop for few moments to admire the view. Library Girl is a very good temptation.

The central parts of the Red Light district have sex shops alongside the glass prostitute doors. A female friend of mine recommended Sexyland, claiming that it was the best shop in the district because of the selection of videos and live shows. James and I are all for going in, but Edmond is hesitant. He still feels the newlywed pull. James and I kid Edmond because he’s been married the shortest amount of time. We give him crap about feeling so closely tied to his wife and guilty about looking at naked girls. “Wait until you’re married a few years like we are and you won’t be so hesitant,” we tell him. Edmond politely declines and leaves with Dan. James and I eagerly go in to browse.

Sexyland does indeed have an impressive video collection. It’s easy to spend a bundle because the viewing booths work by time limit and there’s always more to see. The presence of tissues and the smell of strong cleaner in the booths doesn’t enhance the mood. Still, James and I decide to browse the shows without using the booths to their full facility. We comment to each other that the booth cleaners in Amsterdam have really shitty jobs.

We wait for the scheduled live show, just to experience the novelty. As the window screen rises to show the round stage within, I think of the “Open Your Heart” video that I saw dozens of times as a teenager. None of the three women on the small, revolving stage beneath the short ceiling remotely resemble Madonna. They’re don’t look bad physically, but they look very tired. They pull a leg to their head, shift around and arch their backs, lie backward and forward spreading their legs and grabbing their breasts every which way, but there’s a feeling of fatigue to what they do. There’s a sense of having gone through these motions too many times. I don’t find a sense of sexuality; the whole event feels drawn out and sad. All the girls look like they should be elsewhere.

James and I leave for the hotel to meet Edmond and Dan. We talk briefly about the awkwardness of the booths, the visibly exhausted dancers, and how hot Library Girl is. We don’t say much after we leave the central district. I think again what my reaction to all this would have been even five years ago. Maybe I’ve aged myself out of certain enjoyments.

The shit will continue.

PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN