Around Amsterdam

Since we arrived in the Netherlands about a month ago, we’ve been trying to get “into” all things Dutch. I mean that mostly figuratively, but at least a little bit literally.

Thankfully these are different clogs

Anyway, despite putting in plenty of miles wandering the canals and museums of Amsterdam, we’ve never let ourselves be led by the hand by someone actually from here, to tell us something about this city. Guided tours are, as far as I’m concerned, hit or miss at the best of times, but when Amber, one of the other UNB students abroad who conveniently lives across the hall from us, suggested that we spend Saturday afternoon on the Sandeman’s New Amsterdam Free Tour, it seemed like a good idea.

The concept of free walking tours of notable cities must be a working business model, because Sandeman’s has tours from here to Tel Aviv, and there are dozens of other companies doing the same thing. We went on a free tour in Dublin last year, and it was a definite highlight of the entire Ireland trip. The idea is that there’s no upfront cost, but that the guide encourages you to provide a tip in the amount of what you thought the tour was worth at the end. My guess is that the individual amounts people fork over are generally less than on those tours with a definite price, but also that more people go on these free tours. When we left, the full group had to be divided into three groups, each with about 35 people, and that was the third tour of the day.

We started at the natural starting point: Dam Square. This is the natural starting point for two reasons. The first is that it’s an iconic, spacious meeting spot in the central part of the city, with the Palace on one end of the cobbled plaza, and the National Monument, recognizing the Second World War, on the other. This is where the crowds stop their bustling and sit down for a few minutes, a converging point for people and pigeons alike.

The second reason is because this is the historic starting point to Amsterdam itself. Before the Red Light District and canal houses, this city was a swamp, sitting below sea level—Netherlands literally translates to “Low Countries,” after all. Still, enough people saw the potential for a city, so they dammed off the River Amstel and streets sprung up from that. It’s not a huge stretch to see how Amstel Dam became Amsterdam, and Dam Square is, well, the site of that dam.

That’s where I met Amber in the mid-afternoon, and where our three-hour tour kicked off, embarking along Warmoesstraat, one of those streets that was around since the beginning. A lot has changed since that time—I doubt you’d be able to find a specialty condom shop like the Condomerie back in the 1200s.

Consecrated in 1306, the Oude Kerk is the oldest building in Amsterdam, a church on the edge of the Red Light District. If that combination seems a bit strange, think about it in practical terms: Amsterdam was a port city, seeing the constant ebb and flow of sailing folk. These were the dudes who frequented the brothels, and the same ones who would be leaving to go God-knows-where on dangerous oceans where anything could happen. The priests had a hearty contingent of sinners, and the sailors could leave on their uncertain sea voyages knowing that their carnal indiscretions weren’t going to keep them out of Heaven. Really, this became a one-stop shop, especially when the church starting absolving sins prior to being committed (for a fee).

Sandeman’s does a tour solely concentrated on the Red Light District, so our guide didn’t say much about this part of the city as we walked through it—which was a bit disappointing, since it’s such an integral part of Amsterdam’s identity and we were there anyway. Still, I can tell a few things about this notorious district.

Prostitution really does go back to the days of sailors—illegal for about a century, but now it’s a fully regulated industry in Amsterdam. Sex workers are unionized, pay taxes, and are not subject to the unsafe, stigma-ridden conditions as in North America. Amber rightly pointed out that walking through these crowded narrow alleyways with women in lingerie behind glass walls made us both a little bit uncomfortable, but it’s still the kind of working conditions that we’re both supporters of for vulnerable women back home.

Here’s a simple truth: short of a seismic ethical shift in humanity, there will always be sex workers. If we keep punishing the women, it’s going to continue being an incredibly dangerous profession.

I haven’t seen anyone “make the deal” with these women (obviously it happens though, enough to make it worthwhile to rent out a window for around 100 euros a shift)—mostly tourists, batting awkward eyes and walking on. A decent number of the sex workers were texting on their phones, which only strikes me as strange because of the disconnect with what I’m used to. I wouldn’t think anything of a bank teller scrolling through Twitter when she doesn’t have a customer lined up, so this isn’t all that different.

Two last points about the Red Light District. No pictures of the women in the windows—probably an obvious point, not just because of the fact that a chunk of the women’s families don’t know they work in the sex industry, but also because these are human beings, not animals in a zoo. Come on, man. Second, despite being a bit seedier and drunker (even in the mid-afternoon) than other parts of Amsterdam, the Red Light District is touristy on into the nights. That means that it’s (maybe counter intuitively) pretty safe.

Out from the underbelly, we stopped at the Waag, once at the edge of the old city and the place where taxation happened. As Amsterdam expanded, however, the building no longer occupied that prime position, so it became a guildhall instead. In its long history, the building also housed an anatomical theatre, and it was here that Rembrandt painted “The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Nicolaes Tulp” in 1632.

Speaking of Rembrandt, he lived not far from Nieuwmarkt, within the Jodenbuurt, the Jewish Quarter of Amsterdam. If you know your history, you’ll remember that the mid-twentieth century was awful on people living in this area. Mostly abandoned in the Second World War, the neighborhood felt into neglect and now has a facelift that, with a few exceptions, looks completely different.

Along the canals, our guide pointed out the former site of the Dutch East India Company. This company occupies no small space in the history of the Netherlands—it’s considered to be the first multinational corporation in the world, the first company to offer stock, and it made a lot of people in Amsterdam very, very rich. You send a ship to Indonesia for goods, and you resell it in Europe for four times what you paid for it. Suddenly, you’re very rich—assuming that you didn’t run into pirates or disease or mutiny or weather, or any of the other dozen plights that could befall a ship adrift without iMessage. These trips were a big risk for investors, but the Dutch East India Company got into the practice of sending 20 ships at a time, dividing stock evenly between them—not only was it safer, travelling in such a convoy, but if a ship sank on its return, the merchant stood to lose 5% of their wares. If you’re getting four times the return on 95% of a shipload of cargo, you’re still doing alright, and all of a sudden it makes sense why the early settlers thought it was a decent idea to build a city on the swamp. Amsterdam during the Dutch Golden Age was the trading capital of the world.

After a snack break near the Equestrian Statue of Queen Wilhelmina (the Netherland’s longest-reigning monarch, whose rule include both World Wars), we continued on, the sun still shining but the shady spots getting a bit cooler. I don’t know what it is about Amsterdam—it’s hard to pinpoint its essence, other than to say that a stroll along the canals on an autumn afternoon is a really beautiful way to spend time.

Taking a contemplative moment to pass through the Begijnhof, the quiet, semi-concealed square for religious women, we passed through the throughway of the Amsterdam Museum and had a gawk at the façade stones, taken from old homes in the city. This was something like a primitive house numbering system, back from a time where most people couldn’t read, but could easily recognize the elaborate pictures on the stones.

Remember how Amsterdam got rich because of the Dutch East India Company? Well, the other side of that coin is one that speaks of colonialism and abuses in what is now Indonesia, and Multatuli was the writer to expose all of that in Max Havelaar. Today, he’s regarded as something of a hero in Indonesia, and a giant statue of his head sits on the widest bridge in Amsterdam.

The width of the stone bridge over the Singel canal is contrasted with the narrowest canal house in Amsterdam. Don’t let your eyes skim, or you’ll miss it.

Actually, there are quite a few narrow houses in Amsterdam, so it depends on how you define it—it’s safe to say, though, that Singel 7 does have the narrowest façade (even though apparently this is the backside of the house, and the front is wider). Back in the day, houses were taxed on their frontage, so the tighter you could cram it, the less you paid. Having maneuvered a bed up the stairs in a couple of the narrow houses in St. John’s, I can only assume that these Dutch folks don’t replace their Queen-sized beds every few years.

Our daytrip ended just outside the Anne Frank House, and the massive queue waiting to explore the infamous attic (more than 1,000,000 people visit each year). I won’t say much more about Anne Frank, because of the fact that we have every intention to climb the stairs ourselves and view the diary that brought a startling human aspect to German-occupied Amsterdam—more on that then.

It’s been said that there isn’t a whole lot to say about Dutch cuisine. Foodies need not apply, in other words. That might be true, but I still I’d be remiss if I didn’t celebrate the pancake a little bit.

I’m not talking about the fluffy things we have for breakfast, drowning in maple syrup. I’m talking about thin, stretchy dough that, with the right toppings, doubles as a full evening meal. We went to the aptly named Pancakes Amsterdam for supper, and let me paint a picture of this savoury delicacy (stop here if you haven’t eaten for a while): spinach along the edges, pine pits throughout to give the thing a bit of a crunch. Then, drizzled over the whole thing is an oily garlic sauce, and a wheel of goat cheese in the middle, just starting to melt and easy to spread. I kind of want another one right now.

To top things off, we wandered back to the tram stop and popped into one of the brown cafés along the Spui. Brown cafés are pubs, but of a certain variety: old, with wooden paneling (stained brown because of years and years of smoke), and a cozy feeling. We ended up at Café Hoppe, with the claim to fame of being here since 1670, and still being a popular watering hole on a Saturday night.

After a day like that, there wasn’t much tossing and turning trying to get to sleep. In between catching up on school readings for tomorrow and hanging laundry out on the line (a rare break in the rain!), I’m starting to map out what other things we’ve got planned for the next few months—and what gaps still need to be filled in. Plenty more to come, that’s for sure.

Cheers,
rb