K. D. and Gloria walked into the cafe a little after three that afternoon. I'd just arrived and ordered an espresso. They plopped down across from me armed with shopping bags. They looked exhausted.
"What the hell are you guys doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're backpacking through Europe and you have like six shopping bags on you. It's your second day here!" I laughed. They shrugged and smiled sheepishly.
"I'm just giving you a hard time. I really have no idea what you're going to do with that stuff other than ship it back or maybe put it in a storage locker at the train station. I assume your return flight is out of Schiphol?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's probably the cheapest and most convenient alternative. So, what did you buy."
K. D. groaned. "Shoes. Lots of shoes."
"Shut up. What about the African mask and the globe that marks smoke-friendly cities with a pot leaf?"
"Those are legitimate souvenirs. They say to everyone, 'Hey, I was traveling through Europe and I found this weird shit that has no value whatsoever.' I can show it to my friends."
Gloria put her head in her hands. "Oh my God."
"I've been thinking that I need a room just for weird stuff. No furniture, nothing functional at all. Just strange objects and knickknacks scattered strategically around the room. Maybe some stuff hanging on walls, some dangling from the ceiling. A few things glued or nailed to the floor at odd angles that seem to defy gravity."
"And what room are you planning on using?"
"I was thinking the spare bedroom would work?"
"You're a child."
"It sounds pretty fun to me, K. D." Gloria glared at me. "Hey, I'm just being honest. I mean, shit, I don't live with him so it just sounds cool. I mean, if I come to visit I want to crash in the weird room."
"See?"
"You're both children. I'll just get a sandbox and you two can play in the backyard."
"That's a cool idea, too."
"Yeah, I'd be even more likely to come visit if you had a sandbox."
Laughter. When we all ran out of steam and stopped to breath I said, "Look, I figured you guys are probably pretty wiped out. You've been going pretty hard ever since you arrived so I made reservations for massages at a spa. A Dutch spa. Meaning, co-ed and clothing optional."
"Really?" asked Gloria. She seemed interested.
"Yeah. It'll be relaxing. You'll feel like you're in heaven."
"I don't know, Michael. It's just--"
"Money? Hey, it's on me if that's the case. I mean, I made the reservations without even asking you so it's only fair."
"No, no, no. That's not it. Thank you, but, no, there's no way you're paying for that. Hell you've already been too generous! It's just--"
"Why did you make the reservations, Michael?"
"Because it seemed like a good idea."
"But why?"
"Because massages feel good."
"Or maybe you just want to see me naked."
"I've seen you naked. Last night. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah. Well ..." Gloria laughed. "Yeah, okay. Sorry. The American in me."
"Fair. Okay, so we need to be there in an hour so we should get going. It's probably about a half hour walk. We can take your bags back to my apartment first then go."
Gloria turned her head. "K. D.?"
"Sure. Why not? Michael hasn't steered us wrong yet. Thanks, man."
"No problem."
"But we'll pay our own way."
"Whatever makes you comfortable."
I paid for my espresso and we walked down the block to my place. Gloria wanted to change. I told them to just grab a change of clothes. "There are showers there. You're going to be wandering around in the buff so there's no point."
Gloria whined, "But I want to try on my new clothes."
I smiled. "There's always tonight."
Gloria pretended to pout but relented. We left the bags and walked back down the street and took a right and then a left onto Keizersgracht. We followed the canal for awhile, casually joking around. K. D. and Gloria were wide-eyed, taking in the sights, the well-dressed bikers whistling and singing as they rode by, the men in suits talking into their bluetooth devices, the children running hard, screaming and laughing, chasing each other down the street, taunting pedestrians and cycllists both. We passed couples walking hand-in-hand, looking up moon-eyed at the sun-dappled emerald green leaves providing a soft-lit canopy next to the mansions, stately and grand, shouldering either side of the canal. As we snaked further into the center of the city we passed a gaggle of Japanese tourists clicking cameras like mice pounding a lever for cheese who were posing for pictures in front of every street lamp, Dutch-language sign, and canal bridge in sight.
Almost everyone we passed, all the Dutch at least, were tall, fit, well-dressed, and beautiful. Mostly young or middle-aged. Every now and then an elderly man or woman walked by, each one walking gracefully, face relaxed, eyes alive with a depth that said, "I've lived my life in the practice of appreciation." I could feel my lungs expanding as I breathed in the lightness of being all around me. I kept wondering if the Son of Flubber was tinkering with the physics, if everyone might start floating up into the air.
It's not like I've ever run into Mother Goose or The Invisible Man, but there are some strange characters in Amsterdam. Shamans, mystics, warlocks, Satanists, krishnas, global adventurers, artists, and on it goes. I met a guy at an afterparty one night who juggled chainsaws as a busker. He told me he got into the trade when he was fifteen years old. He had illegally crossed the Bulgarian border and traveled all the way to Amsterdam. He said he met a guy who put him up in exchange for sex. He got free drugs and booze, too. He started partying heavily, met some street performers, and eventually mentored under an old vet. Again, in exchange for sex.
Amsterdam's not all lollipops and Mary Poppins. Still, it's mostly what you make of it. If you want to juggle chainsaws to get by then you juggle chainsaws. If you want to dreamily stroll along canals and watch the smiling faces of beautiful people singing as they elegantly bicycle past you then go that route. Whatever you want, man. However you want to live your life.
"So, Michael, what made you decide to move to Amsterdam?"
I looked around me. "Isn't it obvious?"
Gloria and K. D. looked around. They smiled. "Still, what drew you to Amsterdam in the first place?"
"I flew here about a decade ago on my first trip through Europe. I was married, it was our honeymoon. The flight into Amsterdam was cheap and we were doing a month-long trip around Europe anyway so it didn't matter where we started. I doubt we would have traveled here at all if it hadn't been for the cheap flight. But as soon as I walked out of Centraal Station I was blown away. Actually, even Schiphol blew me away. Just wandering around a technologically advanced airport with all sorts of lit-up yellow signs with strange words like "vertrek" or "gesloten." I had never been outside the U.S. before that trip. Well, except Mexico. The poverty there was overwhelming. The Dutch, though? They seemed technologically advanced and wealthy. I'd always believed the mantra that the U.S. is 'the best' when it comes to, well, everything. Not because I was gullible. I just had no other country other than Mexico to compare to the U.S. Well, turns out, some countries are light years ahead of the U.S. in certain ways."
"Such as?"
"Happiness. Hey, this is it. Let's pick up this discussion later. We're heading into a spa. Time to leave the mind and enter the body."
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