Amsterdam Twenty: Red Light District

I felt like hell warmed over in the morning. Mental note: purchase After-M next time. There would be a next time; I was not going to quit on a sour note. Would I be venturing out in public to see a concert or go to a jazz club? Probably not. Would I leave the apartment to walk down the street and back? Maybe. Either way, I was going to shroom again. I was certain of that.

I thought about the concert. Perhaps it was too ambitious to have planned an outing like that after such a long period of social isolation, but I didn’t think that was the issue. I simply had a rough trip sabotaging what may have been a fun night. The night wasn't a total loss, anyway. There were periods of brilliance, especially inside the Melkweg ... until the trip went bad. However, I had felt anxiety even before smoking pot, before shrooming. What caused it? My time with Vanessa invigorated me and I enjoyed the spirit of Eik en Linde, walking around the city, visiting the Rijksmuseum, and even shrooming. I hadn’t ventured out into the bustle of the city much and that had been when I experienced the most anxiety. That hadn’t happened on previous European visits. How much inner security had I derived from being with S.? There were many unresolved issues, but I wondered if the anxieties predated my relationship with S. How far back would I need to go to discover the sources of those insecurities? I didn’t know and I didn’t want to find out the day after such a rollercoaster ride.

I skipped Eik en Linde to make coffee and scrambled eggs. I had barely touched the many spices available except when making pasta so I experimented. I took the eggs out of the refrigerator, grabbed green and red peppers, a red onion, a jalapeno, and a clove of fresh garlic. I pulled out a mixing bowl and cracked open three eggs. I went back to the fridge for milk and poured in half a cup. I started chopping the vegetables, dicing them up. I added them to the mixing bowl and gave it a few stirs with a long wooden spoon. I opened the cupboard filled with spices. Rosemary, basil, oregano, ginger, and cilantro. A strange mix, but what the fuck. I added a dash of this, a pinch of that, and a shake or two of something else. I stirred the mix thoroughly, grabbed a frying pan, and put down a pat of butter to let it melt then rolled it around the surface. I dumped the contents of the mixing bowl into the pan and let it sit. I had the stove on a low heat. I began stirring with the wooden spoon and turned up the heat. I continued stirring and stopping to let the mix heat up, cook, coagulate. I poured the moist scrambled eggs onto a plate. I took a fork, stabbed a chunk, and put it in my mouth. I was surprised to find it delicious. Who knew?

I washed down the eggs with a glass of orange juice. I felt much better after eating. The act of cooking seemed to help my state of mind as much as the eating. The making of the eggs was an act of creativity and the result was the achievement of a meal that satisfied my hunger. I thought of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and pondered whether achievement needs were misinterpreted as being a bit too lofty and long-term. Achieving a master’s degree in fine arts is no doubt an achievement but so, too, is making a tasty plate of scrambled eggs. Simple, short-term achievements lead to fulfillment just as much as complex long-term endeavors. It depends on the meanings one gives to the actions involved in the process. I knew on this morning that the receipt of a degree in engineering or physics wasn’t going to satisfy as much as a delicious plate of scrambled eggs.

The thoughts that come while doing simple chores can be filled with as much wisdom as lofty ideals pursued in ivory towers. The shrooming aftermath played a role. Insights from shrooming don’t necessarily come while shrooming; the days following can be rich. Being overloaded with sensory stimuli takes time to process. I put the experiences from the Leidseplein and Melkweg into a slow cooker and let them be.

I relaxed in the living room with a big glass of water. I needed to rehydrate. I sat without input from music, television, magazines, or anything else. The blinds were open. I couldn’t remember when I had opened them, but I was happy to gaze out the window. Another gray day, sprinkling a bit. I could see circular ripples forming on the surface of the water. There was a cyclist pedaling on the pathway across the canal in front of the condos. He had wavy brown hair and a gray scarf flapping horizontally from his neck. He was well-dressed and it struck me how the Dutch always seemed to be wearing fashionable yet sensible clothing. Did everyone in Amsterdam have a degree in fashion design? Private tailors to perfectly fit their clothing to their bodies? Most were extremely fit, but that came as no surprise: Everyone walked and cycled everywhere. Instead of a church or bar on every corner as in Everytown USA there was a yoga studio or Buddhist retreat at the end of every block. A different culture. A different world.

I opened a window to feel the weather. Damp and chilly, a good day for work, I took a shower to get my engine running and stepped into my bedroom to dress. As I opened the top drawer of the dresser I saw the baggie of coke. I pondered for a minute then decided to do a line. I thought of Vanessa as I rolled up a bill. I played with the idea of forgoing the moe concert and inviting her over in the evening. I put the idea into the slow cooker and let it be.

After the line, I sang, “What a beautiful morning!” If there were birds somewhere they were undoubtedly chirping. I wasn’t wired, but I felt awake, invigorated. I marched to the MacBook on the dining room table, checked email, and shot one to my brother. I didn’t say much of substance, but I enjoyed the feeling of “getting things done.” I opened the December PDF, scrolled to the appropriate page, and began indexing. After a few hours, I made a salad and chowed down.

I went back to work, taking time now and then to write. I drank plenty of water and snacked on trail mix. I was sick of working by late afternoon. The tickets for moe were for another nine o’clock show. I had no desire to go. On a whim, I sent Vanessa an SMS. I didn’t get an immediate response so I put the phone in my pocket and went out for a walk. The drizzle was gone and the sky was darkening. I walked to the west and passed a restaurant around the bend. It wasn’t an attractive building, but through the windows it appeared to be formal dining. There was a wonderful bridge with odd engineering down the lane from the restaurant. I crossed over. This was the way to the quiet, gezellig neighborhood I visited now and then.

A word about “gezellig.” Descriptions in guidebooks mention that it means cozy. It’s more than that, though. The guidebooks will also tell you there is no English equivalent. That is correct as far as I can tell. Cozy is a part of the meaning of the word, but it has a multitude of meanings, all involving coziness, yes, but also welcoming and the warmth of friendship and good spirits. Sitting by a fireplace in wool sweaters having an easy laugh around those with kind smiles, inviting eyes, a sense of peace, and delightful charm is gezellig; sharing a beer in the warmth of a brown café with long-time friends while telling the same old yarns is gezellig; watching a sunrise from a canal-side balcony with your girl or guy after a night of lovemaking while sharing intimate glances as the two of you sit in robes with the International Times on your lap and a cup of coffee in hand … that is gezellig.

As I walked I felt the warmth of the neighborhood that defied the chill in the air. I wandered aimlessly but always turned back into the area whenever I could tell I was in danger of leaving it. This neighborhood was suited to my sensibilities even more than the Plantage. The good news was I was just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Why hadn’t I walked through it more often? It wasn’t worth thinking about while in the neighborhood. I let it seep into the pores of my skin, what little there was exposed to the elements.

Vanessa sent an SMS as I meandered. “Sleeping. Call later. Kiss.” I put the phone away and went home to eat. A day of cooking every meal at my apartment was rare, but I enjoyed the solitude. I didn’t feel like making anything special, though. I cooked ready-made soup from Albert Heijn and made a sandwich. After I ate, I ruled out going to the show. I wanted to see Vanessa. I wished I could give the ticket to someone who wanted to see moe, but I wasn’t going to walk into the city center to give it away. I poured a glass of wine, had a puff from my pipe, and listened to music while waiting for Vanessa to wake up.

She sent an SMS around eight. “You want I come over?” I sent an SMS in return saying yes, what time. “Half hour, okay?” I responded yes and Vanessa sent a kiss. I moved the CD case and the blow onto the coffee table. I mashed up half the coke I had left and cut up four lines. I snorted one and changed the radio station to a trance channel. “Yeah, that’s better.” I went to my bedroom to see how much cash I had in my wallet … 320 Euros. I saw my money belt peeking out from beneath socks and underwear. I hadn’t worn it at all this trip and I remembered I had brought a thousand Euros cash with me. I used some early in the trip, but I had forgotten about it. I unzipped the pouch and counted out the bills. “Fuck, 840 Euros.” I had 1160 Euros in cash. Good fucking news! I put 800 Euros back in the pouch and 360 in my wallet. I wasn’t sure what the situation was going to be with Vanessa since we didn’t work out a timeframe, but at least I didn’t have to worry about going to a cash machine.

Vanessa arrived before nine. She was dressed to kill. She kissed me and we walked upstairs. She let her coat drop to the floor, as always, exposing a black-and-white polka-dotted short-sleeved button-down shirt. She wore a black miniskirt, black stockings, black boots, and rings on her fingers. I pointed to the table. “You want a line?” I handed her a bill and she smiled. She knelt at the table and zoomed two lines. “Whew, baby!” I slid next to her and she moved so I could get at the case. I snorted the last line on the case. Ah, yes. Waking up more and more by the second.

I said to Vanessa, “We should go out and do something fun.” She looked at me quizzically and asked, “What you want?” I didn’t know. I thought it would be enjoyable to be out in the city with her, though. I told her about the concert, but she wasn’t interested. “Jam band is stupid. I no like.” If Vanessa didn’t like something it was inevitably stupid.

Vanessa said, “I know what we do. I take you out.” I asked where. She said, “You see. I call driver and we go.” Vanessa called her driver and told me he would come in half an hour. She grabbed the baggie of coke and dumped the rest of it out. I took the baggie, ripped the sides open, and put it in my mouth. I tongued all the remaining powder until my mouth went numb. I got up and went to the kitchen to throw it away while Vanessa diced up the coke. I filled a couple glasses with water and took them into the living room. Vanessa was still working on the coke so I asked her if she wanted wine. She nodded and I went back to the kitchen to uncork a bottle.

When I brought the wine to the living room Vanessa was re-rolling the bill. She zoomed a line, sat up on the couch, and rubbed her nose. Her eyes were watering. I handed her the wine glass. I bent down to do a line then shot up to the couch. I turned to Vanessa. I couldn’t speak. She laughed at me and I asked her if I looked funny. She nodded her head. “You look like devil—you are crazy!” She continued laughing. I grabbed her hand and pulled it to my mouth to kiss it. She had two rings on the hand, one on her thumb and one on her ring finger. It was her left hand so I asked her if she was married.

Vanessa’s eyes went wide and she gasped, “What?!” She pulled her knees under her while shaking her head. She put a hand to her forehead. “Why you ask me that?! You are crazy!” I held my hands up and said, “Okay, okay. I just wondered because of the ring on your finger.” She looked at her hand as if it was someone else’s and then looked back up at me, “Oh.” She giggled. “It is not marriage ring.” I explained that in the U.S. a ring, especially a diamond ring, on the left forefinger usually indicates marriage. Vanessa nodded with impatience. “Yes, I know tradition. I wear ring where I want wear ring. It no mean I married.” She smiled at me and put her finger to my nose. “I marry you, remember? You are in love with me.” She cackled, the first time I had heard her laugh in that particular way.

I shook my head. I was never going to understand this woman. Vanessa asked to use my laptop. “Let me guess, you want to listen to Romanian music.” She frowned and shook her head. “No, I want Messenger to chat. Why you make fun of me? You no like Romanian music?” When she made that face I felt like the world’s biggest asshole. She looked like a fawn asking me why I broke her leg. I sighed. “Sorry, I was just teasing you.” She continued to pout as I grabbed my laptop. “I no like.” I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I loved when she that. “Why you laugh? You make fun of me again.” Vanessa gave me a no-shit look and said, “It not funny.”

I set up the laptop and tried to figure out a way to explain my laughter in a way that wouldn’t piss her off or hurt her feelings. I turned to her, put my hand on her cheeks, and looked into her eyes. “You are beautiful. You tickle my heart and I laugh because you have such a unique way of seeing the world. I love being with you.” Vanessa squinted at me and pursed her lips. “I no can tell when you are serious.” She shrugged her shoulders. I kissed her nose and she smiled. “Can I message now?” Yes, yes, yes, of course. I picked up the laptop and handed it to her so she could lean back on the couch.

I went to the bathroom while she chatted with her friends. I was flying high. I looked in the mirror and my face was flush from the yayo. I ran cold water over my wrists to cool my body temperature then splashed water on my face. I dried then left the bathroom. I drank the water on the table and Vanessa motioned for me to hand her a glass. I grabbed the wine glass, but she shook her head. I handed her the glass of water.

A few minutes later, Vanessa’s phone rang. The driver was out front. She shut down the computer and I grabbed my coat and hers. We ran out the door and into the taxi. Vanessa said something to the driver in Dutch. The driver weaved around streets and dropped us off next to a bridge spanning a scenic canal. We exited and I told Vanessa that she had chosen a beautiful spot. “Yes, is beautiful. You kiss me on bridge and then we go.” Okay. It was a clear night. We walked up the bridge and Vanessa leaned against the railing. I saw moonlight reflected on the water. I put my arm around her and she turned up to kiss me. Her lips tasted like romance.

Vanessa pulled away and grabbed my hand. “Come. Let’s go.” She pulled me along, giggling to herself as we went. “Where are you taking me?” Vanessa looked back with her eyes twinkling in the night. “You find out.” We walked two blocks and as we did I saw where Vanessa was leading me. “The Red Light District?” Vanessa turned to me, “Yes! You know it?” Her eyes were big as saucers and she had a massive open-mouthed smile on her face. I forgot what the fuck I was going to say. “Well?” Oh, yeah. “Yeah, yeah, I know it. I’ve been here before, but only during the day.” She said, “At night is crazy.” I looked around. The streets were packed in all directions. As we continued walking I estimated that there were thousands of men wandering the streets. Every once in awhile we’d see a woman walking with a man or with a group of men, but it seemed 99 percent of pedestrians were men. It was freaky and, frankly, unsettling.

I asked Vanessa why she had brought me here. “Is big tourist thing to do. You want go out and do something. It Friday and Red Light crazy on weekend. Is something you experience once, no?” I nodded. She was right. I had only been during the day and it had never been like this. I had no idea it was like this at night. Vanessa said, “My feet tired. It hard walking in boots.” I saw a bicycle taxi and pointed it out. She said, “Yes, good.” We waved the bike cabbie over and I helped Vanessa inside. The cabbie said, “So, you want the full Red Light tour?” Vanessa shouted, “Yes!” She had to yell because the noise on the street was so loud. Vanessa curled her arms around my arm and put her head on my shoulder.

I asked Vanessa what she thought of the Red Light District. “Is stupid. Men are stupid. I no know why they like. It not romantic or sexy. Is …” she struggled for words, “is sad. The women, they no make money. Escort pay much, much better and client better, too. Here, every man drunk. No class, no respect. Is gross.” I agreed. As the cabbie rode around, street after street, I saw how big the area was. I didn’t realize it was so huge. I had seen the women in the windows during the day, but with the red lights the scene was different. There were many more windows filled, many exposing four by four cubes. barely enough room for a woman to turn around. Display cages for sex toys, the women being the toys.

The men traveled in packs of six, eight, twelve. Every nationality was covered: British, American, Italian, German, Moroccan, Brazilian, Spanish, Japanese, Arabic (hard to say which countries, specifically), and more. Almost every group was hammered, loud and obnoxious as hell, catcalling everywhere. Vanessa captured it perfectly with her description and if her English vocabulary had been more extensive she may have described it as vulgar and grotesque. I felt for the women in the windows. I wondered how many were legal. I asked the cabbie. “That’s a good question. It’s hard to say. So, are the two of you on your honeymoon or just on holiday?” Vanessa squealed, but covered her mouth quickly. Before I could say anything, she said, “We are on honeymoon! He is my baby. See, he give me wedding ring.” Vanessa leaned up to show the cabbie the ring on her left hand. She looked back to wag her tongue at me. Fucking Vanessa.

She and the cabbie kept chatting and I listened. They talked about the Red Light District, prostitution, and the boorishness of men. She had undone my belt and unbuttoned my pants, sliding her hand around my cock as she talked. We rode around and guys hooted and hollered at Vanessa as often as not. She played with them, teasing them. One drunk Italian asked me “How much for your girl?” I said, “One thousand Euros per hour.” Vanessa pulled her hand out of my pants and whacked me upside the head. “Hey, what you say?!” I laughed and said, “What? Hey, a thousand Euros per hour, that’s good money, woman!” The cabbie got a laugh out of it, but Vanessa did not like it one bit. “I show you good time and you sell me?” I kissed her pouting lips and said, “I was joking, sweetheart. You know I love you.” Her eyes lit up. “Yes, I know you love me.” I said, “I wouldn’t have given you that ring and married you if I didn’t.” Vanessa kissed me and we both looked up at the cabbie laughing. “Yes, thank you, darling. I love wedding ring.”

The taxi driver dropped us at the bridge where Vanessa’s driver had taken us. Vanessa had called her contact earlier after telling me, “I can no walk to your place with boots. Is too far.” We stood on the bridge looking over the railing at the canal. We were silent for some time, leaning against one another. I felt like I had known Vanessa for ages. She was as much a friend as a lover. I liked simply being in her presence, spending time with her. I didn’t feel particularly sexual. Intimate, maybe, but not sexual. Vanessa broke the silence. “You are strange.” I threw my arms around her, lifted her off the ground, twirled her, and threatened to throw her into the canal. She shrieked. I lowered her so her feet touched the ground and her back was against the railing. “If you don’t kiss me I am going to take you back to the Red Light District and sell you to the Italian for a thousand Euros!" She pummeled my shoulders with the backs of her fists and screamed, “Nooooooooo!” As I bent down to her she tilted her head up and we kissed.

I heard a horn blare and looked to the street to my right. There was our taxi, Vanessa’s driver. She led me by the hand and we got inside. She yelled at the driver who yelled right back. They both fell silent as we drove back to my apartment. Vanessa whispered in my ear, “I tell him he asshole for honk. He say I asshole for kiss you and not look for him.” She put her hand over her mouth and smiled her devilish smile. “Hey, you want cocaine?” I nodded and she spoke to the driver in Dutch. He nodded his head. “He give at apartment. You have cash?” I nodded and pulled out my wallet. I handed Vanessa 60 Euros. The driver spoke into his Bluetooth as Vanessa kissed me and slid her hand to my crotch to play with me until we pulled up to the apartment.

Vanessa handed the driver the Euros and the driver handed her a small baggie. The driver said something to Vanessa as we exited and she nodded her head. We went upstairs and Vanessa let her jacket fall to the floor. I asked Vanessa what the driver had said. She sighed and said, “I have 12:30 appointment. I looked at my watch. It was 11:30. Shit! I said, “Whoa, why didn’t you tell me that?” Vanessa walked to the coffee table. There was still a little bit of coke left on the CD case. She dropped the baggie next to the case, rolled the bill she had left on the table, and snorted one of the lines she had straightened earlier. She lifted her head and widened her eyes then bent back down to do the last line. She whipped her head back against the couch. “Ahhhhhh. Oh, that feels sooooo goooood.” I walked over to the couch and sat down. Vanessa opened the new baggie and dumped a couple soft rocks onto the case. She mashed them with a card of her own as she said, “Driver tell me I have call from agency while he drive home.”

“Shit, Vanessa. If I would have known that … fuck.” Vanessa turned to me and said, “Baby, I come for fun tonight. This not appointment. You no pay me. I dress for appointment in case, but I come see you.” She sat on the couch next to me. “I sorry, I no know you no know.” I was taken aback and deeply touched, but her last statement sounded so fucking funny I almost laughed. I bit my lip to stop myself and that brought me back around. I looked into her eyes to see if she was serious, to see what she felt—as if I would be able to tell. The intensity of her eyes softened and she patted my cheek. “Baby, you are sweet. I no can see you free always, but … I no have appointment when we talk and I--” Vanessa looked up and sighed, “I no want be alone if no appointment. You SMS and I excited. I think, ‘I do nice think for Michael.’” She smiled so innocently I almost cried. Oh my God, she was precious. I grabbed her cheeks and planted a kiss on her lips. She pulled away and giggled. “Do line, silly puppy.” Her eyes sparkled and the dimples on her cheeks winked as she said, “You are strange.”