I AMSTERDAM

I just spent a fantastic weekend in another city that has been coined "the Venice of the North.." and the title is honestly more applicable to this city than to Bruges. At least in my opinion.

Janelle (a girl from Canada) and I departed on Friday evening after our midterms while everyone else had taken a train earlier in the day. I think we had the better end of the deal though because a couple drove us there for only 40 euros each both ways. We met them at this metro stop called "Porte de Postes" which was pretty sketchy, and we got there really early so we had to wait a while for them. Arabic men kept asking us to get in their cars and at one point, since Janelle didn't know what the couple driving us looked like, I pretended one of the creepy men talking to us was the person driving us. I think she nearly had a heart attack.

We arrived in Amsterdam around 10 PM on the dot, and it was completely pouring down rain. But even the mauvais weather didn't detract from the beauty of the city. We drove along canals trying to find the train station where Jean and Fatima would drop us off, and I actually think the rain added a little something to the city's atmosphere. The Christmas lights were up, and the look and sound of the drops pattering against the water in the canals was magical. So many people were out walking around, all bundled up and huddling close together. Once Janelle and I stepped out of the car and started walking towards "Bob's Hostel," I just knew it would be a great weekend.

Saturday morning we woke up after an interesting night of Laura shrieking and climbing into bed with Davika because a mouse had scurried across her. Some hippie guy in the same room as us started laughing and saying that he and his friends had been there a week and had become friends with the mice...Quel surprise! I think it was my first legitimate "hostel" experience. Our hostel in Bruges was so nice in comparison, but honestly, what can one expect in Amsterdam? Anyways, we ate breakfast in the hostel and walked to a square nearby for a free tour. We went all over the down town area...From the old women's prison to the old men's prison, to the china town, to the Beguin nun residence, to a place where a piece of bread had saved the life of an old man and when thrown into a fire had not burned (the magic of Amsterdam or something,) to the place where they used to execute criminals (in the heart of the redlight district) by splitting the men in two pieces then ripping apart their rib cages, then yanking out their hearts and throwing them into their faces. Sounds a bit like a horror movie to me! Then, the blood from these executions used to run down this street called "blood street," where there are actually prostitutes selling themselves in windows.

The prostitution is another thing. We took a Redlight district tour at night, and our tour guide was this Australian guy who was actually really funny and made the situation really light! We learned all about the city from him as well as the history of prostitution. As it turns out, the prostitution is really well regulated. It has been going on their for centuries despite attempts at outlawing it. When Amsterdam was merely a port town for sailors, it was extremely popular for the sailors who had been at sea for ages. The government detested the practice, but it kept going despite it being illegal so they decided to regulate it to make it safer.

I was completely shocked by it. Never in my life have I been exposed to something like that and as we walked by all the girls I couldn't help but feeling dizzy and overwhelmed because so many of the girls were younger than me! Something about the whole feeling of the place just really effected me in an inexplicable way. Our tour guide explained that many of the girls just couldn't get any other jobs because they came from such impoverished circumstances in Eastern Europe and were trying to pay their way through university many times. I think I was silent the entire tour because I just couldn't form the words at the moment to explain what was going on through my mind...To think that girls just like me would result to something so extreme and so completely degrading of their status made me nautious. Of course our guide kept cracking jokes to make the situation seem lighter, but I was still dumbfounded. And there were SO many men walking around! Thank God our tour group was safe because I actually felt pretty threatened...Men would hoot and holler at us, even whilst we were wearing about 10 layers of clothing as opposed to the half naked girls in the windows. We got offered 50 euros at one point and I had to gather up all of my energy not to yell at them for being so disrespectful towards women. All I can say is that I let out an immense sigh of relief once we got out of that area...

I guess the Red Light District of Amsterdam is a symbol of how different Europe is from the United States. Drugs and prostitution are so common there, that the inhabitants have simply adjusted life around such practices. To us North Americans, for the most part we are not used to such things, which was why I was speechless while walking around. We also went to the Heinkeken Brewery which was a bit more upbeat and I learned all about the history and origins of Heinken beer and even went on a ride which is "turned us" into Heineken. It was really fun and helped me clear my mind after being utterly traumatized.

Then, on Sunday morning we went to the Anne Frank House and I honestly didn't speak during that tour as well. I think it was the fact that Anne, like many of the prostitutes, was a girl not different from myself. We both have similar wants, desires, and needs. She wrote in her diary almost every day until she was deported to a concentration camp. What really got me was hearing a video recording of her father, Otto Frank, talking in the '60s. He confessed how it took him so long to actually open up Anne's diary after she died to read it and how after reading it, he realized that he had never really known his daughter. For him to realize that he would never have the chance to discuss with his daughter what was going on through her head must have driven him crazy. Yet did he really want to? How much of ourselves do we really conceal in life? We can go throughout our daily activities constisting of talking to people and expressing our concerns, woes, and feelings, but does anyone really attain an accurate understanding of you completely? You never know when you will die; it can happen so instantaneously. To think that there is a chance that some of your most private thoughts will go with you to the grave and no one will ever find out about them is baffling to me. Sometimes this can be good, and sometimes bad. Sometimes you want people to know these thoughts but cannot express them out loud. Some of these thoughts should remain confined in your mind, regardless of your desire to express them. In Anne's case, she wanted her story to be published. She did not necessarily indicate she wanted her DIARY to be published, but she had told her family and friends that she would one day have a book published about her experience, probably drawing from extracts in her diary. At least Otto was able to make part of her dream come true.

Other than the Bible, Anne Frank's diary has been sold and reproduced in more languages and more copies than any other book in the entire world. Its appeal is largely due to the fact that it does not simply give a laying out of facts and events of what occurred during World War II and the Holocaust. It expresses the emotions of a young girl living through such atrocities with which all people can commiserate regardless of their race, religion, sex, or age.

I didn't think that such an exhibit would arouse tears in me, but I think it was the mix between walking up and down the stairs where Anne once hid away for so long, and seeing the Church bells and listening to them chime that she had also seen and had written about, and realizing that the poor girl was not able to live as good of a life as she could have that created such feelings within me. We talk about our ambitions and wants so often, but all that Anne wanted was to live. She was physically incarcerated in a place where she could not live up to her potential. A situation such as that is worse than things such as the death penalty and abortion. Fortunately, Anne was able to use her mind and brain to set herself free when she physically could not run around outside shouting, "I'M FREE!" Think of what that must have been like...To want so desperately to go outside and ask a Nazi "Why are you doing this to us?" And she simply couldn't...I think I would have gone crazy. It takes great strength to keep yourself from making dangerous and wreckless decisions when placed in an unfair situation.

Amsterdam was truly an experience. And I don't mean this insane, drug-induced mind boggling experience, because despite portrayals of Amsterdam in such a manner, the city is so much more than that. I learned more about myself over this past weekend than I think I have my entire life, as wierd as that may sound. I saw women completely emaciated physically and mentally. While these poor prostitutes, some attempting to financially support their families (there is actually a preschool in the redlight district in between windows of women selling themselves and the children are told that the women are "selling kisses,") are trapped mentally in this world of anguish from which they will never escape because sex will never be the same for them, Anne was physically stuck. I never will be in either of those conditions, and I view myself as being extremely lucky. I wonder what the prostitutes think when girls such as myself and my friends walk by. Do they wonder what is like to be like us? I honestly cannot even imagine such a world as that.