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I am never going to Amsterdam again. I went in and , both times to visit girlfriends. Things were not going well. She had found emotional solace in another dude. She invited me on an art trip that spent a few days in Amsterdam. The teacher leading this art trip decided to book a hotel smack in the middle of the Red Light District.
I found the red light booth by accident. I took a walk by myself. I had blown my money on a particularly nice pipe for smoking weed, which had 19 parts so you could change the length or turn it into a one-hitter. It was fabulous. I could probably have bought some hash and been able to explain that when I got back to the hotel, but I settled for a lonely beer in a strip bar. Five bucks. I decided I was being pathetic and walked around exploring the city.
The other thing that was all over Amsterdam at the time was a thick population of drug dealers who could smell American college student at two miles on a windy day. At one point I ducked down an alley just to get away from the latest one, and that put me in the first Red Light district alley. I was impressed. Rows of red lit windows in front of gorgeous women dancing in neon underwear and haggling and flirting with a wall to wall mob of drunk men spilling their beer over each other.
I considered my options. Of course, in order to consider my options, I had to know what they all cost. I got close to a window and shouted over the din:. No shit. I said thanks and wandered away.