| Amsterdam, The Way We Knew You by Dorian de Wind |
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| Written by Dorian de Wind | |
| Sunday, 17 May 2009 | |
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I understand that, since then, Amsterdam city officials have launched an effort to drastically curtail and regulate the activities in the famous Amsterdam “red light district." I have not returned to Amsterdam lately, so I don’t know how far the city has proceeded with their plans to close at least half of Amsterdam’s brothels, sex shops, marijuana cafes, etc. But, I know for sure that, two years ago, the red light district was still in full swing. I know that because, innocently, accidentally, or ignorantly---you be the judge--I got into some real trouble there.
First, a little background.
As I am half Dutch and half Latino, I never know which side of my personality will prevail in stress situations. This became pointedly clear during that visit to Amsterdam.
Having lived in the Netherlands during my youth, and having visited Amsterdam frequently, I should not have gotten into the problem I did. Nevertheless, while strolling through scenic Amsterdam, my wife and I unexpectedly and unintentionally found ourselves in the midst of the famous red light district with large shop front windows displaying smiling young ladies in various states of dress and undress. They were sending inviting glances and gestures to the goggle-eyed passers-by.
On the other side of one of Amsterdam’s famous grachten, or canals, there were two particularly attractive, scantily-clad young ladies smiling at me---so I believed.
Flattered, I started taking photos. But, these ladies did not wish to be photographed and started shouting ”Hey Grandpa, put that bleep camera away, or else bleep, bleep, bleep” Well, my acquired American personality told me that I had every right to photograph the ladies, so I took just one more picture.
Suddenly, I felt a claw-like grasp on my shoulder, and heard a deep voice bellowing at me, “Didn’t you hear those ladies; they do not want their picture taken.” Startled, I turned around, looked up—way up--and found myself staring at one of the biggest and angriest looking men I have seen in a while. (Did I mention that I was 67-years old, and five feet 4 inches tall and never taken hand-to-hand combat lessons?)
I wish that levelheaded, pragmatic Dutch side of my personality had won out and that I had told “Big Jan” that I was sorry for taking the photos. Instead, my Latino temper took over and I just kept yelling at this giant, “Get your hands off me!” I was not going to be insulted, especially in front of my wife.
This went on for what seemed to be an eternity. Fortunately, the grip on my shoulder finally relaxed and I was able to pull away from my tormentor. But, as the big man let go of me, he hissed, “I should have thrown you in the canal.” Somewhat more clearheaded after my near-disastrous encounter, but not yet prudent enough, I waited until I was several steps away before yelling. “You just try.”
Wrong personality, wrong words! As I walked a little faster, I could hear footsteps rapidly approaching. Resigned to a very cold dip in the canal, or worse, I invoked my religious personality and waited for the inevitable. Finally, I felt a hard push on my back, heard some obscenities, but--surprise--I was not flying though the air into the canal. I then saw the reason for my salvation: two policemen on bicycles had come into sight just ahead of us.
I learned several lessons from my Amsterdam experience. Don’t believe everything you see in the movies. Remember the classic scene where the wife or girlfriend takes off her shoe off and goes to town on her partner’s assailant? Well, in real life, there is very little, if any, on-the-scene participation by the female companion. But, afterward, I had to patiently listen to endless lectures as to what the dire consequences of one’s prurient behavior can be.
I also resolved to enroll, before my next trip abroad, in “Martial Arts for Seniors with Personality Issues.” |
Things may have changed in beautiful Amsterdam since I was there two years ago.| < Prev | Next > |
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