Creative Non-Fiction - A Rambler's Guide to 'Dam

NB: This is the updated version which I submitted as my final piece for my Second Year Creative Non-Fiction module (which got me 72/100 = a First :D)

 A Rambler’s Guide to ‘Dam

Let me paint you a picture: You’re in Amsterdam, student Mecca of Europe, and you’ve stumbled upon the Red-Light District – purely by accident – though not far enough to be drawn in like a moth to the pink and red neon lights. Lacking a sense of navigation, you approach the nearest doorway to ask for directions and are faced with a Dutch lady in four inch stilettos and gaffer tape taking a cigarette break. (Do I need to explain the gaffer tape? Just imagine those black censor bars they use on TV). Now, you have three options: proceed with asking directions, murmur embarrassed apologies and leave, or alter your question to fit the situation and ask ‘How much?’ What do you do?

Welcome to Amsterdam

As you are reading this, I can only assume someone you know has come back from Amsterdam and now you’re curious. Well, that’s good because nothing brings people together like travelling to a city famed for sex. In retrospect, this could have been the reason why my boyfriend, Jackson, chose it as our first holiday destination despite only knowing each other 4 months. Somehow, a year later, the charm remained –  both his and the city’s – compelling us to return. Unfortunately, not wiser than before, as I had purchased a pocket guide to Amsterdam in the hopes of getting more out of our visit this time around. Apart from just about managing to guide us to new places, both that little pocketbook and I would have gotten more from the exchange if I’d used it as a coaster. Even the websites I scanned proved to be lacking in the personal touch of someone who had been there.

‘Ensure you are prepared for all elements’ they tell you, ‘good walking shoes are most certainly important’, take advantage of the ‘local cuisine’, and essentially do all you can not to look like a tourist. Of course, this comes from a book designed to be a guide for tourists. So obligingly you’ll leaf through it like it’s your Holy Bible of Amsterdam, while throwing several jumpers, a bottle of sun cream, an umbrella, hiking boots, condoms, and some spare camera batteries into your suitcase. But the things I learnt on Dutch soil put the word of your prophet to shame.

…no visitor should leave without experiencing the city's world famous bike culture…

For starters, He won’t have scrimped on explaining that most people in Amsterdam ride bicycles and will, therefore, insist that cycling the city is an ‘absolute must’. What this means is safety of the cycling tourist will be given priority, while conveniently forgetting to mention the pedestrians. To illustrate this point, if I was a cat, I’d be down to my last few lives by now, the amount of times Jackson has had to pull me clear of an oncoming pedal-powered juggernaut. Their tinny little bells, echoing across the city, should’ve given me fair warning, but the tourist is a breed of person whose observation is extremely selective. Even strolling through leafy residential avenues, I somehow ended up missing the single cyclist coming towards me.  So, you, munching on your stroopwaffel as you take yet another #Amsterdam selfie, will be able to thank your prophet for the inevitable #holidayinjury.

Lesson 1: It is impossible NOT to experience the bike culture, even if you’re not riding one.

Recommendation: Travel with a sharp-eyed companion, such as – but not – my boyfriend. They also come in very handy if you, like me, have trouble navigating these quaint and quirky streets.

…ditch the map and lose yourself in the labyrinth of narrow lanes…

‘I’m sure we came this way’ I said to Jackson for the dozenth time that day, and ‘I recognise that shop’ because every street less than six feet wide looks identical: rainbow coloured waffles, macaroons, and doughnuts; military ranks of steaming pizza slices; dim smoky coffeeshops like modern opium dens; great wheels of cheese; tacky souvenirs; gimp masks (though the last two can easily be confused).

Being overwhelmed is all part of the Amsterdam experience, but it quickly becomes a maze; if you’re touting a map like a sore thumb, you’ll see what I mean. Every road runs parallel and perpendicular to the web of canals which make up Amsterdam Centrum. You’ll think ‘this should be easy’, and proceed to transcribe the prophet’s word into a checklist of ‘world-famous’ landmarks and restaurants from the city’s ‘culinary melting pot’, which will look something like this:

·         Ancient church

·         Famous-local-artist museum

·         Site of historic significance

·         Market browsing

·         Photo with I amsterdam sign

·         Obscure Dutch restaurant

By the following afternoon, however, you’ll be standing astride a bridge, viciously rotating your wallchart of a map, and trying to navigate in relation to one of the many churches sprinkled throughout like immense and ornately gothic middle fingers.

Lesson 2: Getting lost is inevitable, with or without a map

Recommendation: Take it easy. Just as Rome wasn’t built in a day, Amsterdam’s streets cannot be conquered in the same time frame. Although their paving team would beg to differ.

…a quaint warren of cobbled streets…

Do you remember those ‘good walking shoes’ that were of biblical importance? You might want to downgrade them from Doc Martens. Of the many streets you will traverse during your stay, He alleges that several are cobbled. Equipped with a mental image of charming, rustic avenues of knobbly stones, I entered each new street in expectation of these promised treasures – which I was told paved a cluster of nine Straatjes in Amsterdam’s version of Oxford Street. In their place were smooth woven carpets of vibrant red brick. The richly clean aroma of marijuana permeating the air seemed to take on a lonely tinge without them, the crotchless panties cheapened as if they were being sold in an alley in Soho. Only on the third day, standing on a bridge in the aforementioned manner and whining to Jackson that ‘all the churches look the bloody same’, did the word of the prophet come true. My feet, thanks to my thinner-soled footwear, eventually felt every hard lump of the promised land – all 500 feet of camera-wielding-tourist-polished stones hugging the base of the thirteenth-century Olde Kerk.

Lesson 3: Cross out the word ‘cobbled’ in your Bible

Recommendation: When you find a patch of cobbles, cover every inch before moving on just to get the full experience. But in hindsight, it’s for the best that they are confined to a picturesque courtyard given the instability of British tourists on a night out and the lack of railings around the canals.

…floating along the canals by guided boat tour is a great way to get under the fabric of the city…

Sparkling like a silken thread through the eye of the bridge, framed by hanging baskets of candy-pink petunias, the city’s 165 watery thoroughfares are highly photogenic, making them the crown jewel on every avid traveller’s Instagram page. It’s little wonder then that your prophet will stress the importance of a ‘magical’ canal cruise, and as a couple you will find yourself compelled to obey – but I would urge you to resist. Jackson and I made our first visit in the middle of August, during the Gratchenfestival, a week-long music festival for which people hire boats to see musical performances on and around the canals. Some of these boats are beautiful mobile picnics carrying sun-worshipping Dutch folk, or immense party barges, heard long before they are seen, and for the measly sum of €8, you can join them – careening the wrong way up the canals in a dinky pedalo. Jackson had been ambitiously eager to join them. ‘They’re surprisingly cheap’ he’d remarked as we stood on a bridge watching rowdy shirtless Brits causing waterway traffic jams; we were still there an hour later.

Lesson 4: A Brit will find their own way under the fabric of ANY city

Recommendation: Enjoy your sunbathing and picnicking on terrafirma. Try to find the perfect suntrap, if you can, even if it means wandering into an unfamiliar area. You can always ask for directions. Sound familiar? Before you make your decision, however, you might want to find out what else this area has to offer. 

…the Red-Light District is a world of its own that does not easily divulge its secrets…

I know what you’re thinking: peep shows, sex toys, dare I say it – prostitutes? The prophet need not profane His lips at your expense; you practically guide yourself. But that’s not what occupied our time, and, unless you’ve got nothing better to do, neither should it yours. Initially, nothing seemed out of the ordinary until the woman in gaffer tape caught our eye – or was it the other one lounging moodily in the window beside her, breasts looking like two onions in their orange mesh bikini? We took in similar windows and establishments with a concealed smirk, eventually sitting with legs dangling over the canal. Follow my lead and it will make your experience of De Wallen (to give it its proper name) a much more fulfilling one:

·         - Window shop for bizarre bondage gear.

·         - Make up names for the ladies in the windows.

·         - Watch people’s reactions to said ladies.

·         - Laugh at the truck drivers trying to navigate the tiny streets.

That’s not to say you should adopt a look-but-don’t-touch attitude for your whole trip. Go ahead – hug the 7-foot golden penis in the Erotic Museum (it makes for a great holiday snap), buy some novelty condoms or an apron with a furry footlong.

Lesson 5: Some secrets are often hidden in plain in sight

Recommendation: Let out your respectfully raised inner child. Look but don’t stare. Have maximum fun with minimum mess, and when you’re done, venture back to some semblance of normality. Just make sure you have money left because all this walking will have made you hungry. But where will you go?

…Amsterdam offers the hungry traveller plenty of unique culinary experiences…

Considering the time of day, moon phase, and current temperature, your prophet will suggest the perfect restaurant for you and your ever-shrinking wallet, while helping you blend in by taking you to ‘where the locals eat’. But realistically, your I Love Amsterdam t-shirt will make you stand out more than going to McDonalds because the locals eat everywhere. The trick is to let your senses guide you:

The open-front pizza vendors set us salivating from 3 streets away; the hand-made baguette sandwiches resembled works of art; we could taste the cavities in the air outside the ubiquitous confectionary patisseries.

‘But how do I get a real taste of Holland?’ you ask. His answer will be exhaustive and largely obscure – raw herring, for example – but wading through you will come across ‘frites’, reliable old chips in a paper cone. The oddly named Manneken Pis, voted ‘No.1 Holland Fries’, served them to us slathered in mayo and satay sauce, and topped with onion. Of course, if you’re craving sugar, the Dutch have you covered too. Up a flight of stairs only a few degrees shy of a ladder, we found the Pannenkoekenhuis Upstairs, serving dinner plate-sized pancakes to a tiny teapot-filled room of just 10 people at a time.  

Lesson 6: Fussy eaters need not fear when chips are still an ‘experience’

Recommendation: Only leave your culinary comfort zone when you are ready. No one is going to judge you for eating chicken chow mein in Chinatown every day. However, there is one temptation I will leave you to be the judge of.

…smoking cannabis or hashish is permitted in the city's coffeeshops…

Of everything you are expected to have done while visiting Amsterdam, the drugs will always be number one. It’s as if lax laws somehow equate to it being compulsory. Not being smokers, I never thought we’d find ourselves in such a bohemian place, jars of the dried herb ranged alongside loose leaf teas and coffee beans, but, by chance, Jackson’s colleague was on holiday too and invited us to join him.

The mere act of entering this establishment feels like a rite of passage as you acclimatise to the heavily scented air and the shrouded half-light thrown out by a combination of fairy lights, spotlights, and Art Deco fixtures. Figures wreathed with mist sit in the shadows, while others, seated at the ornate wooden bar, alternate between milkshake and Mary Jane. For the inexperienced, as I was, it can be intimidating, but I guess that’s what the resident feline was for; a dopey black and white cat, who must have been high as a kite, 24/7, sunning himself in the window.

Lesson 7: You are still permitted the atmosphere; no one says you HAVE to join in

Recommendation: If smoking is your thing, looks like you’re all set; if not, go anyway. Your prophet won’t openly promote coffeeshops, only throw advice at you in the hope it will stick, but that doesn’t mean you can’t see that other world.

You’re still standing beside the doorway, the woman’s cigarette burning low, scattering ash onto her painted toenails. She looks at you expectantly, standing to one side as if to invite you in. Amsterdam is waiting. What do you do?