Our second day in Amsterdam started in the same way all of the others started, i.e. Mom & Scherezade chucking pillows at me to get my sluggish body out of bed. The first day we spent in Amsterdam was characterized by pouring rain and a lot of Art; on our second trip it was impossibly sunny and we ended up in some, er, less than classy establishments.

the giant penis bench

For example: The Sex Museum. This was our first stop of the day. It was a lot like being at a fetish masquerade: steaming flesh surrounds you but the cumulative effect is one of almost complete detachment. Or as the Boy likes to say, "never have I been surrounded by so much sex and felt less like having it." Mom was horrendously embarrassed and left half way through, still, if nothing else I figure she got her 2.50 Euros out of the anamatronic flasher.

No, I'm not kidding.

Scherezade & I were not exactly embarrassed, but I can't say that we were titillated either. Even sitting on the penis bench was a little less fun than it looks.

um... parliament? even old new york...

We wandered the streets for awhile after that, finding the "second best comic store in the world" (Lambeek) and also the home church of the American Pilgrims. (Even old New York was once new Amsterdam...and really, couldn't they have thought of a better name than that? Sheesh.) I got tired & hungry, waiting grimly for our one big meal of the day.

mad tea party mmmmmm

We took our 2 hour Dutch lunch at a trendy coffeeshop called Le Jardin. It was a spacious building with two sunlit floors that both served the ubiquitous broodjes & soupen. I very much enjoyed my second Brie sandwich of the trip, along with the minnestrone-like soup. (Mom would be very tired of the soup & swch diet by the time we got to Antwerp, but honestly, I never tired of it.) For desert we visited a pannekoeken restaurant located up the steepest stairs known to mankind. There are only four tables, the ceiling is hung with teapots, and the walls are festooned with official portraits of the Dutch Royal Family. It was an incredibly atmospheric place to eat our dessert.

After lunch we continued to wander the streets. We made a few stops at the blomen market (full of cheesy knick knacks cheek & jowl with some fantastic tulips.) We also stopped into a headshop, where I learned that magic mushrooms should not be consumed at the same time as anti-depressants. Not that I was taking Magic Mushrooms, it's just good to know. I looked for a nice pipe for Scherezade, as she was complaining that her lack of rolling ability was impeding her chances of taking advantage of the legal soft drugs on offer. Unfortunately, all I found were really cheesy pieces of crap. I'll have to go to Hippie Depot or something - maybe I can find something similar to Kerri's nice glass pipe.

zzzzzzzzzz

Our wanderings were generally without purpose, but we did want to see the Stedelijk Museum (with all the modern art). That idea kind of died a messy death; since I was the only one who wanted to go and I was incredibly cranky, we decided to give it a miss and do the canal tour instead. Scherezade, who had been on the canal tour 3 times before, promised to meet us in an hour - but at the last minute she decided (reluctantly) to come along. I think she was right to refuse it the first time, as that's 4 hours she'll never get back again. Lord Jesus, what a boring tour. I actually fell asleep, and woke up when we were in the harbour. Of course, for all I know, we were in a giant cyclotron the whole time and they just changed the picture while I was asleep.

By the time we got off the boat, the sun was setting. We spent our last hours in Amsterdam wandering around the Red Light District, checking out the girls in the window and eating frites. I was very conscientious about not taking pictures, as they reputedly take understandable umbrage to that sort of thing, so no hot girls gone wild to show you. I found that, overall, the Red Light District was a pretty safe place to be, as long as you were polite and kept moving.

Scherezade chose this time to get some cash out, an act that made me think again about the utter fearlessness of the native Scarberian. Nothing scares this girl. While we were in a bank queue, some guy took his pants down about 5 feet away. It was kind of funny, especially when he pretended to make a grab for Mom's frites. Needless to say, she was not impressed. There was also a mumbling junkie who hit us up for change twice. I felt bad for refusing him, but I didn't want another argument with my mother, like the one we had in Rotterdam. Poor excuse, I know.

Someone asked me when I got back if I had felt unsafe there. I thought about it for awhile, and then replied honestly that I feel more at risk in Toronto, where the lines are not as clear between working girls and amateurs. The only think that made us bring out the old stink eye was the presence of growing crowds of drunken English louts. Scherezade says that they come over to Holland for the drugs & hookers, and as such they are universally hated by the Dutch. Also, by us.

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