Window shopping
Ah, Amsterdam... home of wooden clogs, tulip festivals and live sex shows.
The Dutch people have always been renowned for their culture of tolerance. It’s the prevailing ethic of this northern European city: Hey, since we’re all individuals, then you can do whatever you damn please. Want to smoke some weed? Here’s the menu. Looking for a good time? We have over five million served and counting. Same-sex marriage? As long as you don’t show me pictures from the honeymoon night. Amsterdam has a long history of being the most liberal city in the world. A Dutch proverb puts everything into perspective: “Act crazy, that is normal enough.” That is why, my three female readers, I will be forcibly exiled to a city that celebrates Queens day, national windmill day and the marijuana festival after several years of writing this column.
So when it comes to enjoying the things in life that our Catholic priest would cane us for, the ever-practical Dutch subscribe to the world-view that vice will not be going away soon, so we might as well find a way to tax it. “When you don’t have to sneak,” say the Dutch, “then there is no mystique.” This is quite contrary to the world-view that many of us have grown accustomed to here in Manila. “When you sneak,” says the Pinoy, “then you can make money off the vice and then split the profits with the local government.”
In the Netherlands, the topic of sex is more out there than a transsexual performer at Club Mwah; so much more that it almost borders on the mundane. While chugging down a Heineken at a pub, it’s not uncommon to overhear conversations like, “It took forever to park my bike!” or “What wedding gift are you getting Peter and Jacob?” or “You won’t believe the threesome I had last night.” In the dailies, there are articles detailing the onset of puberty, complete with full-blown pictures of developing male and female genitalia. (Man, if I even detailed that type of development in this column, I would probably be the first local candidate for chemical castration.) The Dutch Parliament even held a debate on whether to ban a television show called How to Screw (This is not a reality show on Home Repair… then again, maybe it is). But, in true Dutch fashion, the show aired without much hullabaloo. (My No Girlfriend Since Birth club members are starting a signature campaign pleading our networks to pick up a franchise of the show. But I digress.)
So when my wife and I visited Amsterdam, our friends didn’t bother asking us if we visited the home of Anne Frank nor if we took a romantic cruise down the meandering canal belt of the city. They didn’t even ask us if we saw the picked remains of Van Gogh’s left ear. “So,” my NGSB barkada whispered into my right ear while he nudged me in the ribs. “Did you visit the red light district?”
My jaw dropped and I turned to face him. “Visit the red light district during my honeymoon!?” I sneered. “Siyempre naman!” Then I thrust my index finger into the air as my wife gave me a stare that could cause brain hemorrhage. “But only for educational purposes.”
Walled City
De Wallen, the largest and best-known red light district in Amsterdam, is a major tourist attraction that is spoken of in hushed tones of reverence by developing teenage boys and quickly regressing D.O.M.s. A place free from parental disapproval, public condemnation and police raids, De Wallen is a network of alleys crisscrossed by several canals and sprawling over a one-square-mile area in the oldest part of Amsterdam. Historical records indicate that there has been a lot of sprawling going on in De Wallen since the early 13th century. In fact, this is the area where the city of Amsterdam actually began. Which is quite appropriate since everything begins with sex. Or so I am told. But more than just being arguably the oldest red light district in the world, De Wallen is also known as the center of the gay leather district. Or so I am told as well.
Depending on how much time you plan to spend in the confessional, there are two major tourist attractions in De Wallen. The first attraction in the red light district is the slew of coffeeshops where coffee is probably the least important item on their menu. For those of you are snickering to themselves because they know what I am talking about, I have nothing to say about my experience at a coffeeshop, especially with the 2010 elections right around the corner. And for those of you who are wondering if they can find a Starbucks in the red light district, allow me to provide you with this insight: if you stand outside an Amsterdam coffee shop for several minutes and get a good strong whiff of the aroma inside, pretty soon your surroundings will resemble a Van Gogh painting.
The other tourist attraction in De Wallen, outside of the gay leather district, is none other than government-sanctioned, fully-taxed sex on window display. De Wallen is crammed with several hundred tiny one-room apartments rented by female sex workers who offer their services from behind a window or glass door illuminated by a red light. Of course, I am only going by what my wife tells me, because she had me blindfolded, hogtied and sedated once our train pulled into Amsterdam. Aside from the full-length window displays, there are also other related industries that you can enjoy in the red light district, such as sex shops, sex theatres, peep shows and a sex museum. As you can tell, overkill is not part of the vocabulary in the red light district. And neither is abstinence.
The visit to De Wallen begins at Warmoesstraat, the oldest street in Amsterdam. Take note, though, that it can be quite difficult to tell if you’ve already crossed into the red light area. Aside from the inconspicuously named Chickita’s Sex Paradise and Sex Shop, which was smack dab at the fork of the road, I wouldn’t even have known that I was in the red light district.
Like most Pinoys, we felt obligated to violate every red light here in De Wallen. However, if we wandered aimlessly down these streets too long, we were worried we might soak up enough coffee shop haze to eventually float away. So we had to wander as quickly and as purposefully as possible. And we wanted to wander away from places where we could possibly encounter any sex worker who has been around since the early 13th century.
So what better way to start your tour of the red light district than to show up at the doorstep of the neighborhood Prostitute Information Center (PIC) (yes, really) and De Wallenwinkel shop (I have no idea what this shop is, but the shop’s name sounds mysteriously like Wee Willie Winkie. Perhaps this was an underhanded tribute to the D.O.M.s from around the world who have been stimulating the red light economy for the past 800 years). The extremely friendly PIC gave us a couple of mint rolls, a self-guided tour of the red light district booklet, and an extra yard of hemp rope. “Make sure to bind your husband extra tight,” they reminded my wife. “It’s not love unless he starts to chafe.”
Now, this was a particularly novel idea: an almost guilt-free tour of the red light district that did not require any direct interaction with any of the red lightees. This would surely shorten my confession time. Hmmm… these PIC folks were on to something here. When I got back to Manila after this visit, I thought I might give the Department of Tourism a call: “Secretary, I have an idea about how we can further stimulate the local economies of P. Burgos, Quezon Avenue and Fields Avenue in Angeles.” I planned to boast “Pero, Secretary, if this idea pushes through… hati tayo sa kita ha.”
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Next column: Part two of the visit to De Wallen. For comments, suggestions or a couple of mint rolls, please text PM POGI <text message> to 2948 for Globe, Smart and Sun subscribers. Or email ledesma.rj@gmail.com.
