Moving on

On Sunday I concluded that there was no point in staying in Amsterdam any longer, even though I had already paid for a third night. But really, what else would I DO with another day? I already did a city tour, went to some bars and coffee shops, ate some good (and not so good) food, saw the Red Lights, and got a feel for the city and its people, history, and transportation. I am not into museums, which seemed like the only thing I might have missed, so my best option was to hit the road.

I find it funny the difference between the decisions I have to make here and those I had to make back home. In Denver it was usually "What Netflix disc should we watch tonight?" or "Where should we eat?". On the road, it's more like "What country should I go to today?". This type of traveling is the closest thing to complete freedom that I have discovered in my life. There is something slightly liberating about having to rely upon only what you can carry on your person.

On a related note I was thinking about the pattern of minimalism I have experienced in recent years: my parents' warehouse burned down a few years ago and I lost a lot of possessions, my house got broken into the first week I moved to Denver (laptop and camera: gone), I had my bike stolen last year, I lost some stuff in a work vehicle fire this past summer, and before this trip I had to part with a lot of stuff since I could only take what would fit in my car to take to Michigan. Now I am down to a backpack for the next seven weeks. What's next, a plastic bag on the end of a stick?

If I could have posted some Red Light District shots, I would have. Unfortunately, in the interest of remaining anonymous, the ladies don't really appreciate having their photo taken, and they will remind you of that if you try otherwise. I saw one dumbass guy try to get a shot in, despite the "No Photo" stickers on the windows, and the girl completely freaked out on him, hitting the glass and proving the extent of her English vocabulary.

Oh, and by the way, if you have the same preconceptions of what prostitutes are supposed to look like, you are probably incorrect. I anticipated a row of dirty, cracked-out East Colfax types clinging to life by a single desperate thread. What I saw, however, were women who belonged not behind a window but on a magazine cover. They were probably some of the most beautiful women I have seen in my life (most of them anyway), and it was amazing that they would choose such a profession.

Also, to give you an idea of what I saw, our tour guide described the Red Light as the "Baskin Robbins of Prostitution". Every size, shape, ethnicity, age, and specialty (i.e. a dominatrix to punish you or a nurse to take care of you) seemed to be present behind the windows. And for 50 Euros, any one of them could be yours for 10-15 minutes.

Some final Amsterdam notes: I did try another coffee shop, wisely skipped the tobacco this time, but concluded what I have known for years- that marijuana just isn't for me. An anxious introvert will only become more anxious after a couple of puffs, so what's the point? I appreciate the effects it has on the mind, but not the tension, which is usually to the point of physical discomfort. I have a drinking personality, probably always will, so I think I will stick to what I know best.

To create a perfect framing effect for this post, I will wrap it up with my decision to leave Amsterdam. My original plan was to head to Berlin, but seeing as how I wasn't up to a six-hour train ride, nor did I have any lodging booked, I opted for the shorter destination of Hannover, Germany, a decision I made literally on the bus ride to the train station.

I'll tell you about the train ride next time...