AMSTERDAM -2-

FIRST AMSTERDAM

5/26/2012

Four pleasant days along with Schinkel Canal close to where it intersects with Amstel River at an old, authentic and elegant B&B run by two interesting men, are over with lots of memorable moments. The neighborhood is pleasant, well-to-do, not top-notch but still with some elegance a residential area, right outside the core of the canal rings of downtown Amsterdam. The intersection of the two waterways has the same quirky, interesting, inviting feel of the core canals, but not as touristy; perfect. I am an anti-touristic tourist anyway. I have always been interested in people, the details of their lives, their daily routines, their stories while visiting a new place not things, let alone extravagant things-to-do that most tourists go for. This feel makes my early morning hikes along Schinkel up to Amstel, unforgettably serene, peaceful, and intimate with locals. I walk through their alleys separating blocks of canal boat houses protruding perpendicularly into Schinkel just as they are waking up, witness their sweet morning chats and shouts at times, run into bikers heading toward the park and ride sites, breath in the scent of the morning baked goods waiting for bikers to claim, on and on.  

                                                   Houseboats along Schinkel canal

Alex and Braddy are business and probably life partners. Alex, a rural Dutch boy as he self-expresses is mainly responsible for the B&B, and Braddy, an American, who made Amsterdam his home for many years, is responsible for the upscale restaurant they run together downtown Amsterdam. Both are interesting, intelligent, politically correct (most of the time as I will discover just before departing), and attentive men, who treat their guests with grace. The highlight of my four days here will be the breakfasts we will have with all the other guests and with Alex (Braddy only one morning) around a large wooden table in a very tastefully decorated dining room overlooking at the Schinkel.  

Breakfasts will offer us not only extremely healthy and delicious food prepared by Alex from scratch every morning, but also exposure to an unbelievably diverse, interesting, and pleasant clientele. We will chat one morning with a probably lesbian couple, one a research nurse, the other a police officer from Italy, another morning with a couple from Canada both academics, yet another morning with a couple from France. The last couple is extremely interesting, the woman is an engineer, works in Berlin and supports the social democrats in France whereas her male partner, who is a broker living in London supports Sarkozy, “obviously based on my vocation” he will state with no reservations. I like such truthful people even if I don’t agree with what they think and believe in. At least he is truthful on where “money” stands. I wonder for a moment how that works. The answer is obvious soon enough following a few minutes of conversation. The man is a very dominant character whereas the woman is pretty submissive. That combination could absorb any, even deep discrepancy, I conclude. “Avoidant relationship” I murmur to myself, as long as they agree to disagree and avoid any confrontation, I bet they could stay together, but being happy together and connected at a deep level is a different question. 

Every morning, in ten minutes or so the conversation veers toward politics somehow. Everybody is fine with that since every client except the broker turns out to be of and for the 99%. Except the broker of course, he even feels offended when the Canadian gentleman asks “What do you think about where the elections are going in Europe?” clearly referring to liberals winning in several major European countries. His response is sharp “Isn’t it a bit too early to discuss politics?” Not clear whether he is referring to the time of the day or phase of our connection. I feel it is the latter. Despite his reluctance, everybody else engages in discussions full heartedly, which makes breakfast times so enriching for four days.

Last morning, time to leave. My dear friend and colleague is leaving to return to Turkey today, but I have a full week to enjoy Amsterdam. I had thought, I’d travel and see the rest of Amsterdam, too. But, over the week, I changed my mind and decided to stay put in Amsterdam to get to know the place deeper and deeper. I tell Alex I am moving to a lakeside for a week south of Amsterdam, to a place listed as a hostel. Knowing hostels in Europe are of much better quality than their American counterparts, I took it. I am excited about the opportunity to meet young people from all around the world and catch up with them regarding their likes, interests, passions, aspirations, you name it. It has been quite a long time since I haven’t stayed at a hostel. Alex is not happy. When I tell him the nearest town is Acaobe, he utters “Oh, it will be a different experience” with clear disdain in his voice and face. “They will be all black down there.” Of course catching his slip or seeing the astonishment on my face, as soon as it is spilled out he continues “Not that I have anything against them.” Too late Alex, that split second was enough to see what kind of discrimination lies right beneath the surface.

                                     Alleys seperating rows of houseboats along Schinkel

I recall a Turkish physician friend of mine who had lived in Germany for several decades before finally moving back to Turkey for good. She had told me once, “If you scratch the surface of any Arian German with enough bait, meaning if you feed them with racist discourse, you will always see that anti-Semitism is right beneath the surface, still alive.” I didn’t want to believe her with such a blanket statement, but Alex’s knee jerk reaction to my second week in Amsterdam brought that memory back instantaneously.  I wondered for the first time since several decades ago, whether what my friend had inferred could indeed be true. Of course my universe consists of one single subject at this point. I should give more credit to the Dutch. Although my experience will be totally positive with locals in Amsterdam, I will hear from many Turkish, even from well educated and established ones that discrimination is right beneath the surface.

My thoughts meander toward the unexpected experience I had by the Amstel River around Oude Kirke, old church from 1200s. The experience I wasn’t planning to have, in fact I was refusing to have, into which I was pulled by my dear colleagues from Portugal. Teresa, Augustino, Patricia, and their colleagues will ask me to have dinner together the first evening of the conference we are attending and co-presenting at. The meeting spot is in front of the Oude Kirke. Having left the task of going through my Lonely Planet throughout the conference days, I don’t have much idea on what is where in Amsterdam, yet. A church and sex tourism, how can one put these two together? The experience I will have in the Red Light District, ironically encircling the Oude Kirke will leave me with a bitter tart taste about not necessarily Amsterdam but more so about humanity, mankind. Is there nothing not for sale in the realm of capitalism? Can we not spare human flesh from being sold, of men and women? At the end of the uncalled for unpleasant tour of the narrowest alleys of Amsterdam, I feel like vomiting. I have seen enough, which will pour out of me the next day as words, expressing pain and disgust and plea for banning the sale of human flesh…