Red Light, Go

Brugge and Amsterdam are opposite cities that both remind me of Las Vegas. Or, rather, they are defined by and renown for things I’ve only seen there. The vast majority of Brugge seemed, for instance, to be occupied by and catering to tourists. Amsterdam, on the other hand, had prostitutes, slots and drugs. Neither, however, resemble Vegas, and both, by seeming like desirable places to live, are also as unlike that city as they are each other.

Disney World seems to come to most people’s minds with Brugge because it is a tourist trap of fairy tale proportions. The city, however, is not synthetic. It was not built by or for tourism, it’s just trapped in the 14^th-century. Known as the Venice of the North because of its canals, when Brugge became a popular vacation destination for nostalgic Westerners, 19^th-century architects kept the city’s development arrested, designing buildings in Gothic style to match those already stuck in the mud. The result is a tremendously beautiful city that everyone should visit.

We went to a bed and breakfast there that Annalise had booked for my birthday. It was great. The shower head was, like, 98 feet high, and the room had a view of one of the most imposing cathedrals in Belgium. We went to a bar with 350 different Belgian beers, though I didn’t know how to optimize that (“Excuse me Miss, can I try 100 different beers please?”), at least without my aficionado friends Brendan and Joe. We went to a chocolate history/factory/museum, which was fun. Then we went to Amsterdam.

What’s interesting about Amsterdam is the little things. Example: you can get a Quarter Pounder with cheese, but they don’t call it that there. What do they call it? Royale with Cheese. Royale with cheese? The Red Light District is fascinating. It’s got lots of tourists and, walking through it, you can immediately tell who’s there for “sightseeing” and who looks like they need to get down to business. It’s really funny. We saw this one guy walking with his friend down a red-lit alley, and he was smiling big and kind of made this grunting-slurping noise and said in a gravelly-voice “Hubba hubba.” A sightseer on the brink. But nobody snapping photographs, that’s prohibited. Around there are coffeeshops that sell weed. I accidentally wandered into a pastry shop that had delicious-looking donuts and stuff. I didn’t notice the lack of price tags though, and I got a tiny donut for 3.50 euro, which is about $234. And it was half-frozen and tasted like wax. So, apparently, there’s all these stands that prey on the people with the munchies. The whole area is creepy and historic.

On the first night I had a muffin and a panic attack. Coincidence?

These things are what blemish Amsterdam, but it’s an incredible place. The brick buildings are old and gorgeous, and the museums are about as good as in Paris. And the canal walks rival those in Bruges. We went to the Van Gogh Museum, which may have been my favorite thus far. I also got a lot of work done, which took away from touring but financed the future.

Anyway, pictures.

On the train now to Black Forest Germany, on the day I was supposed to be going back to Nancy, on the train that took us to it for the first time via Strasbourg back in September.

P.S. Writing this post script in Black Forest. This is quite the experience. We are in a very isolated town, everything is dirt cheap and the views are amazing. No one speaks English, of course. But the radio here is playing achy breaky heart. Hmmmm. Anyway, the town we are in is Forbach, we found it haphazardly.