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What must I avoid in Amsterdam?
Taking your car into the city -centre
Parking is very difficult & expensive. Clamping is widespread and those clampers are not only efficient but also enthusiastic about their work. If clamped, you face a heavy fine or risk the danger of your car being towed away, which is even more expensive.
Tram riding without a Strippenkaart (valid pass)
A strip of tickets for the trams is available from most newsagents and is cheaper than getting a ticket from the conductor. Travelling without any ticket at all will cost you a big fine if you get caught. Not to mention the red face!
Beware the cyclists
Walking or standing on the bicycle lanes is a high risk activity. In Amsterdam, the bike is king/queen and it drives the locals mad to have pedestrians strolling onto the bike lanes. They travel fast and furious, so when you hear the tring tring roing from a cyclist's bell, get out of the way - quickly.
Avoid the following areas at night
Any area that are not well lit, or where you feel uncomfortable, is best to be avoided. Trust your instincts, this way you cannot go wrong!
Discussion
Avoid getting into discussions with strangers who walk up to you with a sob story, asking for a hand-out.
Avoid political / religious discussions in public areas, (actually, avoid both political & religious discussions at all times!
Flashing
Yes! Flashing! Avoid waving large wads of money about in public. If you do need to draw money out of a cash dispenser, do be aware of your surroundings & place the money as quickly as possible in your wallet/purse.
And some more info about Amsterdam.....
VIP TOURS
AMSTERDAM'S RED-LIGHT DISTRICT
Written by Kate Crawford
It's a penis!" shouted my petite, eighty-one -year-old mother.
A muffled giggle escaped from my normally composed 18-year-old niece.
A snicker fractured my sister's best "oh-how-interesting" look. I tried to
keep my cool, but a short snort sneaked out and that was it, we all began
to hoot.
Mother isn't given to talking dirty. She was simply answering, in her best
classroom style, our guide's not-so-innocent question, "Does anyone
know what that is?" She was right, of course. We could all see the erect,
eight-foot high, backlit fountain across the canal was a penis. But we
weren't going to say so.
"Well, it is," said Mother, a bit defensively.
We could see by our guide's surprised face, he never expected Mother to
answer his rhetorical question. We laughed harder.
My mother, sister, niece and I were three generations on a
"girl's-week-out" in Amsterdam. One of us, and I'm afraid it was I,
thought up this red-light district night tour figuring it would introduce us to
the pragmatic Dutch and their no-nonsense approach to social problems.
Not quite picturing the four of us, 18 to 81, wandering around alone to
have a look-see, I had turned to the web. A bit of surfing netted VIP Tours
which specializes in small groups, never more than eight, with both "off
the shelf" and individually designed tours. Axing the larger tours, the
umpteen favorable comments from VIP's alumnae and their swift and
informative e-mails clinched it; VIP's Guss Issen became our guide and
guardian to the seamier side of Amsterdam. Guss-trim, tan and
blond-was a retired police officer so I reckoned we'd be safe. A
sometimes humorous and sometimes serious guide, I suspect he was
editing liberally to guard what he perceived our naïve sensitivities,
briefing us on this business of brothels.
In Amsterdam, the world's oldest profession is practiced
in its oldest neighborhood. The red-light district
surrounded the Oude Kerk with its tower dating from
1300, Amsterdam's oldest church and spread along
Oudezijds Voorburgwal, Amsterdam's first canal. Guss
pointed out that families in the district have, through the
centuries, coexisted with the world of the prostitutes.
Amongst the brothels, condom stores and sleazy night
clubs (with sleazier fountains) we were fascinated to
discover a day care center, a butcher, and Amsterdam's
oldest and best tea and coffee merchant (Geels & Co at 67
Warmoestraat.) In the voyeuristic fashion of tourists everywhere, we
peered through typically-Dutch uncurtained windows at people preparing
dinner and reading newspapers just as if they were part of the show.
Still the real show was at street level. As we traipsed along behind Guss
on the narrow cobble streets and among the 17th century buildings, we
were both intrigued and ill at ease. At street level, rows of 8 X 10
glass-fronted cubicles that looked like large shadow boxes all lined up in a
row. Most of their interiors were covered with antiseptic-looking white
tile, and generally a small bed occupied one corner. In these little rooms,
prostitutes lounged, primped and waited for customers. The floor-length
curtains were drawn only when the women worked.
Each woman had her own act. One woman, in a classic 30's girlie picture
pose, bent from the waist towards a mirror as she applied scarlet lipstick
to puckered lips. Her white bra and skimpy bikini panties glowed pink in
the demi-light that exuded from two long ultra violet bulbs on either side
of the window. The sizable, scarlet panties and lace bra of another woman
overflowed with rolls of dark chocolate flesh as she lolled on her bar stool.
At that point, I noticed that segregation appeared to be strictly enforced.
On the first block every prostitute we passed was black and in the next
block every prostitute was white. When questioned, Guss replied,
definitely editing out unfavorable impressions, that women of the same
background liked to stay together for safety.
No such division existed in the street crowd which was largely, but not
entirely, made up of men. A wide spectrum of humanity was represented.
Men in impeccable three piece suits and men in Arab djellabahs mingled
with boys in grubby running suits. Head gear ranged from sweatshirt
hoods and baseball caps to fedoras and turbans. Women who were
onlookers like ourselves tried to appear unobtrusive. A few-ragged and
strung-out-were illegally streetwalking.
As we walked along, bulging tourist-like from purses
secured inside our raincoats at Gus's suggestion, we
were instructed on the finer points of red-light
economics. According to Gus, the women were
self-employed workers; they averaged about $300 a
day after forking over $100 to the landlord. The
landlord rented each room for three, eight-hour shifts
a day if he could, although the morning shift was not
in high demand. So, a landlord could make $300 a day
before taxes.
"Each client pays 25 dollars for ten minutes. Eleven minutes, another 25
bucks, because time is money and business is business. So if clients want
to keep it cheap, they have to do it like rabbits," Guss clarified.
"In America, most of the time, the women hang out on the streets and
jump into cars and anything can happen to them. Here, prostitution is
centralized where it can be controlled and the women in some ways
protected. Here," Guss continued with less than perfect reasoning "rape
is almost nonexistent because every lunatic can come here and do what
they want to do."
Perhaps that's what made me uncomfortable in the red light district, being
surrounded by lunatics. Or maybe my uneasiness came from the thought
of all that mind-altering testosterone being pumped. The working women
made me sad. I didn't doubt most had chosen this profession, but I
suspected their choices hadn't included becoming a doctor or corporate
executive.
It was nine pm and our two-hour tour was nearly over. To bring the
evening to a close, Gus invited us for a nightcap at De Waag, a small
castle-like edifice illuminated entirely by candlelight. In 1488 De Waag
was built as the city gate and over the centuries, it has known many
occupants. In the 17th century, as an Anatomy Theater, it was the scene
of public dissections and of Rembrandt's painting "The Anatomy Lesson
of Dr. Tulp." As we took in the medieval atmosphere, we watched people
surf the net by candlelight, since De Waag businesses now include a
restaurant, bar and internet cafe.
While we drank our Grolsch beer, Guss continued his red-light district
stories. "About five years ago," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "there
was a Women's Emancipation Committee that was very much against the
fact that there were no men in the windows. A few men took this seriously
and started into the business. It only lasted for two weeks. Not because
they didn't have clients. The problem was they couldn't make money.
After five or six times a day they were over and done and that was that."
The most enlightening tidbit I came across, however, was the one I picked
up from an article after I got home-many of the women in those windows,
it claimed, were actually cross-dressing males. I expect Gus knew this.
But he wasn't going to say so.
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