“It must be them,” I mutter, pointing at a group of young girls sitting just a few feet away. Good quick thinking – just the way I like it! The Dutch local seems to have fallen for it hook, line & sinker. He’s sporting a brown leather just jacket with a fluffy pink scarf wrapped half way up around his head to mask the stench…This is definitely stranger than fiction and I soon begin to questioning normality…
I hastily make my exit off the tram. Unaware of the foreign surroundings I step off looking straight at the Van Gogh Museum. Here I am. Amsterdam. A city brimming with an abundance of culture. So much history, so much beauty it’s hard not to fall in love with its diversity and sheer bizarreness.
Ringing…lots of ringing… everywhere… What the…? bicycles coming at me from all angles. Can’t seem to get away from the roaming hoards. To put it simply, they are everywhere, the angry mob riding the two-wheeled revolution. Have to keep moving.
I find myself Missioning down the infamous Red Light District, I have to dodge the sex show PR personnel… like a swarm of flies moving towards a neon light, they stop for nothing. I make a quick left turn, down another alley and find myself smack bang in the middle of a rusta coffee shop. What are the chances… I pinch myself to make sure this was all happening. The guy with the dreads gives me the once over, obviously declaring to himself that I am indeed a tourist and an extremely happy one at that.
So I sit down, kick back and ask myself: “So, how do I say eye-drops in Dutch…?”
