Amsterdam

I arrived in Amsterdam station in a train full of young guys. What for? Well, to start with, legalized prostitution. My hostel was located on a street with cafe tables around one corner and cribs before I could reach the other. The girls rent a small, narrow room with a stool to sit on and heavy red drapes. They dress in a variety of costumes, mostly scanty, often red, sometimes lace tops or black stockings, and they strike a variety of poses.These women are healthy, not the emaciated, doped-up girls on so many city streets. Prostitution is an occupation controlled and taxed by the government and has been active here since sometime in the 1600s. They pay taxes and ply their trade according rules set up by the government.I even saw a monument to the sex trade, a statue called 'Belle'. All around the red light district are eritoca museums, shops full of racy accessories and some totally outrageous window displays. Tour guides take groups through the district, umbrellas held high, grey haired men pretending not to look while their wives openly gawk. One does not photograph the working girls.

Marijuana is also legal with shops selling a variety of products to get you high and paraphanelia to go with it. I was tempted to buy pot chocolate bars but knew they'd nail me at customs if I tried to bring home any souvenirs. On the weekend one can almost get a contact high just walking down the street. Otherwise beer flows freely. Sunday morning there were several young men sleeping it off on the sidewalks and I wondered if they still had their wallets.

On a more sober note, Amsterdam is loaded with canals, at least in the old section. Boats are parked all along them: rowboats, motorboats, tourist boats, even houseboats decked out with flowerpots. If one is lucky enough to catch the sun shining, the buildings cast colorful reflections on the sparkling water.I watched the progress of a couple ducks building an nest in a dingy full of water and a blue heron standing on the prow of another in the center of the red light district showing no concern at all about the party raging around him. I met a couple adding their love lock to the colorful collection already padlocked to a small bridge, a declaration of love they told me while hamming it up for my camera.

My first impression of the buildings was that they leaned but not in harmony. I thought it was age and the fact that much of old Amsterdam is built on pilings sunk into what was once a waterway. On a walking tour our guide explained it: taxes were once assessed by footage on the street so houses were built tall, narrow and deep. At the top there is a hook to haul up the furniture because of the too-narrow stairwells and some buildings were tilted to facilitate the process...and to keep the rain out. Many buildings have the same step and bell-gabled styles I saw in Belgium but a good number were far more ornate, some decorated with images of trade, heraldry and classical statues.

These figures indicated apothecaries.

Culture? There is plenty. I got lost a few times before I found museumsplein where there are a few museum options. I chose the Van Gogh Museum where I was blown away by his skill represented in so many styles. Amsterdam seems to prefer Rembrandt, honoring him with a museum as well as a park bearing his statue and a bronze 3d version of his painting Night Watch. I am ashamed to admit its the only museum I visited in Amsterdam. Their is variety in the buskers who play accordian, classical or light jazz; not one rock 'n roller did I encounter.

Donald Duck a la Van Gogh.

These boys were amazing.

Let's not forget the markets After all, Holland is said to be the tulip capitol of the world. I tried to slip a tulip bulb past customs but they took it away from me without even a slap on the hand. I found the flower market, book market, produce market, and cheese. Yes cheese. Holland is a major cheese producer with the happiest cows around. And where else does one find wooden shoes!

Flanders Battlefield Tour

One can't go to Belgium without viewing one or the other of its famous battlefields so I hopped a Quasdsimodo tour bus to Yper with an incredibly knowledgeable  guide. It was all about a four year series of battles during the first world war that cost half a million lives. This was trench warfare at its worst: where chemical warfare was introduced, a little ground gained here, lost there, gained again and so, so many casualties. Poor Belgium, flat, friendly countryside that looked like the perfect route to the East and had ports to boot. No wonder Germany invaded and there they bogged down. Literally.

We visited several cemeteries and someone, asking about the wooden crosses, was told that wood rots and they were being replaced by headstones. It seems every commonwealth has its own cemetery, if not two, row upon row of stones, many marked 'soldier of the great war' which translates to 'unknown soldier'. Mass graves were moved and a monument or statue placed over them. The German cemetery is full of low black markers because white stands for purity which didn't define them, at least not in Belgium. That and the oak trees within gave it a stark look and feel.

15 years old.

Along the way we looked into bunkers, walked through a messenger trench, and visited the pockmarked Hill 60 which has been left as it was. One could hardly call it a real hill but any rise was valued for its long-range visibility so bitter battles were waged to determine who would be its occupier. Hill 60 is terribly uneven with dips and craters left from the shelling. Walking the trail, I could see bits of rusty metal showing and wondered if anything live was under there.

 

The area is now green agricultural land, so beautiful one might never suspect that it was once a vast landscape left bare,burnt and poisoned. Yet every farmer has shell casings, rusty rifles, the debris of war. A special squad deals with the live rounds that are still turning up and sometimes cause the death of some hapless farmer or construction worker. There are still thousands upon thousands of soldiers unaccounted for and a few are found each year. Its a war that never ends.

Tommy accepts carrot bribes from tour operators.

This arch in Ypers bears 50,000 names, about half the number missing.

And the poppies? There were none. This is the centennial, our guide told us, and the tourists pick them all.