Delft in colour

Delft

Den Haag, just up the road

Bikes!

Delft, The Netherlands – I took the Eurostar and then a couple of intercity trains from London to Delft recently.

It was a relaxed and relatively cheap way to check out the Continent and also visit two old friends from my hometown now living in The Netherlands.

Delft is a cool little town. Like a compact version of Amsterdam, with the same picturesque canals, cobble streets and bike traffic.

In fact, the town was virtually carless, with large squares and many roads given over to pedestrians and cyclists. What a great idea. It made life much more pleasant without the roar of traffic.

And riding everywhere must be a dream without worrying about cars trying to kill you, like in London.

Delft in black and white

Canal life

Markt Square

Cycling in the rain

Sunday afternoon

Jordaan canal scene

Amsterdam, The Netherlands – One of my favourite activities in Amsterdam was to wander the back streets of Jordaan, a leafy, gentrified suburb on the canals to the west of the city.

It had a wonderful mix of tree lined streets, funky cafes, clothing stores and broodje (sandwich) shops to keep the mind interested and the body refuelled.

On the Sunday afternoon the weather reflected my state of mind perfectly. Overcast, humid and a little dense. I’d spent the previous evening cruising around with Andy and Mike on rented bikes. Tucking into delicious Indonesian at dinner. Drinking ice cold mugs of Heineken. Later on things got a bit weird. A bit crazy. Suddenly it was 4am and we were lost and it was funny and then sometimes frightening and other times enlightening.

Now Sunday. Not knowing what else to do I grabbed the Nikon and headed out into the streets.

Enjoying the late afternoon sun with a Hoegaarden

Al fresco
For many Amsterdammers it was the last day of summer holidays before they were back at work. They made the most of the unseasonably warm weather and tumbled outside in their hundreds. In back streets dining tables and chairs had been pulled out for impromptu dinners. Couples laid on rugs by the canal, sipping from iced bottles of Heineken.

The houses themselves were intriguing. Much like in Vietnam, they were taxed on the width of the building. The canals were bordered on each side by towering, narrow terrace homes. Some bulged out above the street at odd angles. Others leaned towards their neighbour. I’m told the reason for this is the houses were built on wooden pilings sunk into the soft earth. Over decades or even centuries the pilings had settled at different lengths.

Real life Wallpaper* magazine
Looking into the buildings was always interesting. Due to the northern European tradition of tasteful decoration, it was often hard to tell which was a home, a shop or a design studio. They all seemed to have a couple of Apple Macs, a couch and a large kitchen table in the stylish front room. And all these different spaces seemed to coexist quite comfortably next to one another

Flower markets

Jordaan was definitely a peaceful place. Bikes coasted past constantly, jangling faintly on the cobbled streets. The burble of conversation floated out from the various bars, restaurants and cafes. Boats put-putted down the canals. The Dutch were certainly relaxed bunch at ease with their lives right then on that warm Sunday evening.

And so was I. I grabbed a large tube of Heineken from a corner store and joined a couple of elderly Dutch ladies, sipping from their own (small) cans of beer, on a park bench by the canals and watched the sky fade to black.

Wide eyed

Spuistraat backstreet, Amsterdam

Amsterdam, The Netherlands – English geezers on stag parties. Whores and red lights. Green plumes of smoke drifting from coffee shops.

That’s what I thought of when my friend Andy invited me to visit Amsterdam with him for a long weekend recently. And you know what, I was right. It was all these things. Luckily, it was also a lot more.

But first, the red light district. My first look at this scene was walking from the train station to our hotel late on Friday night. I was humping my backpack and chatting away to Andy when I noticed out of the corner of my eye an inviting shape waving at me to my left. Probably no more than two metres away. I turned to look. And was confronted by a beautiful girl, probably no more than two metres away from me and divided only by a pane of glass, wearing nothing but a very skinny bathing suit and an enchanting smile.

Embarrassed, I quickly looked away – to the other side of the street. Where there was another girl behind another red lit window. She was beautiful too. She saw me look and her smile lit up as she tapped the glass to beckon me over. Oh no! I looked away again, upwards towards the sky. There were more windows with more girls up there.

We practically ran for it. The entire street was dotted with red lanterns and behind each window was a girl, moving suggestively. The effect of the black light made the whole thing seem surreal. Like they were toys in a plastic wrapped box.

The real red light district
Turns out our hotel wasn’t even in the red light area proper. After checking in and grabbing the third mate on the trip, Mike, we headed out into the red light district. We set up shop outside the Old Sailor and drank half litre mugs of sudsy Amstel beer while we watched the crowds walk past.

Gangs of English blokes in uniforms of shaved heads, gold chains and leisure wear prowled the streets. A few timid package tourists, wives gripping husbands’ arms, walked by in wonderment. Stoners stumbled by with bleary red eyes. Roving gangs of Italian lads in red Ferrari jackets chatted away excitedly, only stopping to stare the girls in the windows up and down.

Hard men in leather jackets called for business outside neon-lit sex shows. Punters matter-of-factly browsed the aisles of porn shops – at 12.20am – flicking through almost every genre and fetish imaginable.

Across the canal from the pub we watched what we later learned was the most expensive window in the strip do a roaring trade. The lads brave enough to leave the cheers of the crowd behind and negotiate with the girl lasted, by our estimation, about eight minutes in her upstairs bedroom. Maximum. And the going rate was apparently more than 50 euros for 15 minutes.

See the Amsterdam photo gallery here.

Backpack Storybook tip: We stayed at The Tourist Inn for 165 euro per night for three single beds. Nothing flash, quite small but a great location. Expensive for what it was, but Amsterdam’s like that with accomodation.