Amsterdam is a mad house. I nearly got killed by three bikes and a tram before I even reached my hostel. The smell of marijuana drifted from the park adjacent my hostel’s entrance. I needed to be buzzed in through two doors before I even reached the reception desk. Up in the 6-bed, all female dorm room I found my bedding shrink wrapped in a plastic package. Welcome home Kendal!

After making my bed and locking up all my belongings I forced myself outside pushing aside my first impressions of Amsterdam. After all this was the city so many of my friends raved about, praised for being one of the most tolerant places in the world, with innovative solutions to some of the world’s most controversial social issues.

Later that evening I met with a group of people from BusAbout, the company I’ve been using for transportation. Our crew member from the day’s trip had offered to give an evening tour through of the Red Light District which gained a lot of interest from passengers. The night was full of energy, you could feel the city rev up as the sun went down. We grabbed a quick bite at a noodle joint near Dam Square then off to see the famed Red Light District.

The streets felt dirty and grimy, perpetuated by the mounds of trash floating in the canal next to us. By 9:00pm men of all ages already stood along the sidewalks. Red curtains, elluminated by red lights hung in the windows. It was still early enough only a handful of women stood behind the glass doors of these little rooms. Some standing, vigorously working to attract business, others leaning back in their chairs, seemingly disinterested, on their phones. The streets had nicknames like “skinny lane” (which was actually physically very narrow) where the high-end, thin prostitues were rumored to be. Walking the same streets much later that same night women were illuminated in every window. I felt very conflicted, these women were being seen as objects, and sex as a good to be bought and sold. Their looks their currency in this upsidedown industry. Seeing these women as humans, as daughters, as mothers I felt sad. I hope they are here by choice and not for lack of options. I highly doubt that is true in all cases, but I’m glad that as a legalized industry in Amsterdam the city mandates better conditions for sex workers and enforces safety measures that benefit these women no matter why they are there.

My new found friends from the evening tour and I bar hop the rest of the night away. A friendly and insistent, but harmless, pair of men in town on business buy us drinks one after the next using their company credit cards. The older of the two men starts the conversation talking about his daughter (who is the same age as us) and ends the night pernouncing one of us will be his next wife. Very, very strange- and on that note it was time to leave.

Next thing I know my 7:30AM alarm is going off. One of the drawbacks of getting a last minute online ticket to the Van Gough Museum is you’re stuck with the worst times. I make it to the museum by opening time and am thankful to be able to skip line that is already stretching around the building.

I spend about an hour in the exhibit before my exhaustion overcomes me and I know it’s time for coffee. After staring out the window and getting a much needed injection of caffeine I’m ready to fully enjoy the art. I spend hours looking at every piece and reading the captions about the artists life and the other artists who inspired Van Gough’s work. They even had a special exhibit on him slipping into insanity and cutting off his ear. To clarify it was the whole ear, leaving only a small portion of the lobe behind (Yikes!).

Earger to get out into the fresh air around 2:00pm I exited the museum and wandered Museum Square. Taking in all the excitement around the “I Amsterdam” sign. I walked to a local market, marked on the map my hostel gave me. Being outside walking the market strip, the sun on my face, looking at the goods for sale, I’m happy.

The following day I rented a bike. Given the great experience I had in Belgium I was excited to be on a bike again. I was nervous about riding the busy city streets so I ride Vondelpark for awhile before deciding to follow Amstel River out of town towards a hopefully less crowded countryside.

I ride along the river run until the adorable crooked houses with their roof-top hooks are far behind me. I see house boats of all types, people swimming in the river, people floating on inner tubes, vast parks. The whole way the bike path is flawlessly kept providing a nice smooth ride. The landscape becomes more rural as I approach a thatched windmill.

I stop at a sign reading “Rembrandt Hoeve” that is decorated with a pair of clogs. Feeling brave I decide to go check it out in hopes the building is the clog and cheese factory my BusAbout guide had mentioned would be part of a countryside bike tour he was advertising. Looking for the entrance I walk behind the house. There is a barn lined with cows, including two new calves. After petting the cows and taking way too many pictures, I walk through the back door of this mystery barn. I enter a tiny room and a tour group of 30+ Indian tourist turn to face me. I feel embarrassed but am welcomed into the tour and am lovingly referred to as “the American” for the rest of my visit. The crazy farmer leading the tour is the owner of the family run farm and exuberantly shows us how a wooden clogs are made and explains the cheese pressing process as he hands out samples. I can’t even explain how much energy this man has, providing a very entertaining tour. At one point he even borrowed/took my phone and began taking selfies left and right! It was quite the experience and I can say I’m very glad I made the stop.

After riding back into the city I met with my BusAbout friends for dinner. Their trip was coming to a close and they were headed back to Austrailia and the realities of school and work. Back to stability, to not living out of a backpack, to not sharing hostel rooms. I wouldn’t have traded them places but those comforts sounded really nice!

My last stop in Amsterdam was the Anne Frank house. It left me in a very reflective state about the horrible things humans have done, and continue to do, to one another. Being in the space where the Frank family hid for so long helped me imagine their fear and frustration. A quote from Anne in 1943, “I long to ride a bike, dance, whistle, look at the world, feel young and know that I’m free.” I left feeling more grateful than ever for my freedom. I left with a vow to no longer take this freedom for granted.