By the way, if your man is of the middle east extraction, best believe that the injury on his index finger was sustained in his fierce altercation with a 6footer curvy blonde that he (un)intentionally slapped her buttocks in his drunken state. The lass had viciously gone full-on ghetto on him…. oh, he didn’t get the memo that you don’t mess with a 6ft tall blonde on 7 inches high stilettoes in the central station axis of Amsterdam on a sunny Sunday morning? No, you don’t! Dude must have learnt a lesson or two on manners; believe whatever gibberish he feeds you at your peril, your man is an unapologetic he-goat. I don’t usually recommend starting off on a savagery note but you see some of these other gender, they literally move so recklessly. Now rants over, thanks for the audience.
Did I mention that I eventually visited the red light district, not twice but thrice? Oh yeah, I decided to pull all the stops to make sure that I broke all the available records, my new friend should have already known that I do the absolute most when it comes to tasks as sacrosanct as this. I am a journalist, the nosy kind and it doesn’t help that I’m adventurously competitive; that bestie of the devil friend of mine drew the blood line the moment she challenged me to “experience the other side of Amsterdam; now I’ve listened, now I’ve obeyed, now I can’t stop.
While on my third red light district stint, I met yet another specie of human, who was to later become my friend no 2, the only difference between her and friend no 1 is, she’s a red light district addict, she admits to be aware that she needs help but according to her she’s ‘not in the headspace’ for that at the moment, why? She’s stuck in Amsterdam for the next eighteen months on work capacity and she’s intentional about her recreational activities; red light district and coffee shops provide more than enough recreation. To be honest, she almost made me want to try the coffee shop thingy, but I’m a badass…we just roll differently.
“as a journalist, you should always avail yourself of daring things” she said.
“of course, my third visit to this place is daring enough” I answered, while we walked aimlessly like two juveniles around the length and breath of the ever boisterous red light district neighbourhood; every description of that magical neighbourhood of RLD fits, whatever you heard of the area is the truth, I can guarantee that, go ahead and believe it, but endeavour to ‘experience’ it for yourself….I already told that your soul will never rest in perfect peace if you failed to visit Amsterdam.
“but of what use is the visit if you don’t have the coffee shop experience” she continued, her face betrayed no form of emotion, one similarity she shared with friend no 1, these girls are legends!
I don’t want to hear this ‘experience’ word again, bestie no 1 used it once and I found myself racing to the city to beat an imaginary record, now this daughter of lucifer is advising me to go the coffee shop route, was I destined to encounter demons in human form or what?
Dear daughter of Beelzebub, I am neither a regular coffee drinker nor a coffee shop attendee, I am intentional about my mental health and so far my psychiatrist thinks I’m doing great, I however still have about 42 rounds of psychiatric interventions before I’m released into the (in)sane society, so thanks for the offer, but no thanks.
I’ve been experiencing the wonderful world of the city of Amsterdam since 2016, first as an annual tourist, then as a habitual tourist and lately as a partial resident and I can authoritatively say that I haven’t even scratch the surface of the depth of this phenomenal city….the deeper you get the crazier it becomes.
