Walking back to the hotel the next afternoon after a solo stroll around the Oude Zijde (Old City), my route happened to take me through the fringes of the infamous Red Light District. Actual red lamps hung over the bay windows where bored women lounged in lingerie. Unlike many of the hookers in Seattle I’ve seen, who try to make eye contact with a winsome smile, these girls apparently hadn’t been to Hooker U. Other than their lingerie, they weren’t using any marketing or sales skills. They could have been taking tolls on the New Jersey Turnpike. Instead of trying to look alluring, they stared at me with the unblinking eye of Sauron, as if to say, “I dare you to come inside, young hobbit!” This young hobbit kept his brisk pace through Mordor and made it back to the hotel fairly quickly. Unlike some of the braver tourists, I didn’t even stop to take a picture of them. I know theirs must have been a sad life, but it was hard to determine who were the predators and who were the prey.
MEXICAN?
The second meal is what I will call EuroMex. It’s like TexMex but more baffling. We chose Tio Pepe’s because it was a short saunter around the block from the Victoria Hotel. I still had a warm glow in my tummy from Puri Mas the night before, but Cammy was hungry. She has a continuous craving for Mexican food that cannot be assuaged by earthy means, so I had high hopes riding on Uncle Pepe.
To riff on The Doors, “Tacos are strange when you’re a stranger....” It started with the basket of chips brought to the table. They were Doritos Taco Flavor tortilla chips, out of the bag. Accompanying them were a decent salsa fresca and an absolutely pulverized guacamole that looked like green pudding. It wasn’t great but we were hungry. Fortunately the lime margaritas were tasty. The combination of tequila and lime can cure a lot of ills.
Things got more brutal when the menus arrived. I searched for about ten minutes looking for something, anything, that sounded appetizing. The burritos and tacos at nearby tables didn’t inspire me, and I wasn’t in a fajita mood. Fajitas can be good, but they’re basically Mexican stir-fry. I knew something authentically Mexican was too much to hope for, but I was craving anything with a complex, rich sauce.
I like to try unfamiliar dishes in Mexican restaurants. However, in case of menu emergencies, I have default order: enchiladas drenched in either a red rancho sauce or a green chili verde sauce. So with some trepidation, I finally ordered enchiladas. The problem was, they didn’t come with any sauce. Or meat. They were strangely vegetarian, featuring goat cheese and spinach. I had to beg our waitress to put some chicken into them.
When the enchiladas, they were dry and crispy on the outside, having come straight out of the oven. They were also dry and crispy on the inside, with no redeeming sauce anywhere. Accompanying them on this highway to hell were plain boiled kidney beans and a lackluster Mexican rice.
Cammy ordered more intellegently. Her “Spidey Senses” started tingling an alarm in her head as soon as she glanced at the menu. She carefully backed away from the Mexican side of the menu and wisely chose Argentine steak, which turned out to be pretty good. 
Perhaps the most indelible image I have kept of Amsterdam are the bicycles. They are everywhere, both in motion and parked nearly everywhere. There is even a “Dutch bike” style. It is essentially an old style “girls” bike with a step-through steel frame, painted in black. It has a platform on back and either a basket, seat or platform on the front. It is almost always a three-speed, creatively rusty and usually emitting clanking noises. In short, it is the bike version of a beater. Massive cluttered bike racks are to be found everywhere one glances. And locking these functional castoffs to the racks are massive chains with huge padlocks. I would theorize that the locks are more valuable than the bikes they are protecting. How the Dutch find their one decrepit black utility bike among hundreds at each bike rack is a mystery.
THAI
The third and final dinner we had was Thai. Bird Thai Restaurant on Zeedijk Street was reputedly the best Thai food in town. I can’t vouch for that, but I can vouch for the long line out the door, the half hour wait to get a table, and the absolutely delicious dishes presented to us.
Cammy went for her perennial favorite--green curry with eggplant and chicken. Although Pad Thai Noodles have to be among the most addictive of foods--the culinary equivalent of heroin--I opted for a spicy squid and vegetable dish. I know I’ve had a memorable meal when I am absolutely full, yet I am still tring to find a way to eat the remaining tantalizing pieces of tender squid and curried chicken that I couldn’t finish. It was wonderful to end our Amsterdam experience with a great dinner.
We saw a lot of cool things in Amsterdam, such as the Anne Frank House and the Rijksmuseum, among many others. If there are any morals to this story, the first is when visiting a former colonial power, you can’t go wrong with the food of their colonized. The second is that Thai food is a safe bet almost anywhere in the world. And when so many American restaurants screw up Mexican food, despite America’s proximity to Mexico, don’t trust it farther afield. Finally, the Dutch do licorice better than anybody.
