Years ago over a family dinner, my dear uncle went on a drunken rant about how Amsterdam was literally, “hell on earth.” What kind of civilized society, he asked the table, would accept homosexuality, allow drug use and legalize prostitution? We all responded in the way Japanese people do to awkward situations: silence, with no eye contact.
I was doing my best not to get emotional, although my uncle had no idea at the time that he was verbally attacking me. I had only recently come out to my parents then, and certainly not to my relatives. My parents’ strong disapproval was a fresh wound, and my uncle was rubbing salt in it. A cousin unknowingly came to my rescue, and the conversation shifted onto other things.
Since that night, I always wondered what Amsterdam was really like. Pieces of information came via friends who had visited (“Oh my god, the coffeehouses!”), but I knew I had to see it for myself. So we planned the tail end of our Germany tour so we could easily get to Amsterdam.
We decided to avoid the party scene and focus on getting some culture at the two big museums there: the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum. We bought tickets in advance as recommended by everyone, since both museums just reopened after being closed for years and everyone in Europe seemed to be converging on them at the same time.
The Rijksmuseum was nicely renovated. N said it was almost unrecognizeable from the last time she was there. Apparently, the Dutch want this museum to be the “Louvre of the Netherlands”. We have been completely spoiled by New York City museums, which are generally empty or at least large enough to be manageable. Dealing with the crowd at the Rijksmuseum was a bit much, especially being jostled around by the very recognizable clusters of loud Spaniards and Italians.