After we got to the train station we took a quick train to Antwerp (about 45 minutes from Brussels) then boarded our bus heading to Amsterdam. You know how it is socially acceptable on public transportation to keep to yourself and behave normally? Well, I guess I was getting paid back for the all the times I talked to loud in public, because there were a group of 10 loud Italians that talked, partied, and danced incessantly on our bus. Because of course that’s what you should do when your on a 3 hours evening bus ride to Amsterdam, you should drink booze and play music from your phones like your in a nightclub. I’m glad I have never been too loud or disturbed someone when they were trying to relax or sleep or watch a movie. It’s a good thing I am always quiet and have such a calm demeanor.
Anyway, Me, Sarah and Jess got to Amsterdam, checked into our hostel and were told that we got “upgraded” to a private room for the night because no one had paid extra for it that night and we were the only girls in the place, so they felt like we needed it the most. Pictures of it are on my Facebook page…Let’s just say I was not too thrilled, but it looked very clean and basically what I expected out of a hostel. So soon after that we went out for dinner and ran into some guys at dinner who told us we should hang out with them later….We of course agreed and decided to meet them for dessert later. Well little did we know that these two boys were from Switzerland and were in Amsterdam with fifteen of their Swiss Med School Fraternity friends…..no big deal. We just hit the jackpot in Amsterdam, 2 hours after arriving. We hung out with them for a long time that night, had an absolute blast as we tried to convince them that we were actually Belgian and not from the states…and somehow one of them gave me their sweater because they saw I was pretty cold. At the end of the night, me and the girls headed home and as we walked into the hostel I realized I still had the stupid sweater on. We tried for the next two days to give it back to them…but somehow never ended up seeing them. The next day I checked the tag of the sweater, found out it was Brooks Brothers sweater that probably cost a couple hundred bucks. So basically Friday was a success. I may have been in Amsterdam, but I sure ended up loving Switzerland in the end.
Saturday we woke up early, found out that we had to move rooms because someone actually paid for the private room, so we had to move into the regular dormitory. In Bailey’s mind the regular dormitory equated to a large cabin like room with a bunch of bunkbeds and girls in those bunkbeds. Well I was exactly on spot, minus the girls thing. Who knew that the regular dormitory meant that really gross boys and their stuff would be all over the room. Didn’t the people at the hostel know who I was? I am called Princess Bailey for a reason. I do not like dirty socks laying around, nor do I like seeing gross boys laying in their gross boxers, nor do I like not being able to speak the language of the other people in the room, nor do I like being one of only three girls in the entire room of 12 boys. As I walked into this room, I considered audibly praying. Instead, I was shouting things at God in my mind like “Lord….you better get me through this.” “ Jesus… if one of those boys farts I think I am going to cry.” “Sweet Lord in heaven…I totally understand what you are doing right now, you are allowing me to experience hardship in the form of gross sleeping arrangements so I never ever ever ever have to do it again, so I will deal with it right now”.
So those were some of the thoughts running through my head as I walked into the “regular dorm” of the hostel. Literally, I was one more dirty sock away from getting my butt out of their and using Daddy’s credit card at the Marriott I saw down the street. Sure my parents would have been thrilled with that one. Also, this was the FIRST (and possibly only) time in my ENTIRE life (childhood, teenage, and adult) that I have been in a room of boys and not wanted to flirt, talk to or kiss any of them. I remember walking out of that room and thinking, “my view of men has just been altered forever, I think they really are just pigs”. Needless to say, I was a little sad about my realization but know that most people in my life are thrilled that I have finally come to this understanding (cough Sheri Harris cough).
After moving into our new incredible home, we left rather quickly and went to get in line with rest of Amsterdam for the Anne Frank House. The line wasn’t near as bad as I was expecting, but no matter how long it was…I knew I was going to see that freakin house. As a fourth grader, I read the Diary of Anne Frank probably three or four times. I really liked to read and to this day this book is one of my favorites. I still get teary eyed every time I look at her words; her vulnerability, fear and emotion basically jumps off the words of the page at you. This little girl changed the way I view life when I was little and going to her Secret Annex made me remember all my heartwarming feelings towards her. As I stepped into the house, I felt like I was literally stepping into an old familiar world that I couldn’t believe existed. Yes, the experience was very sad because of her situation, but so moving to me because I felt like I was getting to know an old friend that I had heard so much about. Walking through the bookcase of the office and up to the secret annex, I was in complete awe. I probably annoyed everyone around me because I kept turning to whoever was near me and saying, “This was her room…these were her pictures…this was her staircase….this was her attic….here’s where she had her first kiss…” Honestly, the entire trip to Amsterdam was worth it solely because of this trip to see the house of my friend Anne Frank. Her diary inspired me to write, inspired me to be real with my words, and taught me that despite the ethnicity, decade or situation, humans are truly all the same…with such a real desire to be loved and taken care of. Anne thanks for your writing, thanks for your courage and thanks for your ability to be so real in such a scary time… your dream of changing the world through your writing has fully come true.
The rest of the day was really fun. Lots of seeing random shops, eating lots of cheese, walking through parks, climbing on signs (I mean I have to practice my climbing skills in case of “taken” situations), going to the Van Gogh Museum, and trying to not get hit by bikes. There are more bikes than people in Amsterdam. It makes me sick. If you do not know, I have a fear/hate of bikes. My family has this newfound fascination with them, but I still have little to no ability to ride them…and at Kanakuk Kamps where I have worked the past two summers there is a Mountain Biking class that I have to teach which consists of the 12 year old girls going faster and being able to peddle longer than me…basically at the end of the class, the girls are encouraging me to keep going. So seeing all of these bikes and hearing that my friends wanted to rent bikes one day…made me want to fake an injury, get a room at the Mariott and go back to Anne Frank’s house in the nerdy world where I belonged. Praise the Lord that when we got to the Bike rental place Saturday afternoon we found out that the bikes were super expensive. The Lord was truly looking down on me then, though he must have had his contacts out or something for the whole hostel thing.
Saturday night I got to experience the red light district, which is the legal prostitution area of Amsterdam. I am not sure what I was expecting to see, but it definitely defied every thought I previously had about it. Me and my friends decided to see the red light district just because it’s one of those things you have to see because you are there. No, I do not think it is ok that it exists, and no I do not support any of the activities that go on there…but I took this trip in order to expand my worldview (and kind of actually have a worldview since I have not traveled outside the US before) and in order to expand my worldview…I have to see how other parts of the world live, and the red light district in Amsterdam is a huge example of something that definitely is outside my current worldview, so I wanted to see and experience it for myself. Me and my friends spent about 20 minutes in the area (all the time you really need). What I was shocked to see was a couple of things:
1. the area is actually all in red lights, there are red lights hanging from the bridges, red lights in the windows that the girls are standing in, and red neon lights everywhere.
2. The red light district is not necessarily a “bad” area of Amsterdam as it would be in other cities; there are stores, clothing shops and frite stands in between the different girls. It is like regular society is carrying on but there are just a bunch of almost naked women standing in the windows between every couple of shops trying to get guys to come to their room.
3. The women would not look me in the eyes. I am not sure why I wanted to catch their glance, but I did. I wanted them to know I saw them, that I cared…part of me wanted to try and give some kind of warm, loving glance to them through the windows that they usually got looked at for completely different reasons. I don’t know why they didn’t look at me (or any of the other girls walking around), but I think its because they knew we weren’t looking for sexual reasons, we were their reality…like the real world looking in on them, giving them a taste of what really was out there.
4. My heart broke for these girls in so many ways. I have developed a real “mama bear” attitude over the past couple of years because of different roles I have played with younger girls (whether at Kamp or with my small group at K-Life), so even though most of these girls were older than I was…all I wanted to do was cover them up with a big blanket and take them to go sit and talk to me while we both cried about the brokenness of the world and the effects of that brokenness. These girls were not that different from me…they were hurt, broken and doing something to survive and get past that brokenness. Does that make their actions ok? No. Does that make my sins/actions ok? No. Are we both covered by the love and grace of a savior who can restore, complete, cleanse any kind of scar, action, habit, and addiction? Absolutely.
I left that night and couldn’t wash what I saw off of me. And I kind of didn’t want to. I wanted to remember how the girls begged for the guys to come near them, how they flaunted themselves, how they avoided my eyes so desparately…. That night I realized that Amsterdam really isn’t the only place in the world that this kind of stuff goes on, it is just the only place that legalizes it. So after seeing this district did I hate Amsterdam and think it was absoultley such a sinful city? No. Did I realize that this kind of crap goes on everywhere and has since the beginning of time? Yes. Does that show me even more the desperate need humanity has for something that is bigger, stronger and more complete than we can ever be? Yes.
Sunday was pretty uneventful…went on a beautiful canal tour and got to see one of my good friends, Marije (who studied in the US a couple years back and was our “host student” for a year, but only occasionally stayed with us) who is from a town 30 minutes from Amsterdam. She took a train that day just to see me and we got to spend some awesome time catching up and having dinner. Such an awesome time and so nice to see a friendly face who was actually from the area.
So basically to sum up my weekend… if you go see Amsterdam, visit the Anne Frank House and the Red Light District…you will learn so much more about the incapablities of our race to truly satisfy ourselves and our desperate need for an all-powerful, all-knowing, loving, merciful savior who is my best friend and is named Jesus.
Love you guys.
Go Cards
Bailey Jo
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