A Hero's Journey

Thank you, Jango F., Chicago, IL for your review of the Red Light District in Amsterdam, Netherlands. 

Let me start by saying that I love this review. You’re (notice the correct use of this word here) the only person to write a review about what it actually is: a place of business. You’ve given information on pricing, hours of operation, type of service, quality of service, and personal experience. Despite not always getting the best bang for your buck (get it?), you still value it as a five-star experience. Most importantly, though, you learned something. Not just about sex or the Netherlands but about yourself. 

I imagine you, years from now… You don’t have much time left to live but you’re still able to enjoy quiet moments by the fireplace, drinking brandy out of a snifter, while everyone in your burgeoning family sleeps. Just you alone with your memories. The heat from the flames on your face reminds you of the neon lights from your first brothel as you pressed your forehead against the glass and you’re (again, proper use of this word) transported back to your trip to Amsterdam in July of 2022. 

All hopped up on space cake with the appetite for experience you, a naive midwesterner abroad for the first time since you were a kid, turn left onto Oudezijds Achterburgwal ready to become a man. You’ve “made love” before but these high school fumblings don’t compare to the level of professional passion you’re about to experience. Your parents gave you some spending money - they mentioned Van Gogh and something else about tulips but you know that education is more about doing than seeing. 

As you walk down the cobblestone street, you look over to see a gaggle of swans bathed in a fluorescent red glow reflected in the canals. You pause and take a deep breath, this is the one, you think, as you turn and walk into the business in front of you. 

First, there’s Esmee. Tender, kind, innocent Esmee. Like a sexually mature Shirley Temple without all the tap dancing - you make a mental note to Google whether or not she’s still living. Her warm acceptance of you exactly as you are gives you the confidence to move on to Fleur. Feminine, elegant, aromal; like the flower. It’s really more of a musk but she’s French so perhaps it is what they call a je ne se quoi. Then there is Olga.

Olga, a Georgian woman you are extremely excited about - Trip Advisor named her a must-meet! - is old enough to be your mother and she certainly acts like it. You can’t understand a single word she says but all of the laughing is completely unnecessary. Next, there is Vajèn, who despite the onomatopoeic nature of the name, has a penis. A truth you know you will take to the grave. 

On the eve of your departure, you stroll down Oudezijds Achterburgwal, as you have every day before, when something beckons you down a dimly lit alley. You cross the canal and find yourself standing in front of a small mom-and-pop brothel - or privéhuizen as you’ve learned - to see her. Noor is her name. Her willowy figure towers over you. You’re a bit frightened at first but then she sneezes and wipes her nose with the crease of her elbow. Embarrassed, you share a smile. The humanity of this moment sends a tingle down your spine and into the seam of your pants. You can’t open the door to the privéhuizen fast enough. 

Money is no longer an issue as time seems to stand still with Noor. In between rounds of lovemaking, Noor shares with you a local delicacy; a stroopwafel. Unfortunately, some of the syrup gets stuck in her mussy tresses and you’re forced to cut it out. You both laugh as she puts the strand in a small ornate box for safekeeping. You ask her what it’s like to live in Amsterdam. She tells you about their incredible healthcare system, ability to bike everywhere, and about the time she was stoned and fell asleep naked beneath the stars on a kayak in the canal. You wonder why you ever have to go back to the Midwest. 

As your last moment approaches, Noor leans in and whispers something in your ear.  “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country”, which could not be more perfect since she knows you’ve always been insecure about living up to your parent’s expectations as an only child. Maybe it’s not always about you, you realize. A single tear falls down your cheek. Noor licks it off and walks towards the door. Classic Noor. You know you’ll be indebted to her forever. 

A changed man, with a newfound meaning of life, you decide to do something for someone else. Specifically your parents. You visit the Anne Frank Museum to learn something you can actually tell them about when you return home. It’s a lot bigger than you had imagined, which surprises you, but it’s harrowing nonetheless. 

Back in Chicago, you meet the woman with whom you’re going to spend the rest of your life. Her name is Nora, which you take as a good sign. You never return to Amsterdam but you think about it often. Esmee, Fleur, Olga, even Vajèn, but especially Noor. 

Sitting in that chair by the fireplace, a full life behind you, your soul leaves your body as the flames fade to ashes. The snifter falls to the ground; not a drop of brandy left. 

Five out of five stars, Jango F.

And, thank you. 

See you next Tuesday.