View from the Pier

I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.
 
Bob Dylan, 1941-

Amsterdam, Netherlands

Wandering the winding crooked streets of De Wallen on a Sunday morning, Tom and I walked past open windows from which wafted the strong cloying scent of weed.  In this neighborhood named for the medieval walls damming Amsterdam’s canals, we caught glimpses inside elegant 17^th century buildings of stoned college kids sitting in clusters of two and three.  Despite adjoining elbows perched on shared tabletops, each fresh face stared into space, and there was no chatter over the coffee cups.  These students were poster children for solo trips launched at the hash bars lining the cobblestoned streets of Amsterdam’s Red Light District.  Their excursion here was only as a portal to somewhere much more remote.  

A veil of light misty rain began to descend, and we picked up our pace, trotting by museums dedicated to marijuana and sex.  The skies darkened, thunder cracked, and under a deluge, we ran past a string of storefront windows, the casings painted in the shade of bright pink bubble gum.  Inside, empty-eyed, scantily-clad prostitutes danced joylessly to music we couldn’t hear.

The next morning, the sun streamed through the windows of our funky, minimalist hotel room.  I had slept for 12 hours and my dreamless slumber had cleared the cobwebs of my jetlag.  Out on the street, we joined a frenetic crush of morning commuters, a ballet of bicycles, trams, and pedestrians.  The cast of thousands moved forward, merged together, and motored off, all to the tinkling score of the cyclists’ bells. 

With a pause in the performance, we crossed the street to the block-long flower market known as Bloemenmarkt in Dutch.   Fifteen stalls line the Singel Canal off Dam Square, each the size of a country garden.  The open air stands were imbued with a fragrant bouquet of lavender, rosemary, roses and tulips and bursting with cheery bunches of candy-colored buds and colorful displays of brightly-decorated seed packages. 

As we and our fellow tourists stood back to admire this exuberant oasis for the senses, we saw that locals were serious shoppers here.  A tow-headed father and son duo inspected shelves overflowing with flowers before carefully placing their selection in the basket of their bicycle and riding off to present their gift.  An elderly man perused rows of potted plants, peering over glasses perched low on his nose, hands clasped behind his back as he paraded back and forth, savoring the day’s decision.  A middle-aged woman in a jaunty beret conducted the sniff test, leaning in close to a floral spray, cupping her hands, breathing deeply and grinning giddily before moving on to her next hit of nosegay.  An earthy-looking apron-clad clerk presided over the patch of Eden, a beatific Cheshire cat smile on her face, seemingly quite content with where she had been planted.

Wherever I find myself, my contentment quota can sometimes be unpredictable; I can be in extraordinarily beautiful settings and feel uncomfortable, and I can be in the throes of exceedingly difficult circumstances and feel at peace.  Whether in response to external events or internal shifts, a new awareness comes of its own accord, and can often catch me off-guard.  Yet I’ve had an ever-increasing sense that there is a certain cyclical rhythm to my seasons of angst, ecstasy and the everyday in-between. 

A friend recently observed in a kind voice “You are taking yourself awfully seriously lately.”  I was a little taken aback and wounded but, true to my mood of the moment, I took her and her perception, well, seriously.   I reflected on my life of late both inside and out, and came to the conclusion that there had been good reason to ponder and assess, to hibernate and look inward. 

I recalled another point in my life, a long time ago, after my brother died, and my sudden realization then that I had not laughed in a many a day.  At that time, I remembered that a few years earlier at my friend Kathy’s graduation party, her father Big Bill told me I should get a job with creators of a sitcom laugh track, because it was impossible to hear me roar without joining in.  I remembered that advice as one of the nicest compliments I ever got, yet in my grief at the time of that recollection, I despaired. I questioned if I would ever again feel that twitch tickling my lower abdomen, the kind that bubbles up into a good hard belly laugh, the kind that knocks the breath out of you and brings tears to your eyes. 

And with that memory of a memory, I knew what I was ready to do.  Rummaging around in some drawers, I found what I was looking for and, with it, went upstairs to my sun room.  The warm light of the late afternoon sun glinted off the water and poured through the big picture glass window.  I put in place what I had brought up with me, pushed a button and stood still in anticipation. 

And, then, CD player set at “11,”a resounding rhythm filled the room, and the cries of Sly and the Family Stone rose to an insistent drum beat, the intertwined twang of harmonica and slide guitar and the reverberation of gospel organ.    Like a woman possessed, I began to shake my hips and mutter “Boom-laka-laka-boom,” as Sly did indeed “Take me Higher.” To the tune of “Everybody is a Star,” I was playing “ba-ba-ba-ba-ba” on my vocal kazoo.  By track three, I was testifying, shouting “Stand, Stand, Stand,” bunions pointed skyward as I kicked up my heels high, clapping as I belted out “There’s a cross for you to bear, Things to go through if you’re going anywhere. You’ve been sitting much too long, There’s a permanent crease in your right and wrong.” 

And with the last line of the refrain, “There is a midget standing tall and a giant beside him about to fall,” I was out of breath from both dancing and laughing out loud.   Amen!

Ultimately, I am aways grateful for my growth spurts.  Despite the pains when a budding life lesson shoots through to the surface, I have always been able to eventually turn toward the light.

http://www.holland.com/global/cities/amsterdam/
 
http://www.iamsterdam.com/en/visiting
 
http://www.amsterdam.info/
 
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/the-netherlands/amsterdam
 
http://www.frommers.com/destinations/amsterdam/

Amsterdam