Amsterdam, Netherlands 2017

 

The Red Light District or De Wallen is an area of opposites. Churches usher out the faithful somber faces onto cobblestone streets directly across red curtained doors, concealing the trading of smiles for euros. Construction, or more accurately rehabilitation of buildings and roads quickly wakes the dreamer of slow walks down canals lined with hanging flower baskets. Any corner can separate chaos from tranquility. It is in just such an incident in which we found ourselves.

Getting lost in a city is usually my job and I take that responsibility seriously. Without liquid “vacation reminders” from several alcoholic establishments, one might actually remember where they are or which direction is “home”. This is unacceptable, mere amateur behavior. Alisa is great at getting us home, especially if that means public transportation. Unless she’s had too many vacation reminders herself, she can rock any subway system in the world. On occasion we both get lost, each failing to prove our individual way is correct, and thereby failing to prove our superior navigational skills.

We left the peace and love of the Red Light District on such a journey one afternoon to find the noise, traffic and congestion of a long road with a longer name. Streets were blanketed with honking mini cars, insanely correct posture bell ringing bicycle operators and dumb lost walking tourists. Staying on the sidewalk far from the target of any bell ringers, we approached a construction site. Jack hammers pounded the street, cranes provided muscle for overhead container placement and arrows on the ground painted the safe path for dumb tourist to walk to avoid danger.

Unknowingly, I became the unofficial group tour guide leading everyone behind me directly though the construction site. Workers yelled, whistled and waved arms. I kept looking down, following the arrows and smiling that Amsterdam smile. It wasn’t until the arrows disappeared and the path led to a moving container and a fence that I realized maybe I shouldn’t be here. I looked back and saw Alisa, then I saw about 20 blind following the blind people looking to me for answers.  I can blame my current location on too many vacation reminders, what was their excuse?  I found a small opening between a 6 foot tall tire and a fence that we could slip through. The others simply turned back, amateurs. What opened up in front of us was our reward. The absolute and utter inability to have any clue where we were. We had made it, lost at last.