By Ralph Rewes

Amsterdam welcomed me with a fine drizzle that the moment it touched the sun-heated cobblestones went back up steaming the air and painting it gray. “What a dark city!” I thought. Once I was out of the dimly lit railroad station (where dozens of international trains arrive every day), I was surrounded by a large group of youths, protected from the rain by its wide gate. Most were shabbily dressed, as it is the norm among travelers with limited income.

They all were happy, though, to be in a city that was indeed a lot different from any of their hometowns. Most traveled by train to save money, some because they love train traveling. Others still preferred the fast airways (Amsterdam is connected by air with over one hundred cities in seventy countries). A melody with accelerated rhythm, wiggled its way to my ear through the multilingual voices of the youths.

I think I know that instrument. Fascinating. I happened to be in northern Europe and that tune brought me to the Caribbean. I got it: long time ago, in a tiny island of the Caribbean, a dance hall in the country. The music was coming out of... Why didn't I think of it before? A crank organ! I rubbernecked a little. I was right, the music was coming out of street organ, profusely ornamented with wood cherubim — with yellow halos, white wings and chubby little pink bodies, and other details that belonged more in a small town church than in a musical instrument in the middle of a capital city.

The rain stopped. I stood out off railroad station, then headed to the streetcar stop to catch the one what would take to a third rate hotel a bit away from the hustle and bustle of downtown Amsterdam – attractive with a grandmotherly romanticism! A permanent floating population of youths (Europeans, Americans and Asians) makes it swing.

The streetcar was painted in shouting yellow. I thought it wanted to tell me that Amsterdam, in reality, was far from gray. I took some coins out of my pocket to pay for my fare. A friend of mine had given me some change he saved from his last trip. The conductor looked at them and told me that those coins were obsolete. They had been discontinued long time ago. A total stranger stood up from his seat and paid for my fare. His courtesy saved me from walking and gave me the pleasant impression of being welcome.

I communicated with the conductor bilingually, that is. I spoke German, he spoke Dutch, and there! As by magic we understood each other. For Dutch is similar to German — as Portuguese is to Spanish. I learned of this fringe benefit on the train when I asked a Dutchman sitting next to me where could I buy water. ("Bitte, können Sie mir sagen, wo ich Wasser kaufen kann?”) He understood everything but the word Wasser.

“Wasser?” he asked me. "Ja, zu trinken!" I explained. His face glowed: "Ach, Water! (pronounced “vatah”). What a pleasant surprise! I was able to understand a language I had never head before. What a plus! I thought.

From the railroad station to the hotel, I was fascinated by those old structures (about thirteen thousands buildings provide that touching mood to downtown Amsterdam). Those unique buildings are, I would say, like "animated beings." Both, form and color make them look in my imagination as organic — leaning on each other.

Yes, sir. Amsterdam cuddles like a granny with thousands of grandchildren Over twenty five thousand out of her 800 thousand inhabitants are college kids, 160 thousand, grammar and high school students. To tope it all, a large portion of the ten million people who visit the city every year, is also young.

I walked back downtown (Binnenstad) two hours later. The feeling of security and peace that I enjoyed on the streetcar evaporated like the rain on the road. Walking, I faced chaotic vehicles running through a complicated network of traffic signals and lights: some for streetcars, some for bikes, others for cars, and even some for pedestrians.

This was too much, I was a little confused already after taking a shower in the hotel. This may seem unusual for us, but in liberal Amsterdam, in some hotels, showers are integrated... men and women share the showers in an open hall with no partitions. Thinking about the experience and confused by all the different signals and lights, I was almost hit by a streetcar. Boy, did I go back to reality in a flash!

Getting closer to downtown Amsterdam, I saw a black column of smoke sprouting out of one the beautiful old buildings (poorly protected against fire). The fire spread through the whole building, destroying an architectural jewel of the city. Lamentably, those fires are frequent.

Feeling appalled by the loss, a group of people with long faces watched the fire eat up the structure. When it was over, they went back to their daily routine. Meanwhile, tourists rallied around their guides, some like ducklings following mother duck; others marched in military formations.

Through the narrow streets of the Binnestad, people shopped or just browsed around, staring all rare items traded back from the former colonies the Netherlands had all over the world. There were abaci, weird looking pipes — you name it! The well-to-do tourists made expensive deals at the glass counters of the jewelry stores.

Rich visitors know the city as "Diamond City." Since -1570, Amsterdam started the profitable business of cutting raw diamonds with refugees from the Spanish rule in the south of Holland. In a year the number of workers went up to six hundred. With the discovery of diamond mines in South Africa, this industry boomed. In 1870, it finally reached a prominent position in the world.

As it happens in business, the diamond industry suffered ups and downs. In 1936, the first diamond exhibit in the world opened in Amsterdam. Then, Second World War brought catastrophe to this industry. Not only valuable jewels disappeared, but also about two thousand skilled Jewish workers vanished during tile Nazi occupation of the Netherlands.

Today, there are an increasing number of cutting and other diverse shops that employ thousands of workers, mounting, cutting and polishing the gems. It was in Amsterdam where the biggest diamond ever found was worked, the famous “Cullinan” cut into nine big gems and 96 brilliants.

Since 1947, the only European school for classifying those gems functions in Amsterdam. It is a privilege for jewelers from every nook of the world to attend that school. Diamond industry is not all vanity. The industrial demand for this hard rock is more and more important every day.

I met another American guy who also spoke German because he was studying in Cologne and we took a boat to cruise through one of the fifty main canals (studded with trees and little cars) that divide the city. Above, the bridges jump from side to side. Aport and starboard, almost touching our vessel, houseboats multiplied like one that served as a refuge to astray cats, who live there supported by public charity.

Suddenly, about twenty feet away from us, I see how a car slides down into the waters of a canal. It's VW Beetle. The driver keeps it cool, our guy assured us that the car would not sink. In a while, a crane will pull them out of the waters. No wonder this car is so popular in Amsterdam. Our captain, blasé before the accident, told us: "Bah... happens all the time... That is why Beetles are so popular here, they don’t sink."

We got out of the boat and look around from one of the many bridges. To my left and right, the scrawny trees show their leaves glowing with raindrops remaining from the afternoon drizzle, reflecting the multicolored lights of the houses and streets. Under the bridge, the boats move slowly. A red-cheek, middle-age lady leans on the bridge rails and speaks to to us, again a Dutch-German conversation. My new friend loved this:

"How do you like Amsterdam?" "A lot," I say. "It's a pity it is now flooded with undesirable foreigners." We look at her, puzzled. She understands and rushes to explain: "I don't mean people like you, you look like very nice young men. It's this leftover hippies, drug addicts, you know." And she changed the subject. "Amsterdam is so beautiful. Doesn't it look like Venice?"

True. Amsterdam looks a bit like Venice, but the Dutch city has more than canals. It has wide avenues like Keizergracht (45 meters wide). Its streets curve harmoniously with the canals in semi circles. One must walk through them slowly, to really appreciate everything: there are so many light bulbs, that the city reflects some sort of carnival atmosphere. They are good enough for couples to give themselves up to the most unexpected affairs, there by the stone bridges.

Streets are overcrowded with young people, happy, noisy, restless. Plazas are crammed with the tired and the nostalgic. There, in Rembrandtsplein, Thorbeckeplein, Frederiksplein or Leidtscheplein, and even in the busiest of all, Dam (where the Royal Palace stands). They sit still by the monuments.

The Royal Palace — also called Palace of Dam — is one of the most widely known architectural structures. During the 17th century prosperity of Amsterdam, this palace was the City Hall. Its builder, Jacob van Campen, wanted to make this building a symbol of the Dutch power of his times, when the nation's fleet sailed the seven seas.

This palace is not a typical Dutch construction, generally made with bricks. Marble columns hold rooms and corridors. Yet, it is a modest building, as the entrance hints. During the fifties and beginning of 1960, a total restoration started to end in 19hó.

An instrument made with polished Dutch lenses and Galileo’s ingenuity, the telescope was widely used in the Netherlands, awaking a tremendous interest in astronomy as the palatial Burgerzaal reflects in its decoration depicting Jupiter, Mars, Venus, Saturn, Mercury and the Earth, and also the Sun and the Moon. Religion being important as it was at that time, in the center of that Universe, sits the Lady of Amsterdam.

Although the great Dutch painter Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn participated in the decoration, his work did not survive, for the two paintings requested for the palace had a tragic destiny. Rembrandt's first painting, Portrait of a Roman Consul, was not accepted and, later, it vanished without trace. The second one, Claudius Civilis, hung in a gallery for one year. When it was taken down, Rembrandt himself cut it into pieces. The only surviving fragment is now in the National Museum in Stockholm, Sweden.

City Hall became a Royal Palace when Louis Napoléon decided to use it as his residence in 1808, when the Netherlands formed part of the French Empire. When the House of Orange went back to rule in 1814, the building was rented to the monarchy. Today, this palace is used for receptions, official visits, banquets and cultural activities and it is open to the general public on Wednesdays, from May through September.

Dutch are physically beautiful people: tall, blonde, rounded legged women with malicious blue eyes; strong, vital, clean, childlike faced, wide smiling men. They seem to be well fed: lots of cheese, milk, and meat. On the other hand, the average citizen of Amsterdam is not so prototypical. He has the same characteristics of any citizen in any world metropolis (or should I say, it is difficult to tell them apart from so many foreigners?). Now, people are well informed, learned in all matters, and always ready to share their opinion on any subject.

Food in Amsterdam is, like its people, cosmopolitan. Many dishes are over-spiced (one must warn the stomach), a habit inherited from for away colonies. Still I would not say that Amsterdam has an extraordinary cuisine. Exotic? Yes. Extraordinary? No.

Few minutes from Amsterdam lies Alkmaar and its famous "Cheese Market," where succulent lumps and spheres of cheese are sold, big enough to feed a family for months even years. Among the popular cheeses stands the well known "gouda" [pronounced kháuda], from their namesake city.

The name of Amsterdam is no big deal in history. Around 1275, Floris V, Count of Holland, wrote it in a document in which he authorized access to his waters to people living in Amsterdam, then a small fishing village, located near a dam, by the Amstel River.

Today the old fishing village is a great cultural center, with important theaters, prestigious universities and forty museums, among them the Rijksmuseum and the Vincent van Gogh Museum. The Rijksmuseum (Royal Museum) possesses a superb collection of 17th century paintings, including twenty priceless works of Rembrandt.

The Vincent van Gogh Museum is very popular among young people, who have made an idol out of this tormented painter, symbol of incomprehension. A modern ballad by American composer and singer Don McLean, “Starry Night” is being played constantly, attracting a young audience. By the way, the words of this composition, (a lyric homage to van Gogh) is considered one a perfect sonnet in the 20th century English language.

It’s late. I walk back to the hotel, through the same route I walked the first day. Three weeks have gone already since I came, but the sensations keep renewing. I have learned to appreciate the musicality of the rough sounds of the language and the squeaking streetcars on the rails. I am inebriated by the humid sweetness coming out of the canals, and my sight is still excited by the carnival reflection of the light bulbs on the waters and leaves. There is so much light and hue in the passing promenading shades, like those in the famous Flemish paintings.

City of monuments, Amsterdam has more than seven thousand of them! If placed in straight line, they would stretch out for 52 kilometers. But the most important monument is Binnestad itself, a multicolor dream of lights that has fascinated so many painters. The gables of the houses, like pagan cathedrals, challenge to give art a try even those who cannot trace a straight line.

I leave the same way I came: first the streetcar, then the train. I arrived a rainy afternoon, but I leave with the sun shining on my head. This clear morning makes every color bright. The street organ plays a happy tune. The young boys and girls crowd the small plaza in front of the station. I say "good bye" to Amsterdam, the city of canals, Venice to the north, the granny city with thousands of grandchildren. All of them wave a loving good bye to the city that behaves like a swinging grandmother.