Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

For many tourists, Amsterdam is a city of sin, a place tainted by the seedy reputation of De Wallen, where a network of alleyways crisscross the canals, each turn revealing some new vice.

The scent of cannabis smoke hangs thickly in the air. The neon lights of tonight’s live sex show pierce the darkness of a medieval street. Almost-naked girls stand behind panes of glass in one-room cabins, pretty dolls for sale in their boxes.

It would be easy to get swept up in this image of Amsterdam, and many people do. But it’s much more than a city of sin; in truth, it’s a city of contradictions.

The Old Church looms at the centre of the Red Light District. Lovers glide along the waters of the canals, holding hands beneath the watchful gazes of prostitutes. And away from the grimy, thrumming heart is a park so beautiful it could be something out of a jewel box.

My first trip to Westerpark is in April. Spring is late in hitting Amsterdam this year. The trees are just starting to re-grow their green, their branches wreathed in blooms that look more like the folded wings of butterflies than buds of leaves.

There is a palpable change here today, the first day of the year to hit 20°C.

As I ride my bike, I spot an old man sitting on a bench along the Prinsengracht, eyes closed and face tilted toward the sun, his location a mere 20m from the house that both hid and betrayed Anne Frank.

Tables are assembled outside cafés, the vases set upon them overflowing with the tightly packed petals of Persian buttercups.

The city is waking up from hibernation.

In Westerpark, we set up a picnic in the shade of an apple green willow tree. Our knot of silk throw blankets is surrounded on one side by our bicycles, on the other by a bushel of daffodils that line a pond.

A huge old building looms in the distance. Once a former city gasworks, it’s now filled with cafés, galleries and a cinema. Nothing in Amsterdam is stagnant for long.

In the sunshine, we drink jenever and eat stoopwafels, their syrupy centres melted by the warmth.

Even here, the city’s contradictory nature is evident. Five men sun themselves in little more than Speedos. An old couple nap in the afternoon light, both dressed for a century that has long since passed. Rap music gurgles out of a portable speaker, the beat strewn by the breeze. A woman with a cast on her wrist plays ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ on a ukulele.

Every city is full of contradictions. Amsterdam is just more upfront about hers.