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About Amsterdam

Got my first one years back—dude, I was pissed! Masseuse kept giggling, like, what’s so funny, lady? My knotted shoulders? Then she hits this spot—bam!—I’m melting like a damn popsicle. Surprised me, honestly. Felt like Adèle in that movie, moaning, “I want you to touch me,” but nah, I’m too sarcastic to admit it. Still, little known fact: some old Chinese texts say erotic-massage boosts your chi or whatever. Energy flow, my foot—more like a cash flow for these parlors.

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After that little drama, I grabbed some cheese and headed to the Singel. The canal was looking all picturesque, with the boats and the trees. I plopped down on a bench, cheese in hand, feeling like a king. But then, outta nowhere, this group of tourists starts yelling. They’re trying to take a selfie, but they can’t figure out how to use their phone. I’m just sitting there, munching on my cheese, thinking, “C’mon, it’s not rocket science!”

Herta Mohr: Headstrong female scientist in a man's world