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About Amsterdam

Surprised me, though—how normal it feels sometimes. Once knew a gal, swear she was a hooker by night, baked pies by day. Pies! I’d eat ‘em too, no judgin’. “Live and let live,” I say, like Grace hopin’ for better. But lordy, the danger! That’d scare me silly—cops, creeps, cold nights. I’d be prayin’ harder’n a preacher on Sunday.

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In De Wallen section of the Red Light District, you can find up to one-room cabins with red lighted windows behind which prostitutes stand, enticing adventurous travelers and locals alike.

After that, I’m feeling a bit deflated. But then, I spot this food truck parked near the field. It’s like a beacon of hope! I swing by, and they’ve got the best stroopwafels. I’m talking melt-in-your-mouth goodness. I grab one, and it’s like a hug for my soul. I’m munching away, and suddenly, life is good again.

Dutch growers destroy millions of unsold Mother's Day flowers