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There I was drinking from a champagne flute, gliding through a canal in a gondola singing “That’s Amore”, captured by the dazzling beauty of the buildings on either side and that bad smell of the water, surrounding a city which is slowly sinking… wondering why Im not feeling so romantic!! Umm maybe because I am doing this with friends!…or was it that hard hitting 10euro white coffee we had at a romantic outdoor café in St.Marks Square (along with all the romantic pigeons)…with an Italian band chanting in the background! Hmm…had I chosen the romantic café next door which had no band I would have only paid 5 euro!

Tip:: Never drink bubbly and then go shopping in Venice.

Staggering is my body’s way of saying “I would love to crash right now, but I have more to see”. Why is it that after two or three jewellery shops, they all start looking the same, and it becomes routine to just stop at the window and not enter, because all the items share the same ridiculous price tags. If you keep walking, you might just lose yourself and find the markets!! What we didn’t realize was that after a little serious trading, we would stray and lose our friends. Our first priority of course was to keep shopping, but when our wallets dried up, we decided to start the search. We tried to backtrack, but started feeling the effects of our bubbly and ended up seeing residential Venice. Lots of narrow winding streets, less people, less shops…kids barefoot riding their cycles….cats…a desserted canal and…where is everyone? Err tourists that is. A turn here, a turn there, this place was a labyrinth, and it was time to tantrum. We followed an endless road, and then all of a sudden… a WALL! A dead end. My mind was saying “oh come oooon….” my feet were crying “I cant do this anymore”…it was and all I wanted to do was scream!!

Hungover, sweaty, broke and hungry, we just turned around and, WATCH OUT: frustrated delirious women walking! Our zig zag thong-slapping straggle led to …more walls…an old lady here and there…more cats! The sound of our crunching shopping bags was deafening as we moaned and groaned in every language from the book of blame! The setting sun was making us miss the occasional wall and concrete step, and just when we were about to collapse, we could hear a subtle sound of blissful serenading type music. We headed for an underpass. On our way through, we saw a little girl crouched singing an Italian song and playing the accordion. She sung so beautifully. Not too far was a man, giving us ‘that’ look.

I just dropped my shopping bags and looked at her. Amazed at her talent, disgusted by the dismal scenario. Her anguished battered face smiled at me. I felt so many conflicting emotions. Right then she was the only child in this situation for me, and I was standing there helpless wishing I could grab her and run away. I wanted to feed her, dress her, buy her toys, and make her laugh. Instead I dropped my last euro, and looked into my bags for anything that would interest her. I took a photo to remember those big beautiful eyes she quickly tried to hide from me. The flash caused alarm so I left. I was sorry to violate her space, or make her feel ashamed. But I praise her for her courage and resilience, which I lacked so much that day….and showing me the real beauty and mystery behind overpriced espresso and overrated gondolas in one gorgeous pretentious city..

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Bad Girls

August 31st 2006 02:28

If good things come in small packages...then do bad things come in big packages? What if those big packages are beautiful, does that make them bad? Does size then really matter?

In a funky city that is big on canals, bicycles and daylight that lasts till 11pm, I was tempted to see if big is beautiful. I see big shoes, big shops and bars, large tulip gardens, and extra large marijuana drum joints...yep just lighting one out that 5 euro stick I bought in a souvenir shop that tastes like burnt paper and stinks like seaweed…and joining countless bright eyed men for an entertaining stroll down the huge ‘walk of game’, that dresses the strip of the world’s most spectacular and legal prostitution market. Amsterdam goes big on exhibiting some well organized and delectable window shopping, the Red Light District.

Don’t brag about it girlfriend, you know you have it! One full body window after the other showcases a sizzling bootyliscious Barbie doll. Criteria: big hooters, and big booty. Busted! She spots me in the crowd and starts waving at me, pouting, blowing kisses, swinging her hips, flicking her hair. Utterly delighted I blow a kiss back. Through her window I notice a flat hospital looking bed, a chair, a table with a radio on it, and of course that red light. Oh a swap, a new girl has just started her shift, and steps up to the glass. Oblivious to the strong competition from neighboring windows, she enters the war of seduction. Its hard work when her male dominated audience is just laughing at her, pointing, whistling, and trying to figure whether she is ‘boy'..

Knock Knock. A potential client taps on the glass. His cheer squad embarrass him. The window opens like a door, she asks him what he would like and discusses price and length of time. He agrees, she sends a nod to her pimp on the sidewalk, who cant nod back troubled by the weight of his golden neck chains. She opens the door to let him in, turns the lock, the blinds roll down, the red light stays on. When she's done, the window opens, the blinds stay down, he walks out adjusting himself. Moments after she freshens up, she’s back in position.

I keep walking and venture into the labyrinth of the District. There is the Latino section, the Black American section, and the Big section. And I mean BIG!! These dolls must be professional fat-o-gram strippers, they can move! I then entered a remote area, a little light on tourists. One man is sitting on a step rolling a toothpick around in his mouth...looking at me. Another is rolling his bicycle wheel over and over... looking at me. A girl is being dragged past me by two men her eyes rolling back….the air is burning with anticipation. Ok I get it. A little seedy, just some bad territory. But I can handle it. Im a bad girl! Yah! I had a 5euro joint, and Im ready to get my freak on. Suck my stomach in, slap on my sunglasses and take pose like a raunchy ex-Bond girl. Bring it on.

But as I was attracting lots of attention, my mouth unable to roll around my free airplane toothpick without getting it stuck in my tongue, cometh a friendly street guide passing by. A local, who warns me to back up and get out of there…and not travel to the west, its the coccaine section..and stay away from east, the heroin section…and the north well, I must not even want know what lies in that picnic hamper.

So like the street smart, untouchable, martial arts champion that I am, I slowly turn my back on my territorial outlaws, smoothly dispose of my toothpick, and make a dash for the yellow brick road, back into the bustling meat market…..only to stumble onto something more malicious. Oh mumma it was bad! It was BIG! And it was looking at me. Im gazing back…is that ‘perving’? I chuckled, innocently. Does every woman have the same reaction? Im captured. It was my duty to shamelessly indulge in a little speculation. Hmm now what could this represent?..all Dutch men are Big?..well they are very tall, have big shoes, big hands..fullstop. Errhh Big is the doorway to the house of love…oh that’s deep. Or on a musical note..’the only way is up...baby’. Yikes! Now for the disappointment…Its lifeless. And has a water feature! Talk about a tease. Hey ladies, I mean come on, is this all ‘we’ get? Where is our District? I walked away damaged. Im in the mood for a large cappuccino and a large choc-chip cookie. Could my standards of size be changing...where Big is beautiful? And beautiful is…Bad?

Red Taxi

Labyrinth of Romance

Bad Girls