It's a penis!" shouted my petite, eighty-one -year-old mother.

A muffled giggle escaped from my normally composed 18-year-old niece. A snicker fractured my sister's best "oh-how-interesting" look. I tried to keep my cool, but a short snort sneaked out and that was it, we all began to hoot.

Mother isn't given to talking dirty. She was simply answering, in her best classroom style, our guide's not-so-innocent question, "Does anyone know what that is?" She was right, of course. We could all see the erect, eight-foot high, backlit fountain across the canal was a penis. But we weren't going to say so.

"Well, it is," said Mother, a bit defensively.

We could see by our guide's surprised face, he never expected Mother to answer his rhetorical question. We laughed harder.

My mother, sister, niece and I were three generations on a "girl's-week-out" in Amsterdam. One of us, and I'm afraid it was I, thought up this red-light district night tour figuring it would introduce us to the pragmatic Dutch and their no-nonsense approach to social problems. Not quite picturing the four of us, 18 to 81, wandering around alone to have a look-see, I had turned to the web. A bit of surfing netted VIP Tours which specializes in small groups, never more than eight, with both "off the shelf" and individually designed tours. Axing the larger tours, the umpteen favorable comments from VIP's alumnae and their swift and informative e-mails clinched it; VIP's Guss Issen became our guide and guardian to the seamier side of Amsterdam. Guss—trim, tan and blond—was a retired police officer so I reckoned we'd be safe. A sometimes humorous and sometimes serious guide, I suspect he was editing liberally to guard what he perceived our naïve sensitivities, briefing us on this business of brothels.

In Amsterdam, the world's oldest profession is practiced in its oldest neighborhood. The red-light district surrounded the Oude Kerk with its tower dating from 1300, Amsterdam's oldest church and spread along Oudezijds Voorburgwal, Amsterdam's first canal. Guss pointed out that families in the district have, through the centuries, coexisted with the world of the prostitutes. Amongst the brothels, condom stores and sleazy night clubs (with sleazier fountains) we were fascinated to discover a day care center, a butcher, and Amsterdam's oldest and best tea and coffee merchant (Geels & Co at 67 Warmoestraat.) In the voyeuristic fashion of tourists everywhere, we peered through typically-Dutch uncurtained windows at people preparing dinner and reading newspapers just as if they were part of the show.

Still the real show was at street level. As we traipsed along behind Guss on the narrow cobble streets and among the 17th century buildings, we were both intrigued and ill at ease. At street level, rows of 8 X 10 glass-fronted cubicles that looked like large shadow boxes all lined up in a row. Most of their interiors were covered with antiseptic-looking white tile, and generally a small bed occupied one corner. In these little rooms, prostitutes lounged, primped and waited for customers. The floor-length curtains were drawn only when the women worked.

Each woman had her own act. One woman, in a classic 30's girlie picture pose, bent from the waist towards a mirror as she applied scarlet lipstick to puckered lips. Her white bra and skimpy bikini panties glowed pink in the demi-light that exuded from two long ultra violet bulbs on either side of the window. The sizable, scarlet panties and lace bra of another woman overflowed with rolls of dark chocolate flesh as she lolled on her bar stool. At that point, I noticed that segregation appeared to be strictly enforced. On the first block every prostitute we passed was black and in the next block every prostitute was white. When questioned, Guss replied, definitely editing out unfavorable impressions, that women of the same background liked to stay together for safety.

No such division existed in the street crowd which was largely, but not entirely, made up of men. A wide spectrum of humanity was represented. Men in impeccable three piece suits and men in Arab djellabahs mingled with boys in grubby running suits. Head gear ranged from sweatshirt hoods and baseball caps to fedoras and turbans. Women who were onlookers like ourselves tried to appear unobtrusive. A few—ragged and strung-out—were illegally streetwalking.

As we walked along, bulging tourist-like from purses secured inside our raincoats at Gus’s suggestion, we were instructed on the finer points of red-light economics. According to Gus, the women were self-employed workers; they averaged about $300 a day after forking over $100 to the landlord. The landlord rented each room for three, eight-hour shifts a day if he could, although the morning shift was not in high demand. So, a landlord could make $300 a day before taxes.

"Each client pays 25 dollars for ten minutes. Eleven minutes, another 25 bucks, because time is money and business is business. So if clients want to keep it cheap, they have to do it like rabbits," Guss clarified.

"In America, most of the time, the women hang out on the streets and jump into cars and anything can happen to them. Here, prostitution is centralized where it can be controlled and the women in some ways protected. Here," Guss continued with less than perfect reasoning "rape is almost nonexistent because every lunatic can come here and do what they want to do."

Perhaps that's what made me uncomfortable in the red light district, being surrounded by lunatics. Or maybe my uneasiness came from the thought of all that mind-altering testosterone being pumped. The working women made me sad. I didn't doubt most had chosen this profession, but I suspected their choices hadn't included becoming a doctor or corporate executive.

It was nine pm and our two-hour tour was nearly over. To bring the evening to a close, Gus invited us for a nightcap at De Waag, a small castle-like edifice illuminated entirely by candlelight. In 1488 De Waag was built as the city gate and over the centuries, it has known many occupants. In the 17th century, as an Anatomy Theater, it was the scene of public dissections and of Rembrandt's painting "The Anatomy Lesson of Dr. Tulp." As we took in the medieval atmosphere, we watched people surf the net by candlelight, since De Waag businesses now include a restaurant, bar and internet cafe.

While we drank our Grolsch beer, Guss continued his red-light district stories. "About five years ago," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "there was a Women's Emancipation Committee that was very much against the fact that there were no men in the windows. A few men took this seriously and started into the business. It only lasted for two weeks. Not because they didn't have clients. The problem was they couldn't make money. After five or six times a day they were over and done and that was that."

The most enlightening tidbit I came across, however, was the one I picked up from an article after I got home—many of the women in those windows, it claimed, were actually cross-dressing males. I expect Gus knew this. But he wasn't going to say so.

By Kate Crawford    January,  2001

LINKS WITH ATTITUDE

Here’s the VIP Tours web site with their other tours and how to contact them.

Here’s De Waag’s site with its history and current use information.

Amsterdam Hot Spots is a hip site on what's happening in A'dam.

This site, Amsterdam-The Channels is a great virtual tour of Amsterdam. It takes a little getting used to, but once you get comfortable with the navigation, it’s great fun, also has some good advice.

The Amsterdam City Council site is informative, too.