I have to confess I have been in the Netherlands for part of the Summer. I am participating in what I know as my day job as a lawyer, in a course that takes place at The Hague. Because this does not really qualify as a "solo quest" so to speak, because it is travel for professional purposes, I haven't really done that much blogging about the entire experience. Besides I am continually surrounded by people. However, one day I made a particular observation which only a writer or a quiet observer such as myself will notice.
On a particular Sunday afternoon as I walked through the infamous Red Light District in Amsterdam like a good ole’ tourist with my camera phone in hand, an overweight Latina looking lady in a too tight negligee contraption saw me from one of the windows. As she noticed my inquisitive eyes on her, she quickly moved to hide behind the curtains, pulling them to her for coverage. She signaled to me with a look of reprimand, waving at me not to take any pictures with the camera phone in my hand. I smiled and complied, even though I secretly wondered why she was suddenly embarrassed about not wanting (much-needed) publicity via social media which the whole world seems to be craving - a 15 minute interlude of some sort.
I actually didn’t really want to take pictures of her or of any others. I just wanted to talk to her mostly, ask her questions like: So this is the Red Light District, what do you guys do here? It looks rather tame to me. It’s in the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday and the place is flooded with tourists, looks like any other narrow cobbled street filled with shops, merchants and tourist gift shops in Anytown USA. Is this the sex stuff that you’re selling by standing in this window? Doesn’t look very inviting to me? Is there supposed to be more to it? More to you? I could have asked her any of these questions but for two things: She didn’t seem like she understood English very well; and, two, she seemed as if she was suddenly conscious of who she was, where she was and what she was doing when she saw me. And for a wee second, I felt sorry for her.
On a particular Sunday afternoon as I walked through the infamous Red Light District in Amsterdam like a good ole’ tourist with my camera phone in hand, an overweight Latina looking lady in a too tight negligee contraption saw me from one of the windows. As she noticed my inquisitive eyes on her, she quickly moved to hide behind the curtains, pulling them to her for coverage. She signaled to me with a look of reprimand, waving at me not to take any pictures with the camera phone in my hand. I smiled and complied, even though I secretly wondered why she was suddenly embarrassed about not wanting (much-needed) publicity via social media which the whole world seems to be craving - a 15 minute interlude of some sort.
I actually didn’t really want to take pictures of her or of any others. I just wanted to talk to her mostly, ask her questions like: So this is the Red Light District, what do you guys do here? It looks rather tame to me. It’s in the middle of the afternoon on a Sunday and the place is flooded with tourists, looks like any other narrow cobbled street filled with shops, merchants and tourist gift shops in Anytown USA. Is this the sex stuff that you’re selling by standing in this window? Doesn’t look very inviting to me? Is there supposed to be more to it? More to you? I could have asked her any of these questions but for two things: She didn’t seem like she understood English very well; and, two, she seemed as if she was suddenly conscious of who she was, where she was and what she was doing when she saw me. And for a wee second, I felt sorry for her.
An hour later, at Catholic mass a little girl, less than a year old, was being baptized. Parents, godparents, grandparents and priests so enthused about this baby's future about to begin in God's eyes. As everyone fussed over her, snapping paparazzi type pictures in church, I was cold to the glamor of it all. I kept saying to myself, how do they ensure she doesn’t end up in a window on the Red Light District on a Sunday afternoon being swarmed by tourists like some circus act? It won’t happen, I suppose and I pray, I suppose we all pray but then, how do we ensure that is not the case. Good beginnings such as hers, especially Christian beginnings, rarely end up with bad endings, or middles, however you look at it. But who’s to know with these things? Who’s to determine she won’t loose her way somewhere along the line and just have to resort to using her body to sell sex on a world-famous tourist destination? And maybe, just maybe, enjoy doing that instead of anything else, anything more cerebral or spiritual?
On my tram home, as I walked over to show the bus driver my bus pass, I looked up and my tram driver happened to be a woman. A lady, a young woman who couldn’t have been more of 30. She laughed when I exclaimed, “Oh wow, it’s a lady.” So proud of her, I greeted her warmly by saying, “You have a good afternoon.” She responded with a proud laugh and quickly shut the doors to continue with her trip. I could only hope she understood me.
3 women. One day. Different lives. Different fates. Solo traveler.
No comments:
Post a Comment