Photo courtesy of Emily Lodish

You can’t really go to Amsterdam and not visit the red light district, even though the whole strip is now pretty sanitized and tame. It’s still one of those boxes you feel the need to check as a first-time tourist and since I recently was such a first-time tourist, I dragged my friend Rel there so as not to feel stupid.

Rel and I were visiting one of our college housemates, Marisa, who lived in Amsterdam. Marisa was knee-deep in Netherlandish art for her dissertation, but had generously cleared her plate for the duration of our week-long visit. Marisa had been to the red light district before and mentioned something about needing to wash her hair. So, the two of us foreigners were on our own.

It was around 11 pm on a Thursday night when we arrived. The sidewalk between the tall, thin buildings and the calm water of the tree-lined canal was crowded enough.

We gravitated toward the neon sign with the cute cartoon elephant on it and the words: “live sex show.” In the rosy pink glow, we fell in line behind a posse of preppy American guys, most of whom were wearing ski hats with marijuana leaves on them.

Directly in front of us was a short, furry Manhattanite named Ben with whom we felt an immediate bond. Ben was a dentist who was planning, with a buddy of his, to establish New York City’s debut dental spa. It would be the kind of place where you could get your nails done while you get your teeth cleaned. Followed by a shoulder rub and a glass of ginger tea.

“That’s a really good idea,” said Rel. “Can I bum a cigarette?”

Ben tapped his buddy on the shoulder and got two cigarettes for me and Rel.

“You’re a dentist and you smoke?” I asked. He shrugged.

We were each handed a lollipop shaped like the genitals of the opposite sex and a roll of mints before we ducked inside the smallish theater. We sat all together in the cushy, red seats, the two dentists, Rel and me. I opted to keep my jacket on because despite the comfortable seating, it didn’t seem like the kind of place where you take your jacket off.

The woman on stage was on all fours, and the spinning circular platform gave us alternating views of her front and her rump. Both seemed equally expressive.

The couple who followed didn’t seem that into it either. I remarked to Rel that if they had appeared passionate, it would have seemed obscene. But since they didn’t, it wasn’t. Rel nodded in agreement.

Next up was a well-endowed Dutch man who sort of bounced up and down on top of his partner in time to what sounded like hip hop-flavored Muzak. It reminded me of Jazzercise and I wanted to cheer him on. I clutched my complementary penis-shaped lolly in one hand and a weak vodka tonic in the other, and looked over at Rel.

It occurred to me how glad I was that we were all there together, in Amsterdam. It was a busy time in everyone’s lives, with Rel just starting medical school and me trying to build a life in Boston. Marisa had a lot going on with her dissertation in its final throes. It didn’t go without saying that we’d see each other anymore, the way it did when we lived down the hall.

“I hope you don’t feel like I haven’t been making an effort,” I said, picking up on a conversation we’d been having in the taxi on the ride over. “Because I feel like sometimes we go a while without talking, but I just feel like it’s because we both get so busy. I don’t feel like there are any issues.”

“Oh, Em. I don’t feel like there are any issues. I hope you don’t mind that I leave you so many voice messages.”

“Are you kidding? I love your messages. I’m sorry it takes me so long to get back to you sometimes.”

“We’re all so busy.”

“Yeah.” It felt good to be talking like this. I felt proud of my friend who worked hard and dressed well, and still made time for important things.

“I love you, Relly.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

“I feel disgusting from those cigarettes.”

“Me too.”

There is a Dutch saying, "Doe maar gewoon dan doe je al gek genoeg,” which translates to: “Do what you usually do, that’s crazy enough.”

By and large, if you ask a Dutch person what the phrase means you will be met with a shrug of the shoulders and a wrinkle of the brow. It isn’t something said or considered so much as it is, simply, a reasonable way to live.

And so it was at the live sex show, in the least intimate of circumstances, that Rel and I finally got down to the business of being friends.

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