J’accuse.
Shame on you. Shame on all of you reading this travel blog. Here I was defaming Amsterdam all over the shop and not one of you put me straight. Don’t try to imply I got the wrong end of the stick,I clearly remember you saying that Amsterdam was a collection of seedy streets and dingy canals peppered with prostitutes and marauding Brits who make the cast of Trisha look classy by comparison. And what about the city’s most famous artist having being so depressed that he chopped his own ear off in a local brothel? Ewww! Not even a crate of Heinekin on the Harwich ferry and brekkie in a “coffee” shop could entice me into the Van Gogh Museum.
How wrong I was.
Oh Amsterdam. You were right under my nose the whole time and I never noticed you. I left you till last because I thought you were only good for a cheap one night stand. But now you’ve taken your glasses off and shaken your hair out and I’ll never look at you the same way again.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. You’re as beautiful as Venice, without the sleazy gondoliers; as stylish as Paris without the rat-dogs; as cute as Greenwich Village but not 5,000 km away. You’ve got Belgian beer without the boredom factor and enough tall men and knock-out women for everyone.
But best of all – you’re exactly what I needed after leaving California - a city where no-one drives! *Swoon* Country number 30, you’re the one!
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