No blue light specials in the Red Light District

Everyone is on vacation in this city. It's a constant party all day and all night with naps at odd hours and meals when you should be sleeping. The streets are all full, packed with dreadlocked tourists, mumbling beggars and haggling shopowners. Bikes weave through everyone, never breaking for children or stopping for cars. I rented a bike for a couple hours and it was beautiful. Ignoring my map I rode along the canals, through parks, under tunnels, dodging traffic and street signs everywhere. Hundreds of smells filled my nose: cotton candy, engine exhaust, cigar smoke, salt, grease, and of course, cannabis.

I've made quite a few friends and seen a few sights. We wandered the Red Light District last night and stood in front of the most popular whorehouses, watching eager men come in and out. One guy, young - probably about 23 - stood and stared at a brunette in the window as she mouthed words at him and shifted her hips just so. After a few minutes, he grabbed his buddy and the two raced up the stairs. We watched as the brunette and her blonde friend met the guys at the door, let them inside, and took them into a room in the back. And then we waited. And waited. And waited. Fifteen minutes later the guys staggered out the door, red-faced and gleaming, buttoning their shirts.

"How was it?" I said.

"Fuckin' awesome," he laughed, breathing heavily. "But she kept telling me to hurry up. That kind of killed the mood."

"How much did you pay?" my friend asked.

"Fifty euro."

"Was it worth it?" I said.

"Definitely." He clapped his buddy on the back, they turned and walked away, off to find more.

It's interesting the way they've got the Red Light District set up here. During the day the less attractive women strut their stuff, trying to find a man who wants an afternoon treat. And at night the younger, prettier girls come out, framed by red lights and candles, dancing to American pop music. They smoke cigarettes behind the glass and sit on chairs, trying to look innocent and aloof. Some play out schoolgirl fantasies or threaten passersby with whips and chains. And then there are the ugly girls. The ones who no one looks at and who you pity because she's ugly and there's nothing sadder than a whore who can't get laid.

It's comforting to retreat to the hostel at the end of the night. I'm in a room of eighteen people, but it's fine with me because no one smells and my valuables are locked away in a giant metal trash can next to my bed.

I really like Amsterdam but I wonder if it's like this all year round. That might feel a little too crazy after a while. I'm excited to go to Prague tomorrow night and eat some cheap food and hopefully find an Internet cafe with functioning USB ports. Until then, you'll have to use your imagination and picture me sailing over canals on a bike with no gears and a sunburn on my back.