MUSINGS:

Amsterdam, here I come

by Padma Edirisinghe

It is with relish that I travel again, mentally of course, in the 17 countries I was lucky enough to visit physically. But wait, 17 is an exaggeration for, out of these, I was only on transit to two countries. These are Hong Kong and the Netherlands.

I will recount here my adventures or misadventures in the second country, that ruled our low lands for about one and half centuries. Amsterdam, capital of Netherlands is water-bound and is linked with a radiating system of canals and about a 1,000 bridges, that is according to recorded information, I discovered for this write up.

The time in that year in the 1990 decade was around 6 am. when I got down at the Dutch airport of Schipol if I remember correct. After brooding there for some time subsequent to information that the connecting flight to US will be only resumed at 8 pm. I asked the girl at the airport counter whether I could go sightseeing into the country,

"Certainly," she laughed and added that there were not many sights to see around the airport and warned me not to stray too far.

"How do I go into the town?" I asked next.

Ticket

"Simple. Next door is the railway station. You buy a ticket to Central Amsterdam and proceed. Good luck!" I think she was already tickled pink with this greenhorn from Sri Lanka.

"Trains to the town are always running. Maybe you can get into the next".

I thanked her and armed with the ticket began a vigil at the station. As she said, there came a train, a sleek long one, as trains always are , and without much ado I was about to get in, when some busybody wished to know whether I am going to Germany.

"No," I replied, "I am on my way to US and changed planes here. I now want to go to town" . Let him think that changing planes during international travels is in my daily routine .

"That train is bound for Germany. Get into the next" he said. It was then that the map of Europe that had entranced me in my school days surfaced in my mind, showcasing the Lowlands of Europe as terrain fringed by the Atlantic Ocean from where many a route ran to the hinterland of the continent.

Anyway I stood waiting for the train to town while the earlier train chug-chugged its way out into Europe. I wished that I could abandon the book conference and take the train to Germany and stare at the gas chambers of the abominable Hitlerite regime. But one cannot have everything, especially on a government funded trip.

The town train now arrived and I got in and sat by a female who spoke fluent English.

I narrated to her my predicament and asked her for advice on what sights are available in close proximity. She was truthful but disappointed me. Said that the royal palace of the Dutch monarchy and the Ridjsk museum are far away and public transport is very poor. (This particular museum houses many an artifact the Dutch took from us when they ruled our low country).

I was advised to stick around the station and gaze at the Red Light district. Familiar. I remember seeing one of these at Bombay. Were the Dutch marketing this notorious section?

To make up she told me that I could get a view of the windmills dancing in the wind this side of the rippling waters of the North Sea. Oh, I boasted, that is nothing new for I have seen a scintillating surfeit of sea waves in my own island. Try the network of canals then, she advised.. There I was on familiar ground but there was not much time to discuss it all with her.

I got down and my friend had vanished and I made my way to the parkland before the station and began peering round.

Bulldoze

True enough, a high building rose before me. That could be where the women carried on their flesh trade. Internationally spread trade said to be the oldest too. Existed even in Buddha's time. Strangely Buddha had been very condescending to these flesh sellers. But the windows of 'Red Light' were closed tight. No wonder. It was still morning and the mood was not correct for such business. A window opened here and there to let in the air and I could catch a glimpse of a half dressed woman. Poor woman! She was trying to live, even though her earnings came the foul way. It was one world after all. Squalor, poverty, prostitution - the unsavoury dish was common to many a country. Squalor and poverty, almost nil in N'lands. But variations exist.

I had been told that public transport was poor and that was true enough. Even that ubiquitous Tuk Tuk that enthralls Delhi, both old and new as they just bulldoze their way through the teeming colourful crowds, was absent. As the day advanced everyone had got onto bicycles. Very few sleek cars were visible unlike on our roads. Has our country got more capitalistic than theirs?

The day still spread before me and I decided to walk to the town wherever it was, my legs then of excellent condition. Soon I was confronted with rows of offices and I noticed that it was similar to our Hulftsdorp by the throng of law offices. How did I decipher that? There were familiar names on the boards of the law offices, words such as Kantoru, notaris, perekadoru, sithasi, opeesi, askeesi...

Who borrowed from whom? Give the devil his due. In this case we borrowed from the Dutch. They were the law-givers who dabbled in many a judiciary area.

I returned to the area criss-crossed by canals. The Dutch, I was already in the know, were obsessed by canals and such waterways. Hoping to go on and on as our rulers, they drafted a whole network of canals especially in the eastern vicinity of Colombo. Step into the areas of Pepiliyana and Bellanwila and you come across many a waterway that the locals attribute to the Dutch. They even imported foreign labour i.e. Javanese labour to construct canals. An area named after such work is Ja Ela (canal constructed by Javanese). Even Hamilton canal though later usurped by the British could be of their authorship for the British were not interested in water transport. Too messy and slow. Trains invented by Stephenson of their own ilk fared better.

Giggle

There was still the day left for me. As evening advanced I sat on my bench by the station and peered at the passing crowd. I could not help but giggle as I remembered what their ancestors had been up to, in my country in the 17th and 18th centuries. Crafty and cunning, they heaped on the king of Kandy much rhetoric or alankara and in true oriental fashion wished for the king's life to last 5,000 years or as the moon and the sun last! Improbable. Aim was to fleece the king of land and cinnamon.

But finally they had to capitulate to the British. Today one of the more outstanding legacies left behind by them are the Dutch Burghers most now trekked to Down Under. There is also lamprais and kokis, originally cookies and of course, the Dutch Fort at Galle, now turned a crowd puller. Even the tsunami was helpless against her massive fortifications.