And so it was that we found ourselves in Amsterdam, a city full of very interesting and liberal entertainment choices.

We spent the first day taking advantage of many of those opportunities. (No, not that one, for those in the know. Nothing against it, mind you, but we were so busy scurrying about that there simply wasn’t time for a “when in Rome” moment.) I took roughly 4,000 photos, most of which were absolute crap, but that’s my basic modus operandi.

We spent the early evening at a Mexican restaurant, a block or so from the bed and breakfast where we were staying. (Said B&B was terrific, by the way. Our spacious room was deceptively tucked away under the stairs to the second floor, a la Harry Potter during those summers he spent with that wretched family who didn’t appreciate what he could do with a wand. For breakfast, we would all sit around a large table in the kitchen while the owner concocted decadent, made-to-order omelets and chatted about his amazing life adventures. Good times.)

We spent the late evening at a gay bar in the opposite direction from the bed and breakfast. Well, I’m assuming it was a gay bar, based on my American experiences, but who knows. This was Amsterdam. The place could just have easily been a post office that served drinks. And one of those drinks was a stunning hefeweizen they had on tap. It was delicious and high-octane, based on the way I became very, very happy within ten minutes of arrival. The people were friendly, the music was excellent, and the ambiance just said “stay here a while”. So we did.

I believe it was at some point during the second round of hefeweizens that I noticed the video monitors hanging from the ceiling, just to the side of the main serving bar. There were two of them. The one on the right was playing Disney movies, which was rather fun and abstract, considering where we were. The one on the left was playing hardcore gay porn, with swarthy men going at it like rabbits in a hurricane.

I had never seen such a juxtaposition in my life. And I was fascinated.

In the photo I snapped above, Terry, on the left, is somewhat inscrutable with his reaction. Perhaps he hadn’t yet noticed the pageantry. Maybe he’d already seen it, found it lacking in some manner, and had already moved on with his life. Most likely, he was simply waiting for Rosanna, right, to fully process what she is seeing.

I think her expression says it all.

We went back to that post office every night we were in Amsterdam. Just because we could and the beer was good. And sometimes that’s all you need to remind yourself that life is about seizing every moment and seeing where the door under the stairs might lead…

Cheers.