Ah, Amsterdam!

As you struggle with your back pack straps and try to play it cool, you overhear the forty-something male with dirty black jeans bargaining with the brown-lipped prostitute next to you.

He holds up two fingers, and she shakes her head and places one hand on her hip. "15," she states. No more, no less.

Before you can figure out what it all means, your friend pulls you over and says if we make a right we can make it to the Hemp museum before dark. Your other companion stands there, shifting from foot to foot, staring up at the five floors of the Erotic Museum: "Do you think they have a bathroom?"

The sun is casting a romantic haze on the stone canals and your shadows sway softly over graying cobblestone streets. A bird skips over a wooden railing, and a torrent of bikers ride around you in a frenzy of good cheer. To your left, a man pisses in a gray ‘free-for-all' urinal, and straight ahead, people pedal with purpose on a wooden carriage filled with kegs and Hoses.

Ah, Amsterdam.

As hard as they pedal, they just don't seem to be going anywhere. The faster and faster the wheels spin, the harder and harder the men and women drink.

You're walking down a cobblestone street, casually making sure you haven't forgotten your sweater, carefully making sure your Money Belt isn't showing. All of a sudden, a well-dressed woman pushes you briskly out of the way with her date. She points to the fluorescent neon sign: Maoz. Then, she smiles.

"This place," she taps his shoulder, "The best falafels. Right here."

As they walk up the street you peer back at the restaurant, it's not anything too remarkable. Crammed in between two larger and more luxurious restaurants, it reminds you more of a fast-food joint your vegetarian friends would shun back home than anything resembling a diamond in the ruff. Yet, the Woman's comment intrigues you. She had no idea you were there (Therefore, you have just received the insider's scoop and are, consequently, in the "know"). You heard her: the best falafels. There's no greater place, no grander secret. And you, being an American student in Amsterdam, are going to leap at any whisper that may lead you to the genuine experience.

Amsterdam!

Say good-bye to apple pie and the Fourth of July. In a city inhabited by 727, 000 people, these streets receive over 14 million visitors each year. Whether you come for the history (Anne Frank and Rembrandt both resided here), the museums (they have over 40), or the Coffeeshops (over 200 are dispersed city-wide throughout); this is a place that has something for everyone. For those who don't like dancing, there are bars, and for those that don't like drinking, there are drugs, and for those that don't like either...well, just walking down any one of these streets is enough to give you a taste of what this city is about.

Because isn't that what Amsterdam is about? Whatever you want it to be?

After all, this is a city which likes to not take itself too seriously. A city which allows the refined elegance of a stone-washed church to stand adjacent to door-length windows (AKA display cases) for women in skimpily clad bikinis; a city which smiles at men in business suits lighting up next to No Smoking signs; and permits eighty year old women to ride down the street with purple streaked hair and leather jackets. Even the postcards share in the spirit. Some have white windmills and clogs, others have pierced penises and sex shops.

Ah, Amsterdam.

With over 1,402 cafes, nine clock towers, and one-hundred and sixty-five canals, it's a pretty good guess that wherever you wander, you're bound to run into something of interest or intrigue. If you're a sucker for history, I'd make your sixth grade teacher proud and visit the Anne Frank Huis in Jordaan. It's situated in the oldest district of Amsterdam, and the quotes and personal documents left behind by the Frank family are enough to choke up even the most world-weary visitor (though I'd bring a water bottle, it can get pretty hot in the Annex). There is Art, the famous Van Gogh and Rijksmuseum are located inside the city walls, and if you're interested in biking, you've come to the right place. Forty percent of the traffic here is from bikes, and there are over 550,000 of them in Amsterdam (plus, bikers more often than not have the right away).

Whether you bike or walk, delectable opportunities abound in the most obscure streets and canal ways. This is a city with enough culture to keep any individual occupied until the wee morning hours. And if you have the courage, try and pick up bits of the Dutch language along the way. The Netherlands is sometimes considered the little brother of the United States; therefore, a fluent English speaker can decipher random words of Dutch; like Melk (milk), Suiker (sugar), and stupid American (stupid American).

Ah, Amsterdam? Though, I'll have to admit, the most striking memory from my stay in Amsterdam occurred on a Sunday morning in front of a majestic cathedral:

The man is tall. He stands on a cardboard box and blows bubbles next to a sparkly midget with an iridescent wig. Curling a finger towards me, beckoning me to come closer, the midget moves off the box and helps me to stand next to his very tall friend. My companion scrambles to take a picture, and as she raises the camera to her eye, the midget's very tall friend breathes into my ear: "Lean up against my thigh and think sexy thoughts."