"So, Mike, tell me, what do you want to see in Amsterdam?" Anna spoke in such a unique way. It always sounded like she was presenting something. So full of life. Without hesitation, I replied, "I want to see Dutch cows."
Cities have never appealed to me much. I've always seen them as somewhere to work, transit through or party in, where nights of debauchery preceded a hungover afternoon of sampling exotic foods unavailable in smaller towns before finding a pub and continuing on from the previous evening. I knew Anna had come to Amsterdam to study and was originally from a smaller place. I wanted to see that place.
"Dutch cows?" Stopping in the middle of Dam Square, eyes wide and head back, she laughed at the top of her lungs. "Mike, what are you talking about? What do you mean you want to see Dutch cows? Are they different from other cows?"
Few things are as attractive as a gorgeous, animated woman with a great sense of humour and a contagious laugh. We turned down Kalverstraat, a narrow walking street full of shops. Despite it being the offseason, the crowds of people overwhelmed me. I felt like a Canadian cow being ushered against traffic toward a milking barn. I hadn't quite learned the art of travelling light back then, so my oversized pack became a seventy-litre pinball, bouncing off everyone and everything in proximity.
On the other hand, Anna seemed to have no problem at all. I admired how she effortlessly passed through the never-ending flow of people without once bumping into or sidestepping anyone. I only just managed to keep up with her as I two-stepped my way around every approaching obstacle.
"I'm here to see you. I want to know where you're from and see the countryside." If walking through that corridor of moving landmines heavily laden wasn't hard enough, trying to speak without sounding winded was nearly the end of me. "There's plenty of time to see Amsterdam, but outside the cities is where the true essence of a country is. So yeah, I want to see Dutch cows."
Anna stopped abruptly. Presentation time! Eyes wider than ever and a smile as big as the sky, she placed her hand on my arm. She did that when she got really excited about something. "Mike, do you want to go to my hometown? We can take the train and I think I can get you a discount with my student card." I was in. Puffed from dodging my way through Kalverstraat, I saved my breath and answered with a smile and a nod. "Okay! Let's do that!" she announced, showing even more excitement about our new plan than me.
We continued our journey, Anna floating her way through the masses, me shimmying and shaking beside her like I was smuggling a beehive in my trousers. "But tonight, we're going to a party." If there was one word that could sum up my life in those days, party was it. I couldn't wait.
The Dutch are giants. Their flat land is full of tall, lean, well-dressed people on bikes. I've always found their architecture curious for that very reason. Tiny, narrow staircases nearly steep enough to warrant climbing shoes and a chalk bag lead up to small flats and offices as if it makes all the sense in the world.
Anna's place was my first staircase experience, but certainly not my last. I followed her up the cramped pathway. Feeling claustrophobic and with enough gear on my back to clothe a small family for several months, I struggled the entire way. We stopped on the first landing, where a half-opened door revealed a spacious, well-decorated flat filled with several plants and windows tall and wide enough to meet their growing needs. An old woman with white hair greeted Anna.
The last time I'd heard Anna speak Dutch was when her mother, Toos, visited her on Hamilton Island. Toos spoke English, but Anna had to help translate here and there. It was different this time, however. Witnessing Anna speaking her mother tongue in her own country made her seem more exotic than ever. The woman's husband joined. They both seemed to adore Anna, looking at her the way grandparents would a grandchild. Unable to understand a word, I swapped senses, closing my ears and savouring the moment with my eyes.
Suddenly, my ears reactivated as the familiar and unexpected sound of English pulled me from my little world of visual consumption back into reality. I was being introduced. More names I've forgotten, but I can remember the rest vividly. "You are from Canada?" Caught off guard by the woman addressing me in English, I smiled and replied, "Yes, that's right."
When I was a boy, my Uncle Andy used to tease me for a goofy giggle I'd do when feeling shy. It always amazes me how easy it is to revert back to a state of childhood under the right circumstances. Had my Uncle been present at that moment, he'd have certainly been imitating the boyish giggle escaping from my flushed face. If anything could represent my old Jekyll and Hyde tendencies, this situation would be it. A young woman with a cocktail could bring out a smile and some smooth talking, while an old lady with a cup of tea found me all but sucking my thumb and squeezing a teddy.
"It's a nice country, I think." Her kindness was comforting. "Have a nice time in the Netherlands." The man also spoke English. Two elderly people speaking my language in their country. To say I was impressed would be an understatement. "Thank you. Nice to meet you both. Have a nice day." Hear that giggle, Uncle Andy?
We left Base Camp and charged up the final stage to the summit. "Imagine being a Sherpa," I thought. Between the friendly people downstairs speaking other languages and the thought of those sturdy Himalayan guides, I felt pretty lazy breathing so heavily after dragging my uni-lingual ass up two flights of stairs.
Anna's flat was tiny. On the landing, there was a room to the right with a toilet and no fan. I'll get into that later. Straight ahead was a room with a bath, shower, sink, and door on the left connecting to the bedroom. To the left of the landing was the main door into the flat.
Inside was typical of most European flats I've been in over the years: small, with incredibly well-utilised space. The kitchen was to the left, and the stove and counter were along the wall that ran up the tiny stairwell we'd just climbed on the opposite side. The fridge was nestled in beside that. Directly ahead was a couch, chair and coffee table. To the left of this modest lounge were a table and chairs. One room functioning as three: kitchen, lounge, and dining room. The lounge's back wall had a window and a stereo to the left. To the right of the entrance was a doorway leading to the bedroom. The bedroom was also small. Upon stepping in, there was just enough space to walk along the foot of the bed. To the left of the bed was a window. To the right, as mentioned, was a door to the bathroom. There was also a night table with three partially read books on top. Anna later explained that she needed easy-to-read books to balance all the reading she had to do for university.
We sat down and chatted for ages before Anna gave me the rundown on the night's plan. We were headed to a party that happened weekly at Brasil Bar. It was thrown by a joint fraternity and sorority she was part of called Derm. Anna explained she'd been seeing someone from Derm, but it wasn't serious. He was away at the time, but the party would be full of their mutual friends, so we needed to keep things cool out of respect for him.
While Anna showered, I scoped out the tiny room without a fan. "That's a strange-looking toilet," I muttered. The inside of the bowl was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Most of the space was taken up by a flat ledge void of water. In front of and slightly lower than this porcelain dessert was a half-moon with a small amount of water that acted as the drain. Above the toilet was a string hanging down with a long, rounded piece of plastic attached to the end. It was quite the contraption. "What the fuck is this?" Too astonished to maintain an inner monologue, I kept my mutterings to a whisper. "I can't shit in that. This is crazy. I'll have to find a better place later on."
Concerned about the backsplash the ledge would cause, I sat down to avoid pissing all over myself. If you've ever been in a number two position while trying to only let out a number one, you can feel my pain. About to open the floodgates, the shower stopped. The walls were so thin they seemed more of a formality than anything. Curtains would have been cheaper and had the same effect. I could hear Anna drying off while I tried to direct my stream off the side of the half-moon pool below to avoid her hearing my urinary rumble. No luck. I'd been in transit for so long that the dance party down Kalverstraat, followed by the staircase expedition, had all my plumbing severely backed up. The only way to trickle out some relief was to brave the ledge.
"No way!" I told myself. "Without a fan in here, it'll smell so bad. What if she comes in after me? No! No way! This is fucked!" I decided to settle for a fart or two and see if that would relieve enough pressure to get things moving along. But the echo. Surely, she'd hear me. In an attempt to give off the illusion that standard bodily functions weren't a part of my daily life, I wadded up some toilet paper and smothered my clenching sphincter.
Have you ever pushed a wedge of lime into a bottle of Corona? The best way to infuse Mexico's most overrated export with citrusy goodness is to plug the spout with your thumb, flip the bottle upside down until the lime touches the bottom, then flip it upright again and slowly allow the pressure to release in a "tssssssssss" to avoid a cerveza volcano. Well, I was attempting a similar approach with my farts. It worked, and soon, one end leaked into the half-moon while the other held fast until a more appropriate time. "Such a hassle just to take a piss. Now, how does this thing work?"
Like a fish staring up at a lure, I decided to test my luck and take the bait. Gripping the cord just above the plastic bobble, I pulled down. A loud "Whoosh" followed. However, like a dog with a bark bigger than its bite, this extraterrestrial throne of complication let out such a pathetic amount of water that my Corona plug barely made it down the hatch. Shaking my head, I stepped out of the prehistoric lav and went straight for the sink in the next room to wash my hands.
"That's some toilet you have there." I smiled to hide my frustration as I entered the flat. "Are all Dutch toilets like that?" My question was met with a "What do you mean?" accompanied by a deer in the headlights stare. Thinking she was joking, I laughed. Anna's face didn't change. My cheeks flushed. "The string hanging from the ceiling. I've never seen anything like that before. And the ledge. How does that work?" Transforming from deer to hyena, Anna laughed so loud I thought the paper walls would fall over. "Mike! Yes, those toilets are very common here." She laughed a little more, then explained how they work.
The ledge is where everything lands. Then, when the cord is pulled, the force of the water pushes the faecal collection off the ledge and into the half-moon so it can retire down the drain. I had so many questions, but I decided I'd embarrassed myself enough. Instead, I went for a shower and left Anna laughing in the lounge. As I stepped under my first hot shower since leaving the Belvedere Arms, I vowed to only use Anna's toilet for number ones and find a plan B for number twos.
Later that night, we headed out to the party. "We're going to a place called Led Zeppelin." Anna laughed when she saw my eyes light up. "It's actually called Ledseplein, but don't worry, just call it Led Zeppelin." Worked for me. I loved that band!
I wish I could recount the party in detail, but the thrill of spending my first night in Amsterdam with Anna mixed with an alcoholic fog created an amnesiac effect, a common occurrence during my time in that city. The music was loud, the lights flashed, and the drinks were cheap. It was a good time.
Having arrived unprepared for a fancy dress event, I was one of the few people not decked out in 90's ski attire. Everyone was friendly, and, as usual, on drunken nights out, I'd probably made a dozen or so new best friends whom I'd forgotten by the time we'd left the bar. Anna looked incredible. Her infectious smile radiated under the tacky disco lights. Still, I'd managed to play it cool, instead distracting myself through brief interactions with members of the city ski squad. We'd shout into each other's ears and reply to whatever we thought we heard the other say. It was like a game of telephone but with copious amounts of shots. At one stage, I had a fresh Corona in my hand with a lime sticking out the top. I chuckled as I flipped it over and heard the "tssssss".
The way home is also blurry. All I remember is the standard silence after being in a loud, crowded club. It felt so peaceful; not even a tram screeching to a halt could disturb it. I can't remember scaling the Himalayan staircase when we returned to the flat either. In fact, the next thing I remember was the kiss. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but perhaps that was due to my inebriated state at the time. However it came about, it was beautiful. It wasn't our first kiss, but it had been so long it felt like it.
After a time, we separated and looked at one another. "What's wrong?" My heart went from a rapid thump to nearly jumping out of my chest at seeing Anna cry. Still holding each other after such a tender moment, I was shocked to see rivers of tears flowing from those lovely blue eyes. "Are you okay?" My embrace shifted from passion to compassion for an instant until I saw a smile behind her waterfalls of emotion. Anna began to laugh, tears still streaming down, cascading over the ridge of her smiling lips before falling to the floor in a splash of mixed emotion. "It's just so nice." Her laughter and tears continued. "I liked you so much in Australia, but you rejected me. I was so sad back then, but here you are now and ... and it's just so nice."
I was a bit of a Mongrel in Australia, to say the least, especially on Hamilton Island. Anna was pretty young at the time, and I had a lot of respect for her. Mainly led by bottle and libido in those days, Anna was the exception where my heart did the talking. I cared about her too much to let her get involved with a maniac like me. So, out of respect for the one person to steal my heart in the land down under, I'd turned her down. It wasn't until this magical moment in Amsterdam that I realised the consequences of my lifestyle choices. It was a big reality check. My unhealthy relationship with alcohol and "romance" caused me to miss out on something real and wonderful. It also hurt someone I cared about deeply. A lesson indeed, but sadly, not one I'd act upon for many years to come. Nevertheless, I was there and we were together. That's what was important at that moment.
Later that night, as Anna slept soundly, I was wide awake. My bowels were on fire. I tossed and turned as Ragnarök kicked off inside me. No longer able to take it, I shuffled to the side of the bed and planted my feet on the floor. Anna didn't stir, so I tiptoed out of the room, out the main door and into the hallway, where I made sure every door was closed. Things were getting wild down there, so noise insulation was my biggest priority. Confident all was secure, I stepped into the glorified outhouse to face my nemesis.
Needless to say, the whole experience sucked. Dropping your guts onto a dry ledge, covering it in toilet paper, and then trying to flush it down with little more force than your average sneeze is a ridiculous concept. Initially, I considered some courtesy flushes, having already seen how little water would come out. But I was worried about the sound travelling through the cardboard walls and giving me away. Instead, I took a chance and bet everything on one tug. I took a deep breath, gripped above the bobble and pulled that cord like I was starting a two-stroke on the back of a tin boat. That was the first of four flushes before the job was done, each time having to wait several minutes for the tank to fill before the next try.
Relieved in more ways than one, I washed my hands and crept back into bed. Anna was still sound asleep. The entire mission felt like a success. I conceded that would be my plan from now on, waking in the middle of the night to tackle the ledge.
The next day, we packed light and set off for the train station. It was time for a date with some cows.