Unlike so many of the bawdy houses of Amsterdam, the building bore no signs.Unlike so many of the bawdy houses of Amsterdam, the building bore no signs. In fact, as I stood in front of the chipped, black door marked #12, I almost thought it was all a practical joke. What did I know about the strange Hazraj, the turk who, in drunken friendliness at the hotel bar, had insisted, "A whore's a whore all over the world. You don't need to visit Amsterdam for that. But...the Anal Sex Circus! There is not another anywhere." I rang the bell. Was this really the place -- or was he having a joke at the expense of a white British tourist? When the door slowly opened, I realized that he was indeed a friend! Stepping into the interior of the townhouse, it was a though I had stepped through tent flaps and into the most opulent carnival ever. There was actual sawdust on the floor. The air smelled of beer and popcorn. The big main room had concession stands where they were selling popcorn -- delicately laced with hashish - and white cotton candy, also drugged. Beer and liquor were being sold by men in straw hats, red vests, and white striped shirts. Garish rotary lights whirled a dizzy array of greens and reds into the air. Semi-nude women -- black, Asian, and white -- escorted the various men as they ate, drank, and laughed uproariously. In different languages, a barker in a derby hat shouted at the back of the room, "Hurry, hurry. Step right up! Come, Come, Come to the Anal Sex Circus!" If the mad Turk Hazraj had not been so explicit in his description of the place, I don't know what my reaction to this bizarre spectacle might have been. A beautiful Eurasian girl glided up to me. I ordered a cafe pousse at the bar. In American money, it cost me about $20. I was going to order one more for my "hostess" but reconsidered: "You wouldn't drink, would you? Just water one of these plants with it." I slipped here $20 cash instead. "Let's call it a contribution to the continuing survival of horticulture. |