Imagine some of those perfect contradictions that make this world a better place—sweet and sour, fire and ice, kick and snare—the possibilities are endless.

Now imagine an actual city that works that way. That city is Amsterdam. The perfect contrast of order and disorder, organization and discord, beauty and dirt, righteousness and sin—Amsterdamers are not easy to classify.

To the uneducated outsider, one may easily mistake the Dutch for being incredibly laid back, grungy, and perhaps even a little wild. After all, this is the country known outside of its borders for marijuana and open-window prostitution. But spend 10 minutes talking to a local, and you’ll quickly see that your preconceptions couldn’t be further from the truth.

Here are your 12 tips to help you make sure you can fit in here in the Netherlands:

1. Be direct. Beating around the bush is not typically a part of communication here.
2. Respect everyone’s opinion—no matter what someone’s title or place on the hierarchy, everyone’s voice gets heard here.
3. Along these same lines, decisions are typically made in the spirit of group consensus.
4. In light of that, get rid of that idea that these are liberal people. Conservatism runs deep in many aspects of the culture here, and change is slow to come by.
5. They probably know more about your culture than you do about theirs. And they definitely speak your language better than you speak theirs.
6. Don’t be pretentious. It won’t make you friends here.
7. Of course the Dutch have a sense of humor, but refrain from trying out your new material in a business meeting.
8. You may be used to going to happy hour with your colleagues after work. They are not. There is actually a fairly strong separation between work and personal life.
9. You may be proud of your education, and that’s great. But they are probably just as educated as you.
10. If you are going to work here, don’t plan to hop jobs as one may do elsewhere. Continuing the theme of conservatism and slow change, Dutch workers tend to maintain loyalty to one company for a long time.
11. As such, employers are loyal to employees—Dutch labor laws make it difficult for them to get rid of unwanted workers.
12. Don’t let the conservatism intimidate you—it is common to address colleagues informally, by first name.

Now you’re all set to navigate a social or business situation in the Netherlands like a local!

The last thing I intend to do with this post is to mock Nelson Mandela’s autobiography of the same title, but forgive me, I just couldn’t come up with any words that capture the moment better.  This is a little story of a night out in Amsterdam.

Now, let me preface by admitting that I’m as guilty as the next man when it comes to skirting by for free every now and then.  Nothing major, but little things, like hopping the train, for instance.  I mean, does anybody pay for the Metro in Rome, or the trams in Melbourne?  Maybe things have changed since my last visit, but as a struggling 22-year-old, my 150 cents was going to some kind of bread or a bottle of water instead.

That said, the Netherlands is not the kind of place where I was going to test the honor system—intentionally anyway.  For whatever reason, maybe through my dealings with the Dutch in the workplace, I just had a feeling that this is a very serious society whose consequences I’d want no part of.  As I walked out of my hotel in Den Haag and caught Tram 9 down to Hollands Spoor station for the 45-minute trip into Amsterdam, the thought of trying to cheat Nederlandse Spoorwegen (Dutch Rail, or “NS”) out of their 8-some Euros never even crossed my mind.

Fast forward about 6 hours.  After my couple of hours meandering away from Centraal Station, after my dinner at De Peper, and probably most significantly to this story, after my visit to Hunter’s Coffeeshop.  Now, I’m sure you’ve been to a coffee shop before that allows smoking.  And I’m sure you’ve been to one that doesn’t allow tobacco.  But…both?

Go figure.

So, naturally in the mood for dessert after a scrumptious meal, I elected the chocolate brownie, so creatively called a “space cake”.  Feeling satisfied that my hand-sized brownie was 4 Euros well spent, I ever-so-coherently continued my exploration of Amsterdam’s back alleys, until I decided to pack it in and retreat to Centraal three hours later, around midnight.  Disappointed that I still didn’t feel any of that Amsterdam “charm”, I concluded that I was either: a) immune to the effects of marijuana, not being much of a smoker to begin with; b) a master of maintaining composure even under adverse chemical effects; or c) a sucker for buying a really, really weak brownie, thinking I should have realized that four Euros doesn’t go very far…and proceeded to buy my ticket back to Den Haag.

Or so I thought.

About halfway through the 45-minute journey home, somewhere amidst the distant, rolling lights peering out of the dark night, I was awoken by an NS conductor, asking to see my ticket.  Startled, I wiped the grog out of my eyes and began searching every pocket on me…only to find my wallet (which I craftily avoided revealing) and some lint.  After watching me struggle for a good 45 seconds, and me signaling to him that I ‘surely’ have it…he continued down the car inspecting tickets and said he’d return shortly.  At the exact moment I realized that I didn’t have the ticket I had sworn I purchased anywhere on me, I was able to decipher two solid facts out of the otherwise blurry world Hunter had introduced me to: 1) the stoic conductor was making his way back towards my section of the car, and 2) we were just reaching a complete stop at Den Haag HS (station).  Somehow thinking quickly, I lowered my knit cap over my head, looked straight at the ground, stood up, and took the most direct route possible to the exit—of course the opposite exit from which he was coming.  Straining with everything in me to walk fast and straight, I stepped onto the platform, snuck down the first bank of stairs, hung a right and continued my brisk walk straight out of the station’s main gate and onto the awaiting Tram 9 (which I ironically enough didn’t pay for this time).

I still don’t know if that conductor even noticed me sneak out or tried to stop me, and I don’t care.  I just remember time slowing down as I made my way out of HS Station, hearing crowds coming from the clouds cheering me on like it was a slow motion replay of the 15^th round of Rocky vs. Apollo Creed.  I walked briskly and purposefully into the first tram waiting, and when I saw that it was No. 9, I probably would have thrown my arms up in jubilation as the doors closed with me inside had it not been for discerning glare of a bald elderly man and the jolt of the tram’s movement shoving me down into a seat, as if to tell me to get a grip and stop looking like an idiot….

I should have just paid the fare…

Nighttime reflections off the window of the train…

I finally made it home…

If some of the Netherlands’ more conservative civic leaders had their say, marijuana would no longer be available to visitors in this country. Tired of Amsterdam’s longstanding brand association with marijuana since it was decriminalized in the 1970s, last year, the government introduced a mandatory membership card which would be required to purchase the drug—a card that would only be available to Dutch citizens.

Fortunately for those of you saddened by this news, cooler heads have prevailed, as the law was repealed just before its scheduled introduction on January 1^st. Instead, each city in the Netherlands will be able to regulate marijuana as they choose.

Credit people like Amsterdam mayor Eberhard van der Laan for letting common sense and foresight trump conservative politics:

“It’s not like tourists are going to say ‘OK, there’s no cannabis here anymore,” and accept it, van der Laan said. “Instead, they’re just goingt o try to find it on the streets, leading to a larger black market, more disputes with dealers, no control over its quality and all of the other problems we used to have.”

Of course there is an economic play as well. According to Amsterdam’s Bureau for Tourism, about 25 percent of the city’s 6 million annual foreign visitors visit one of the country’s 750 coffeeshops (220 in Amsterdam alone) to experiment. They estimated that the law would have deterred about 1 million of these from even including Amsterdam in their travel plans.

Whatever the ultimate motivation behind the repeal—be it common sense or euro stacks—it is great to see Amsterdam’s cannabis tradition remain alive and well.

Amsterdam.

If my fascination with Japan is based on the, well, contradictions, it’s safe to say that my fascination with The Netherlands is based on, well…contradictions.  When I first arrived in Amsterdam as a wide-eyed 22-year old, just 4 days into my first foray overseas, I was shocked and uncomfortable with the overall grunge and grit found around every corner.  By the time I got on the Deutsche Bahn train at Centraal Station headed for Koln, I truly believed that everyone in Amsterdam was dirty, high and paying for sex on a daily basis.

Left with this sour first impression, I was surprised when the next year I found myself working amidst Dutch people for the first time, and found them to be among the most business-focused, precise and organized people I had ever encountered.  Now having perception of the Dutch spanning two opposite extremes, by the time I returned to Holland a few years later, I found it to be a completely fascinating and different place.  In reality, it was comprised of the same grunge, the same 300-some “Coffeshops” that could legally sell up to five grams of soft drugs to each customer, and the same scantily-clad Eastern European (and other) women on display in the Red Light District.  The difference, of course, was in my own mentality.

Amsterdam is a breeding grounds for individuality, where strange and different is not merely tolerated, it is embraced.  Which pretty much makes the term “strange” irrelevant around here.  Quite simply, nothing is strange, rather…everything just is.  This can surely come as a shock at first to people raised on a particular set of ideals, norms and visions, but will always prove to be a lively and passionate breath of fresh air the moment one proves capable of breaking the shackles of “norms” and whets their palette for any adventure that may be lurking around the corner…

My ID:  7:46am, Monday, 03 June 2002:  Schiphol Airport

EasyJet flight EZY862 from Edinburgh

The first thing I noticed as my EasyJet flight from Edinburgh began its approach into Schiphol Airport was the sheer mass of the Port of Rotterdam, one of the world’s biggest and busiest container ports.  Having always been interested in transportation and logistics, I imagined where each of the containers below—just orange and blue specks—had been a few weeks earlier and would be in another few weeks.  A few minutes later I was walking through cavernous Schiphol trying to figure out how to get to Amsterdam, where I would first set foot around 8:30 on a lazy Tuesday morning.

After arriving at Centraal Station, I made a beeline for the most fascinating and surreal target on my list—the Red Light District!  I remember being shocked that some of the girls were “open for business” at all, being about the least social time of the entire week.  I didn’t have the best feeling, based primarily on my romantically idealized preconceived notions heading in, and I made haste to see target No. 2—Anne Frank’s House.