Amsterdam, June 13th, 2016: Struggling With Tragedy While Traveling

I was relaxing after the shows that night, as I usually do.  I was playing video games, going through photos.  But as soon as my roommate came in he exclaimed, “Oh my God.  Jordan, did you hear about what happened in Orlando?”

He proceeded to tell me about it all.  I was floored. 

It is one thing to think about all the mass shootings in the USA that have happened in recent years without much effort.  Perhaps part of that is due to unfortunate desensitization.  It is another thing to hear about something this atrocious for the first time.  The sheer scale of it floored me.  The sheer hate of the perpetrator floored me.  And I might hate myself if, in the future when more news of this nature inevitably surfaces, I forget about the feeling of mind-numbing shock in the moment my roommate told me about Orlando.

I got to know him well when he was working here.  He often speaks in a passionate, almost exaggerated way.  That night his tone was twisted.  He felt the pain of the victims and their families and the community of people devastated utterly by the incident.

I did not know what to say or how to respond.  I was unsure of how much to feel, let alone how to feel.  Something this outrageous--at such an absurd degree--certainly numbs all capacity to think.  Then, once the mind is ready to accept it, it hits in full. 

I fell asleep agitated in my own skin, let alone my own bed. 

When I woke up in the morning I was beginning to accept it, and because of that I felt my spirit being constricted.  I was tired, and yet I felt that constriction pushing my adrenaline up in the most uncomfortable way....  I almost did not leave the ship that day.  I knew, though, that I should: one, because fresh air is always a blessing; and two, we were docked in Amsterdam. 

In my past contracts, whenever times were tough personally, I knew I could always rely on the destinations to give me clarity and perspective.  To travel is to explore, wonder, and immerse one’s self in the beautiful difference.  Clarity and perspective come naturally. 

Thus I felt a place like Amsterdam was going to cleanse me perfectly.  My mind was cloudy, dampened by Orlando....  Yet here, from the countryside to the “coffee shops” was Amsterdam, an historic, famous, gorgeous, unique city in which one can discover all of the joys of travel.

The road outside the terminal.  June 13th, 2016.

Out of the terminal and into the fresh air I walked.  Not too much to see from here except for the train station at the end of the road some 400 meters to my right.  I put on some music: Miles Davis: The Complete Concert, 1964.  I had been listening heavily to Miles’ quintets of the 60’s in order to study form and grasp my personal sense of form in a stronger way.  

As I walked the road along the sea toward the town centre I was reminded of the night when, three years ago, some friends and I walked the very same way…but in the late evening, past landmarks like St. Nicholas' Church: 

Three years ago: St. Nicholas' Church and its dome rising in the background.  July 2013

...and straight into the Red Light District.

July 2013

July 2013

The history of Amsterdam's Red Light District history dates back centuries.  Today, prostitution is legal in the Netherlands with many rules and oversight so that it is controlled with the best interests of all parties involved.   Soft drugs like marijuana are also strictly controlled.  Gedogen is a Dutch word that means “tolerance," but in a very broad sense.  Truly, the Dutch have a commendable history of social and religious tolerance that dates back to the Middle Ages and beyond.  

July 2013

I must say…the walk around the Red Light District was…interesting.  The girls are so blatantly there, so blatantly...uh...presenting themselves.   None of us in our group went for it…but, well, there you go.  

(Seriously, that’s all you're gonna see of that unless you dig deep online. The girls have curtains, drawing them if anyone attempts picture-taking). 

June 13th, 2016

I approached the familiar bridge of three years ago.  Once I past underneath I knew exactly where I was.  I could see the great floating Chinese restaurant, Sea Palace, far to my left:

and the Amsterdam Central Train Station to my right, of which I had come to know in detail last year.  

The view from where I stood, about the cross the road.  The train station can be seen on the right.
June 2016.

Memories of three years past and the past summer came to me strongly.

However, that day in Amsterdam was as cloudy as my mind.  

The same scene of buildings with St. Nicholas' Church against the skyline,
three years later.

It took me fifteen minutes to walk to that point.  In those fifteen minutes I could not pay serious attention to all of the brilliant playing of Miles’ quintet, nor could I pay attention to my surroundings with the mindfulness I typically have while exploring.  The sun did peek through for a brief period of time, and then was gone again as I reached the bridge.  The clouds seemed to bare down upon the skyline.  Orlando was still fresh in my mind….  The constriction began tightening its grip on me. Breathing was an effort.  Miles’ chaotic jazz was beginning to sound not brilliant, but dire.  I switched it off immediately, unfortunately. 

But then, the sun shone forth as I stood looking out over the water.  The sky was lead gray and ivory white near the skyline, a contrast alluring and wonderful.  The light goaded me into that direction.  I took it, walking along the waterfront.  Perhaps I thought the day would be sunnier over there…sunnier altogether.  The travel fever within me was finally beginning to start its gears.  But the promise of rain was near.  I was still thinking about Orlando.

The unique shape of the Nemo Museum seen in the background.

For me, the most notable landmark beyond the floating restaurant is the Nemo Museum, the most extensive science center in the Netherlands and one of the most visited museums in the country.  It boasts many interactive facilities for people of all ages.  Last year, I had wanted to climb up to its rooftop area to explore.  I also recalled that the rooftop is accessible by stairs.  This was the point of the first jump-start to my spirits; I felt a little better just looking at this great piece of architecture in the distance.

Thus I began to go in that direction, passing the Amrath Hotel, a former shipping house from decades past.  

As I walked, that ivory white light was getting thinner.  My gears were stuttering, as if my travel fever was not inclined to motivate me.  Breathing was an effort, again.  I felt a numbness inside even as I passed the charming canal beyond the hotel.

  

I did not want to force myself to enjoy the moments as they came…but that is what happened.  My travel fever needed to peek through like the sun, to reassure me everything was okay. 

The closer I came to the museum, and the bigger it grew, the more my mind seemed to stabilize.  I did not allow myself to feel down.  I did allow myself the desire to make the most of my day.  

And yet the sky went dimmer.  The promise of rain was near.  I was still thinking about Orlando.  The lead gray clouds followed me to the museum, finally swallowing up the ivory white.  

That was the last sunlight I would see for a long time....

Nevertheless, here it was; the Nemo Museum, a great sight to behold.  I crossed the street and descended a small flight of stairs to the walkway.  There I stood in front of the museum.   Finally, it began to feel natural for me to enjoy the day without having to force myself.  Things were looking up as I looked up at the museum’s fascinatingly unique design.  

I ascended it, focusing on the travel fever, on why I was ascending in the first place: to explore, to discover, to immerse myself in a new experience…. 

Because it was new, my mind was open to it.  I was able to view it with a virgin perspective.  Thus I was able to appreciate it without the need to force appreciation.

The constriction was gone.  I had all but forgotten how I had had to concentrate to enjoy myself, to make an effort to inhale and just be myself.  

But the promise of rain was nearer.  Though now it was easier not to think about it, I was still thinking about Orlando.  

My thoughts fought to keep me from myself.  What was I doing up here?

The beauty of the city centre was a special time that day underneath the shades of gray streaking through the sky, splashing against the top of the world's canvas.  The ominous black clouds were almost not of this world....  Wait…was I not supposed to be feeling down?  Were not the ominous clouds promising rain?  Why did I think that was a beautiful sight when it was supposed to be a sign of atrocity?

 It finally began to rain.

I entered the café.  It is furnished in a modern sense but also in a way that gives respect to nature and the outdoors.  It was like walking into a chic jungle resort.  I ordered a cappuccino for less than I thought it would be. 

I decided to sit outside in the shelter of the patio roof.  I do not know if I did it more for the novel and adventuresome prospect of simply watching inclement weather from a sheltered area, or more to face the universe head-on.

The ivory white came back, more near than ever.  As I watched the gloom change and dance over the city I tried to be meditative; I tried taking an open, positive outlook from the novelty of being sheltered in a storm. 

As much as I tried, the positivity was being shoved away.  Something did not feel right.  I watched the rain steadily pound and took no liking to it, indifferent to the rain when I typically enjoy it.  I was still thinking about Orlando.  The ivory white and the lead gray continued to battle for dominance over the sky.  Did my travel fever rekindle up here only to clash with the heavy weather? 

My head grew heavy.  The surroundings began to frustrate me.   My cappuccino was almost gone—when did that happen?—as I watched the fountains dance.  

Then, four gentlemen sat down two tables to my left.  They were chattering and continued to chatter.  Not in a mood to perceive human beings, I turned my perspective to the fountains.  I let myself get caught up in their timed, mechanical patterns of on/off.  They were mechanical, alright.  The fountains went on and on relentlessly.  To what end?  They go and go in their sore predictability, trying to prove their worth of charm and notability.  I was not having it.  I did not appreciate that robotic, meaningless boredom.  …at what point did my perspective become chastising and closed?

All above me was a dank, dark metal sky.  The ivory white…where did it go?  …when did it go?  The sound of the rain died a bit, replaced by the sound of the gentleman.  I grew aggravated with their chatter.  I did not know the language.  It did not matter.  What mattered was that they were happy, loud, laughing.  WHY?  Had they NO notion of what I sensed?  Why could they not tune into it?  The great negative energy that was out in the world?  Were they ignoring it?!  Shoving this massive tragedy aside?!  HOW DARE THEY!

Look at the streaming water on the right....

The sky burst open, suddenly and unforgivingly.  Water slammed and obliterated all other sound.

The water droplets were huge; you can see them.

So much for novelty.  So much for trying to make the most of my day.  My mind was seeped in the Orlando shooting. 

The day was done.  My travel fever died.  It was pitiful to begin with.  I wanted to go back to the ship and crawl back into my cabin.  The universe seemed to feed on my poisonous thoughts.  It was adding insult to injury by sending this inimical weather over Amsterdam, one of the most charming cities in the world.  I felt not only unwilling to appreciate that fact, but unable.  

The Netherlands is small, but its history impacted the world….  Amsterdam started off as a fishing village on the Amstel River.  Through the centuries Amsterdam’s trade blossomed from herring and beer into the trading center of the world, even through the ugly Reformation period and the Eighty Years' War with Spain.  Due to its strategic position for trade along both the sea and the Rhine River, Amsterdam was able to become a main warehouse and clearing-house for goods from the Baltic countries, southern countries like Portugal, and inland regions like Hamburg.  Amsterdam began developing professional services like cartography, banking, and insurance to keep its vast trade network functioning optimally.  Not only that, but Dutch merchants began sailing the seven seas into the East, bringing back spices exotic and rare.  In 1602, during the Eighty Years War, the Dutch East India Company was founded, and from then on Amsterdam and the Dutch Republic entered its “Golden Age.”  Culture, riches, ideals, economy, and finance exploded in the city.  Rembrandt and his pupils worked here.  Even as its Golden Age declined and more wars and attacks occurred (Napolean’s brother Louis ruled here for a number of years before the French Emprie’s downfall), Amsterdam still went strong, becoming the financial and banking center of Europe by the end of the 17^th century.

In short, the terrible aspects of history did little to curtail the stunning success of Amsterdam and the Dutch Republic (a.k.a. The Seventeen Provinces at the time of the Eighty Years' War) in the areas of commerce and wealth. Within the original bounds of the city--that which has drawn millions and millions from across the globe for its beauty and extraordinary history--was me, sulking, unable to move from my stormy perch, pissed off at everything.  It was no use to motivate my wanderlust into action and to allow my adoration of Amsterdam to fuel it.  

But I tried.  Once the rain died down, I sure as hell tried.  I forced myself out of my constraints like I had never done before: I mustered my knowledge of Amsterdam’s mighty past, and stood.    

That ivory white sky bloomed once again, illuminating the former tumult of the museum.  I could not sit forever.  

So down the rooftop I went, slogging through mental filth as the sunlight came and went upon the stairs. 

The rain had ceased as I descended.  That’s the nature of rain, after all; it comes and goes.  We continue to live our lives despite it.  We need to realize the sun comes and goes too, but there is a crucial difference: it is always there.  Light will eventually shine, and then, we go.  

I traveled up the way, passing more familiar sights from the year past.  

On the street before the change of direction I passed a centuries-old windmill.  

I do not know what this windmill's function was in its operating days.
Maybe it was a flour-producing windmill?  Or perhaps it made oil?

These relics are famous in Amsterdam.  On a separate visit to Amsterdam I learned about how this centuries-old technology was used to drain lakes and wetlands in the countryside.

I was feeling better just by walking.  To once again be on this familiar route added to my improvement.  Though the lead gray came back again for some time, the rain did not.  I was still making the effort to keep my mind steady against the terrible vibrations I had been receiving from the night before.  This effort was easier because I was walking; because I was exploring; because Amsterdam has a breathtaking sight around every corner, along every canal, and through every alleyway and street.

I did not gather the names of the landmarks shown above.  What I can tell you is
 the Hollandsche Schouwburg is down this street, a reminder
of the Jewish suffering of WWII.

I felt the urge to expand my mindfulness.  Music is especially priceless in difficult times.  I took out the Ipod and flicked through until I knew: Wayne Shorter.  Apparently the post-bop era was speaking to me that day, because his music of the '60's felt like a perfect choice.

Two of his pieces were beckoning me.  “House of Jade” was the first, off of his seminal Juju album. The piece is at once playful but moreso serious, and deep.  There is great wonder to be found in that seriousness.   There was also great wonder to be found underneath these lead clouds. 

“Infant Eyes, off of the equally-seminal Speak No Evil, was the other piece that beckoned me.  I had all but forgotten how lovely it is.  I was listening to this album a lot in my early twenties.  My tastes have shifted a bit since then.  These things happen.  But to come back to something you were listening to a long time ago reveals not only what you thought about it then, but also new things you may have never noticed.  As a musician, learning to listen open-mindedly will allow discovery of new things in the music you thought you knew so well (and that also goes for music which does not match your personal taste).  

It was here that "Infant Eyes" and the scenery initiated a change in me.  It was
here that I was brought out of the heaviness of sadness by something I thought I would
never witness that day: euphoria.

“Infant Eyes” struck me that day more than it ever had, not only because I opened my mind but because it spoke to my forlorn mood….  The emotional, longing melody is large in range, but so wonderful that singing it seems totally natural.  The chords are hard to describe in words...they suggest something akin to deep, deep love….  I have always seen the infant’s eyes in the sonic atmosphere of the piece, but today I saw also hope: a gorgeous, loving quality that was like reassurance in a chaotic world.  And of course, Wayne’s soloing further emphasizes this.  McCoy Tyner’s soloing hears that and follows in its path like a pure rushing breeze.

In meditation, one learns not to escape from one’s troubles, fears, insecurities, and pain, past or present.  It is more about learning to be face-to-face with those negative things and to keep mindfulness steady, to be actively aware of your mind’s tendency to focus on those things but also of the mind’s ability to expand beyond those things to all the good qualities about oneself and one’s life.  The good things and the bad are held side-by-side, face-to-face with mindfulness.  “Awareness is not part of the darkness or pain; it holds the pain, and knows it, so it has to be more fundamental, and closer to what is healthy and strong and golden within you” (Wherever You Go, There You Are, Jon Kabit-Zinn, pg. 86). 

At this moment I was fully aware, immersed in the deep, earnest love of Shorter’s piece, and seeing Kabit-Zinn’s quote manifesting in the world around me in the dark, treacherous clouds and the lovely, strong, golden city beneath them. 

And so from that moment onward I was changed for the better.  I was able to travel, and willing.  Amsterdam would not be suppressed by clouds, and neither would I.  

I was still listening to “Infant Eyes,” dissecting its harmonies, when by pure chance I came across a familiar part of town.  Yes; I was here last year.  This was where I discovered Sarphatipark.

2016

2016

2015

2015

2015

Sarphatipark had been full of joyful people of all ages, shapes, and sizes.  The sun had been out, warm and nourishing.  The air had been humid, but not overbearing, so that each breath you took left you filled with satisfaction.  However different the park looked in the gloom, today’s air was the same.  It was a tad disappointing to see this wonderful place empty of people.  But the same stately fountain was there:

and the pond and the green at its borders still gave off vibrancy in the shade of the clouds.  

No; this whole park still gave off vibrancy underneath the shade of the clouds.

Nearby is a popular outdoor market.  I came across it in no time, choosing to walk the same route I walked last year.  A jazz club is in this area, too.  I was surprised to see signs that said “permanently closed” on the building….  Last year I had plans to see that club in the evening, but those plans changed.

One of the outermost canals of the main city.

On I went.  Along the roads, the trees and the architecture combined to form a sort of urban canopy that felt so homely and rustic.  In this gloomy weather it was like walking a mountain road through a small, non-discreet village, far-removed from society at large and existing perfectly alongside nature.  

I had turned my Ipod off a while ago, but the vibrations of Wayne Shorter still filled my mind as I reached another canal of the main city.  No matter the weather, this part of Amsterdam has lasted through the centuries in all its amazing loveliness.  The canals were built in the Golden Age, the age that began even as the Eighty Years War continued into the 17^th century.  It began to rain again.  The loveliness of the city was resilient against the weather, as resilient and powerful as the city was throughout all its hard times.  

Shortly I came across the Rembrandtplein, one of the liveliest squares (especially for nightlife) in the city and also one of the most intriguing, for not only is there a great, regal statue of the man for which the square is named, but below him stands a large group of black figures, all representative of the Night Watch.  Rembrandt's visage crept slowly into view as I sauntered into the square.  I was taken with the scene as soon as I could perceive it all.  Surveying the figures felt almost improper, as if I were not fit to be addressing them all in such a scrutinizing manner; as if I were disrespecting them and especially Rembrandt by doing so.  The significance and the magnetism of the figures and their creator were that strong.  

This scene, strong with dignity and history, made me forget about the fact that it was starting to rain, yet again.  I chose to take it all in.  When I was ready I went from the square without a care toward the rain, listening to the cheerful commotion and the rain in the trees and the water; and my attention was on every building, cobblestone, person, boat, and canal.  I picked up my pace.  I was happy.  

On my way back toward the train station, more familiar sights flourished in front of me, and I remembered them all like I remembered the day before:




The fascinating Westerkerk Church:

2015

Munttoren, which means "Mint Tower," built in the late 15th century:

2016

The National War Memorial, a WWII testament to those who have given their lives in war:

2015

And of course, Dam Square itself, which has been the center of the city since its beginnings.  

Orlando.  I was not thinking about it.  I felt born again.

Exactly one month later, I found myself dumbfounded to see terror and chaos filling Nice's Promenade des Anglais on the news.  My favorite part of the Riviera…it pained me so much to see it like that.  I do not know Nice like that.  Nobody does.  

All taken on a fresh, brilliant windy day in May, 2016

 This is what Nice is supposed to be.  


I was also heart-broken to see another of my favorite cities of the world, Istanbul, in the sheer bloodbath of the attempted coup.  I do not know Istanbul like that.  

The grounds of Topkapi Palace, 2014

Sultanahmet Mosque; 2014

The Hagia Sophia, 2014

Outside the Grand Bazaar, 2014

Sehzade Mosque in the background, and a wonderful park in
the foreground.  2015

Istanbul’s history is colossal, grand, and permeates the entire city such that you feel it anywhere you stand, anywhere you go.  It cannot be lost even if times are terrible.  Turkey has been the playground for troubling times and ideas lately.  It is disconcerting, and my heart goes out to those in Turkey who just try to live their lives.  However, these recent times in Turkey are only a part of its history. History is far greater than any sum of its parts.  It transcends both the good and the bad to the omnipotent throne of its own mighty whole.    

Central Station, Amsterdam, 2015

June 13th, 2016.  Revived in mind and spirit at the end of this day in Amsterdam, I recalled how I felt at the beginning.  Orlando impacted me massively.  The recent gun violence in my country is not to be ignored.  Neither are the tragedies abroad in places we know to be relatively peaceful.  So many lives lost, and so many emotional and physical injuries….  However, in places like France, Belgium, Turkey, and the United States, a certain degree of peace, tolerance, and freedom is the norm.  It is therefore rare for man-made tragedies to occur. When they do, the impact is greater because it is not the norm.  But because they are rare, they must be thought of as such.  One man-made tragedy cannot mean that a relatively peaceful place is crumbling socially or politically.  That is the media talking with its constant coverage.  As long as a place maintains a degree of peace and stability it is a strong place.  France has shown strength and resilience, and continues onward.  Belgium has shown strength and resilience, and continues onward.  The United States has shown strength and resilience, and continues onward.  And of course there is Amsterdam, which maintained strength and resilience and finally bloomed into one of the world's greatest cities during wartime.

Even if greatly shaken, a peaceful place shall show resilience and overall humanity in the face of ignorance and intolerance.  Those who would try to take others’ happiness away to satisfy their own happiness will not ultimately succeed in a strong, resilient place.  The happiness of the many outweigh the motivation of the few who aim to take it away.  Happiness cannot be taken away.  This is most important to understand even at the individual level.  The dark, rainy days in our lives come and go.  The good and the bad are within your mind to grasp and perceive, but we must learn to hold them all in awareness so that they embolden us and remind us of our own fundamental strengths.  We are able to both grieve and go on with our lives, to dislike our enemy but also feel compassion for him and the hope for his improvement, to see our worlds crumble but also to realize that as long as we are still here, so are our options, choices, and the motivation to pursue happiness even in the worst of times.  The choice is ours. 

Though horrified by the Orlando shooting, I chose to be happy on a dark, rainy day in a beautiful, magical place.  I struggled, but I ultimately succeeded.   When we concentrate on awareness and tune into the mind, we perceive the beauty and purity of the mind lying deeper than the clouds that sometimes cover it.  

The mind will eventually shine, and then, we go.  

Disclaimer:

I do not intend to speak on behalf of Azamara Club Cruises.  As an employee of Azamara Club Cruises, I hereby state that all views and expressions of opinion I hold are solely my own, and do not reflect the views, values, beliefs, opinions, or company policies of either Azamara Club Cruises or Royal Caribbean Cruises Ltd. 
Additonally, I neither own nor claim any of the links provided 
in this blog.