Post 3.

Post 3.

Fashions change slowly in Holland. The style of Amsterdam’s young adult population hasn’t a changed a bit in two years. Or to put a finer point on it, the style of the groups who I used to come into contact with is still very much the same. Painting in broad strokes, affluent young Dutchmen take inspiration from Jeremy Clarkson. They fine tune the blazer, loafers and jeans with a smirk and long hair slicked back. I have little knowledge of what they talk about, but I can imagine that cars and conservative opinions figure largely in their conversation. The counterpart girls aspire to be either a pirate (boots) or motorcyclist (jacket) and apparently get their hair done in Essex. Outside of this ‘traditional’ Dutch costume, many of the young people in central Amsterdam dress like British/American hipsters, or indeed may well be British/American hipsters. High-top trainers, skin-on trousers and oversized jumpers were also popular here two years ago. I find this an surprisingly appealing combination, even with the huge NHS vanity specs. The appeal could well be due to fear that I can no longer get away with such outfits, which more or less equates to envy. If so, this is a mark of lost confidence, though also, I like to believe, a sign of refined judgement.

The pace of life here remains much the same too. People leisurely move around with a very occasional rush. This could well be because the city is always covered in tourists. Then again, if there is any connection between a community’s ways of life and its built environment, then the stasis of Amsterdam may be rooted in its architecture. My wonder at the beautiful old buildings of this city has been renewed. So too am I reminded that nothing is built here that doesn’t fit in with a wider design. Property developers, it would seem, are not allowed to erect cheap and ugly blocks for a quick profit. It may be because of this consistency that it’s easy to feel the same here on every visit. It’s certainly then also easy to slip into the same habits.

This last weekend was a series of welcome reunions with friends and the revisiting of neighbourhoods I used to live in. Queen’s Day on Friday was the jolly fest of exuberance that I remember. Steady Eddy’s now on autopilot and attracts absolutely no attention. My own attention is, however, irretrievably on other bikes and I’m having thoughts of kitting myself out with a modern machine that can carry me through Europe. My attention is also on other riders, specifically the Dutch women, who have an elegance on the bike that they rarely possess on foot. The Dutch Caucasian gene pool must be relatively narrow, or shallow. By which I mean that White Dutch people obviously mostly prefer to have children with a physical (and probably economic) match. I’m not remotely qualified to talk about genetics or sociology, so all I’m pointing at here is the physical trend amongst White Dutch people. Many are tall, athletic, blond and well-sculpted, both in face and body. In my experience, the Dutch seem to befit the Scandinavian stereotype better than the Scandos themselves. Clearly, this a winning combination in some respects, and can be quite daunting when twinned with the confidence that prevails throughout Amsterdamers. The Dutch have a reputation for being forthright, which I tend to agree with, but they also have a public confidence that I admire: gazes are held high and people openly watch one another in public.

At the moment I’m staying with my friends Maaria and Paavo (Paddy) in the west of the city. They are incredibly kind (and beautifully Finnish) and it’s a pleasure to share a home with them again. This part of the city has a sizable Dutch-Arabic community of which I knew little before. Apart from a preference for mopeds over bicycles, there are very few overt differences between the White and Arabic communities in the west. Even the Islamic religious preference is low-key. Many Arabic women wear Islamic dress, though barely any of the men indicate belief in this way. I’ve noticed several halal butchers, but not a single mosque. On Friday I walked through secluded Arabic neighbourhoods, openly drinking beer with my German friend Micha, and none of the few residents seemed to mind. It’s difficult to imagine feeling such an absence of conflict in an English city. Strong lines are still drawn around ethnic and religious communities in the UK, to benefit of nobody. But then, perhaps there are strong ethnic lines drawn here too: there is little clear evidence that Arabic Dutch and White Dutch families are converging. As much as I like blond women, I also like social harmony and the absence of racial barriers. I’m on the look out for families who prove this hypothesis wrong, and then another point for Dutch society can be added to the already sizable tally.