Amsterdam is new to me, or I am new to it; either way, we are strangers, and Amsterdam is kind to strangers, the stories say. I know where I am going, although the streets are unfamiliar to me. Canals, so many canals. I’ve seen this before, in other cities. I didn’t know they were here as well. Small stone buildings and large churches with pointed steeples, bridges, cobblestones. It is past midnight, it is quiet save for a few couples and occasional bikes. Oh, the bikes! Bikes parked everywhere – surely there can be not enough people in this small city to ride all these bikes that are parked waiting for their owners. I have a map but you never know if what is on the ground will be representative, distances can grow or shrink. I stride confidently, we are old friends who just met. Pilgrims fled these towns for America, and then longed to return, built replicas of what they left behind. I hear the music, I must be in the right place. I enter the club. It is loud. I am decadent.