Our common denominator was curiosity. We decided an organized tour would reveal more about this unusual place than we could glean on our own. Even more intriguing, the brochure mentioned the tour would stop at the Prostitution Information Center β¦ now that did catch our eye. As darkness fell, the red neon lights reflected across the murky canal, as they have for decades, beckoning all comers with a promise of perfectly legal nightly ecstasy, or, for many tourists, glimpses of the forbidden.
We passed the windows, where the scantily-dressed girls sit displaying their wares, oblivious to the stares, gawks, and comments of those on the other side. Toward the end of our tour, we made our way to a nondescript little building, just steps away from window women. According to our guide, Mariska Majoor, a former prostitute, founded the Prostitution Information Center in to provide support and information to prostitutes and the public.
We quietly filed in. The corn-fed, conservative Hoosiers from my home state of Indiana would certainly look askance at this! But here, prostitution, like marijuana and hashish, is perfectly legal, quite well organized, government-regulated, and even socially acceptable. Mary Ann Mirjam , our hostess, offered drinks of beer, wine or juice. Since there were only a few seats, most people stood.
The guys looked nervously over their shoulders or unconsciously flipped through some of the many pamphlets they had picked up upon entering, and the women tried not to stare in fascination. Her talk was casual, yet informative. The center was meant for everyone, she explained, the girls themselves, their clients, the public, or anyone with questions. Though prostitution is legal in Amsterdam, there is still a lot of misunderstanding about it, and there are dangers for the girls.
The average time spent in this occupation is about seven years and most of the girls range in age from 18 to It was tiny, just a twin bed, porcelain sink, and barely room for a chair. We all dutifully poked our heads in, as if looking at some exotic animal on display. Twenty minutes quickly passed and our visit was over. The young man from Morocco bought a T-shirt from the gift shop rack next to the condoms, fridge magnets, and other souvenirs, we finished our drinks and filed out again.
