Sinless in the city

Amsterdam has long had the reputation as a party city, which is why many tourists flock to the Dutch capital.

What better place for hen and stag nights, with a red light district and bars and coffee shops all serving what many think they need for a good time? Legal soft drugs draw the aging hippies and the young out for an experience to talk about back home... if they can remember it.

Many do not go any further than the bar closest to their hostel. I pitied the mass of street cleaners that appeared before dawn each and every day to sweep and hose down the debris left behind by the party goers pursuing a good night out.

However, there are other ways to enjoy the clean and cultured side to Amsterdam. Staying in a five-star hotel would at least keep you at arm’s length from the party crowds.

For those on a budget and not wanting to stay in a flea pit full of drunks, there is a quiet haven. I decided to try out the Christian Hostel in Bloemstraat, Jordon (www.shelter.nl).

A strict policy was told to me while checking in – no drink, no drugs and no sex. No mixed dorms here.

Now this, I was hoping, was my heaven. I am an early riser when travelling and like to beat the hordes of sightseers to the sights.

This means that I like to retire early too. On many an occasion I have been woken by returning revellers in a totally different timezone to me. This hostel is the place if you need a good night’s sleep.

Set within an old school house, many of the staff are volunteers from around the world. Young church girls were gaining experience of the world without being spoiled by the worst that it can throw at them.

It was refreshing to find such a place and such a surprise to find it in Amsterdam. The film shown in the evening was a bible story and if I had wanted to, I could have joined the prayer group.

But do not get the wrong idea – religion is not overbearing here at all. The food is good and sold at a bargain price and the fellowship is refreshing. Facilities are the norm for any hostel and the old building had coped well with its conversion.

From the hostel, it is a short, safe walk or tram ride to the sights of Amsterdam. I visited the Van Gogh museum to marvel at his 200 paintings. As I moved from room to room, his descent into madness was evident and chronicled as the bright colours faded into morbidity.

Cultural events, along with flower, flea and farmers markets abound. Dam Square, a focal point for all, was abuzz and a crowd had gathered to hearVincent van Hessen, the now famous busker. A guitarist who learnt to sing for his supper, the crowd enjoyed the JimmyHendrix lookalike.

Walking back, I watched the noctule bats alight from their evening flights. Wanting a coffee before bedtime, I ventured into a kebab cafe. The owner was happy to serve me and we sat and chatted.

Originally from Cairo, he had made a new life in Holland with his university degree. With little work, he opened his cafe and was happy in Amsterdam. We talked for two hours over coffee and snacks before I realised that night had fallen. I bade my farewell and jumped on a tram back to the hostel.

I experienced a completely different Amsterdam on trips away from the centre. On a barge, I drifted like a swan past old buildings with ornate frontages and carillon crowned churches. The now faded homes were a reminder of the golden age of trade.

A visit to Willet Holthuysen, an opulent 17th century canal house, gave me an insight into the lifestyle of that time. The 192 bus took me to Sloten village, where the windmill has been working since 1847. Volunteer millers and helpers gave an interesting insight into windmills and country crafts. Coppery makers have not lost their craft skills. ‘Molen’ means ‘mill’ in Dutch, so ask for Molen van Sloten.

By train from Amsterdam Central, I visited the Ten Boon Safe House in Haarlem. This is a tale of good nature and sacrifice that will warm any heart. The heroic story is in the same vein as Ann Frank’s, and is perhaps even more interesting.

The Ten Boom family home in Barteljorisstratt has not changed since 1837. Devoted to God, the home became a safe haven for over 800 souls fleeing the Nazis. The daughters, Corrie and Bêtise, were the ringleaders, but on February 28, 1944, they were betrayed.

The secret police raided the home and lay in wait to arrest over 30 people. Bêtise died in Ravensbruck camp but Corrie stoically survived the war until her death at the ripe old age of 91 years. Knighted by the Queen, her book The Hiding Place was a bestseller that makes a good read.

From here I took the bus to the Lisse, a quaint town that grew prosperous on the nearby bulb fields of Keukenhof. It was time for me to hire a bike and get some good, honest exercise and fresh North Sea air.

Cycling along safe pathways past acres of blossoming bulbs and waterways lifted the spirits until I turned for home. The setting sun had lost its warmth and the biting wind had gained some teeth.

The pedal home was harder work. Handing over my orange bike to Kees van Dam, I jumped on the number 58 bus back to Amsterdam.

The only red light I saw was my flushed face glowing in the mirror. And I had proved that it waspossible to have a little culture and adventure in Amsterdam without the sin.