How much is that lady in the window?

The windows of Amsterdam have a completely different connotation than most places. Naturally, there are those that most people associate the Dam with, the windows of the Red Light District. From all hours of the morning until all hours of the night, tiny alleyways are lit up, lined with pink and purple lights. The purple clue you in, informing the street dwellers that the ladies inside are not actually not women.

Within each, you will find women of all shapes, sizes, and colors, decked out in the skimpiest of lingerie. They perch on stools chatting on their on their phones or they press themselves against the glass, leaning themselves in prime- viewing stature. Their gaze remains focused, looming over the mixture of tourists strolling through for the spectacle and distinguishing their victims. They lock eyes with you, extending their fingers and urging you to let them open their windows for you. They are on the hunt, preying upon the horny men and women of the streets.

But there is so much more to the window culture of the Dam, much more than the Red Light ladies. The windows in Amsterdam are massive, many lines with light curtains drawn back to welcome the sunshine. Last night after my shift, I sat in the garden of the hostel, peering across the way at the apartment complex nestled behind us. Each window told a story, each revealed the nightly rituals of the neighborhood. One man raided his fridge for midnight munchies as others crawled into bed with a movie, settling into their slumbers. Another cleaned his terrace, whistling bird noises as he worked while the cranky bastard of the third level stripped down to his birthday suit, airing his hairy body with an open window as he fluffed his feather bed.

Each window here tells a story, giving you a glimpse of the Dutch. Every alleyway, apartment and flat are full of the lust, lies, and lifestyles of the locals of Amsterdam.

Screw cable, I'm window watching.