When I arrived in Amsterdam, I went to live in the Indische Buurt. Molukkenstraat, to be more precise. First day upon my arrival I found it an ugly street. There were no hipster cafes at the Molukkenstraat at the time, just very shady coffee shops, equally shady dry-cleaning businesses, and Turkish man-only hairdressers. There was also the occasional male who would harass you on the street, which was something quite peculiar having into account that that phenomenon simply DOESN’T happen in Amsterdam. But it did at the Molukkenstraat.
One of the best perks of adulthood should be the love of Sundays. I mean, when i remember about how i used to detest them, i have an immediate feel of relief i’m out of that place. Now that i think about it, loving a Sunday is easy when you don’t have a deadly hangover.