No more messy nights - the Amsterdam party is over

© Simon Poulter

When I moved to Amsterdam, 24 years ago, there were innumerable comments along the lines of: “Oh yeah... Amsterdam, eh?! EH?!! Nudge-nudge, wink-wink, EH?!!”. 

To the uninformed I was relocating to a cesspit of iniquity, a European Gomorrah of rampant drug taking and prostitutes for sale in the windows of every street. Everything, people supposed, a single man in his early thirties could desire. Except it wasn’t. Because Amsterdam wasn’t - and isn’t - like that at all. 

Yes, the notorious red light zone de Wallen (“the walls”) exists, with its women – most probably sex-trafficked - sat in illuminated windows looking bored while awkward men leer at them from the outside. And, as you walk through quaint backstreets, the barely disguised whiff of weed tickles the nostrils as it pours out of semi-legal coffee shops. However, this is just a tiny slice of Amsterdam, one of the jewels of Europe, with its Instagramable canals, medieval architecture, vibrant culture and a history and charm matched only by the likes of Paris, Seville or Prague.

I am naturally biased, having once lived in or near Amsterdam for the better part of a decade, as well as being a frequent visitor for almost 30 years. To some extent, too, the seedier side isn’t as bad as it could be (ditto, Hamburg and its somewhat cartoon-like Reeperbahn), but I get where the city authorities, and indeed the Dutch government, are coming from in wanting to clean it up. 

Conscious of this reputation, tourists are even being discouraged from visiting the de facto Dutch capital, though this was initially a measure to cut down on overcrowding. An environmental measure was also introduced to cap flights arriving at Schiphol, Amsterdam’s massive, seven-runway international air hub, which this year alone has reduced the number of flights from the UK by 22% compared with pre-Covid travel. The Netherlands Tourism Board has even been actively promoting places alternatives like Eindhoven - a city I know well from my career at Philips, which was founded there. 

But with the exception of football nerds wishing to see the PSV Stadion, or the even more niche interest of the Philips lightbulb museum, Eindhoven is largely a ‘company town’ with little to offer tourists compared to the cultural riches of Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum, the Anne Frank House, the canals or the Negen Straatjes (‘nine streets’), not to mention its wealth of cross-culture cuisines.

Amsterdam has always been one of the most welcoming cities in Europe, in one of the world’s happiest nations, according to research by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development. But those same people are understandably tired of the stag-weekenders who spend their time in the city getting drunk, fighting outside bars and urinating in canals (before then falling in), or swaggering about the red light zone leering at its most unfortunate residents. 

This has now been reflected by an online campaign specifically targeting 18-35-year-old British men, with one ad showing a young man being arrested and put in a cell with the atypically Dutch-blunt caption: “So coming to Amsterdam for a messy night? Stay away.”

In recent years the city has made efforts to combat the vice industry (believed to be controlled by a combination of rival Turkish and Albanian organised crime), both to cut down on the sex tourism as well as the exploitation of vulnerable women. The drugs trade, run by the same gangs, has long been associated with this, with politicians arguing that the liberal experiment, dating back to the 1970s, which legitimised cannabis use as long as it is sold in limited quantities in coffee shops, has failed. Weed sales have been regarded as a gateway to sales of harder narcotics, all with associated criminality invariably leading to violence.

When I moved to Amsterdam in 1999 moves were already in place to tackle drug tourism, prompting a national ban on the sale of magic mushrooms and an increased regulation of cannabis sales, and aimed at striking a balance between tourism and public safety. Simultaneously, concerns about sex tourism and human trafficking prompted initiatives to regulate prostitution and improve the working conditions of sex workers. There were also measures to reduce the visibility of the red light district, with an effort to redevelop Amsterdam’s central neighbourhoods by encouraging new businesses to move into streets previously dominated by the sex and drug industry.

Sustainable tourism has also been promoted, with a campaign calling for tourists to “Enjoy & Respect” Amsterdam, and embrace its rich cultural artistic heritage rather than its seedier attractions. However, in also addressing both ‘over-tourism’ and sex/drug visitors, businesses relying on tourist euros have expressed their concerns at any effort to drive down undesirabled, especially in the wake of Amsterdam’s post-pandemic recovery.

It is, then, a dilemma. Amsterdam – like everywhere else – suffered greatly from Covid travel bans and lockdowns, as the city’s hotels, bars, restaurants and shops saw business plummet. The campaign against young male Brits is targeted, but it is hard yet to gauge whether it will be either effective in achieving its aims, or detrimental to the local economy.

© Simon Poulter

As a champion of Amsterdam, however, anything which can successfully eradicate city’s “nudge-nudge, wink-wink” association, and works to enhance and embrace its unique identity is a good thing.

The city is more than simply a living museum, but its heritage - dating back to the 13th century when a small fishing village was established along the Amstel River - is more than worthy of protection. This is the city that was at the heart of the Dutch Golden Age in the 18th century, becoming a trading hub, with the construction of its famous ring of canals earning it the “Venice of the North” nickname. Its commercial and artistic foundations are still to be celebrated, either in the traditions established by the Dutch East India Company, one of the world’s earliest multinationals (and the genetic origin of the Netherlands’ global business outlook), the foundation of one of the world’s first stock exchanges – the “Beurs” (although Belgium’s Bruges lays claim to the oldest, its bourse), not to mention the work of Rembrandt and Vermeer during that same era.

There are those who see the see the discouragement of tourists looking to have the wrong kind of good time as being to Amsterdam’s financial detriment, not to mention to the detriment of its charm. But, just as New York – established as New Amsterdam – cleaned itself up in the early 1990s to its immeasurable benefit as a tourist destination, Amsterdam’s crackdown on Brits seeking to exploit its underbelly will go a long way to lessen the profile of that reputation. It will surely only enhance what those like me who know it, know it to be the real Amsterdam.

Snowmageddon out of here!

It was supposed to be a romantic weekend for two. My girlfriend and I visiting Amsterdam, a city I lived in and around for nine and a half years, and just before Christmas. A little sightseeing, some festive shopping, a couple of cosy dinners and then home to start another working week. And even though the weather forecast had talked of snow, being the out-in-the-Midday-sun Brits that we are, we didn’t see this as a reason to worry.

Even on the Sunday morning, as we trudged to breakfast pancakes through blizzard conditions like Captain Scott just popping out for a bit, we were confident that all would be fine later. No, really, this was just a dusting of snow, and that by the time we were meant to leave that afternoon, our modern plane, with its weather radar and automated flight systems, would soar up through the clouds.

It didn’t. As we were getting into the taxi to Schiphol Airport, a text message from British Airways said our flight had been cancelled. No suggestion of how we were now meant to travel, mind, just that it was off, and have a nice day. Tra-la-la. The missive provided a couple of numbers to call: the first didn’t work at all (BA’s Amsterdam call centre) and the second just offered details of a third number, in Newcastle, which of course everyone else was ringing, so you couldn’t get through. For the next 45 minutes I listened to a loop of soothing string music and suggestions of how I could get the best out of my weekend away. Marvellous.

At Schiphol we joined a queue that possibly led to a British Airways person to see whether we could get a new plane, or a hotel room, or a pot of gold or, frankly, anything. I decided to be bold and secured accommodation for the night at the Schiphol Sheraton (no point being inconvenienced for a night and uncomfortable). Eventually, a clearly already-weary BA employee rebooked us onto a new flight departing the next day, and that was all we could do about it. No other options, not even the train.

It was at this point that I begun to wonder where we actually were. This was Amsterdam, a city founded by intrepid international traders and now inhabited by one of the most vibrant, affluent, technology-savvy urban populations on Earth. And yet it was starting to feel like we were struck in the back of beyond in the midst of a crippling natural disaster. Little did we realise just what a crippling natural ”“disaster” we were stuck in for real.

That morning’s photogenic frosting had reduced the seven-runway Schiphol to just one and, worse, London City (where we were supposed to fly back to), Heathrow and other airports in the UK had been closed. Europe - or at least those parts of Europe unable to cope with snow - was grinding to a complete halt. Flights into and out of Schiphol, and again to and from the UK, were being progressively cancelled, leaving planes, crews and passengers in the wrong places at the wrong times. BA alone was said to have 50,000 passengers stranded around the world, which meant more than 300 aircraft were not moving.

The following morning we stoically camped in the Sheraton’s executive lounge, with the Schiphol and BA websites continuing to say our flight was on time, even when most others were being cancelled for a second day running. Ominously, it started snowing again, whiting out the planes we’d been reassuringly watching taxiing for most of the morning. But, thinking we still had a flight to catch we boldly left the comfort of free refreshment and went off to drop our bags at the terminal.

It was almost inevitable that our hubris would be shattered. In the 15-minute walk from bag drop, through an empty security inspection, to the lounge, our rebooked flight had been cancelled. And this time, no 24-hour delay. It would be a full two more days before BA would be able to get us out of Amsterdam. This was no longer a mere inconvenience: our two nights in Amsterdam had extended to five. Yes, there’d be compensation, hotel costs covered and a somewhat miserly £25 a day to keep us fed and watered. But we would now be delayed 72 hours to get home from a city only 230 miles away as the crow flies (were it able to get clearance to take off...).

Now, I know what you’re thinking: why, at this point, didn’t we drive or take the train? Well the first option was nixed by an absence of driving licences (plus the conditions would have been treacherous) and the second by train seats costing hundreds of Euros each disappearing before our very eyes.
By this stage we'd been reduced to the ‘you couldn’t make it up’ state of mental paralysis. We weren’t yet ready to cry and, oddly, not yet ready to lose it, either. Northern Europe had been caught by the weather, and Sunday afternoon’s chaos had snowballed - if I can use that word - with knock-on effects. BA's rebooking algorithms had made a huge assumption that it would be OK for us to turn a basic weekend into a five-day holiday, and that our employers and (in my girlfriend’s case) children wouldn’t have a problem with us being away for three nights longer than planned. But, of course, throughout there was no one to actually speak to, even if we wanted to complain as - guess what? - you couldn’t get through to anyone if you tried.

Luckily, got yet another hotel booked - our third of the trip (and, as it turned out, a rather nice one) - and headed off to the lengthy taxi queue where, as if trying to make a point, the weather conditions seemed to worsen further as we snaked slowly towards a ride back into Amsterdam.

So how does this story end? It is now Wednesday and we’re in the British Airways business lounge at Schiphol, checked in for a flight back to London this afternoon. The snow is clearing and it is drizzling, but the temperature has gone up and Schiphol has declared itself fully operational again. Life returns to normal.

Frankly, I’m amazed that both of us have remained sane throughout this experience. We've repeatedly reminded each other - and our Facebook friends - that there really is not a lot we can do other than sit it out. Our respective employers have also said the same, which has been wonderful of them (lucky that we have jobs with such flexibility). But, really.

Travel, as I'm prone to observe, seems to bring out the worst in people. But sometimes it brings out the worst in travel. Situations like ours are where people go mad and start lashing out. Twitter provides a somewhat healthy outlet for venting, as a search of the word “Schiphol” revealed. Inevitably, though, the poor employees staffing airport desks have taken the brunt of frustrations. To be honest, you can’t blame some complainants, as missed business meetings, college lectures, family gatherings and everyday normality is turned upside down by a transport infrastructure, that we normally use without blinking an eye, comes to a halt.

Those of us of a more rational composure will accept that snow is simply Mother Nature at work, even if mankind has done much to make severe weather “events” more severe. And we will accept that for all those hundreds of days in the year when planes take off and land like clockwork, once in a while it will all go Pete Tong, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

If there is one observation to offer, however, it is to British Airways: the blame for Sunday’s 'Snowmageddon' could hardly be placed at the airline’s feet (no - that must surely be shared between whoever didn’t order enough snowploughs and the weather forecasters who didn’t see such a huge dumping coming...), but there’s plenty BA must improve upon when these situations occur. It was only a few months before that an IT outtage left 75,000 of its passengers stranded throughout the world, and the once proud British flag-carrier’s reputation has taken a pounding ever since, by everything from shrinking seats and charging for food on short-haul flights, to its ageing aircraft fleet and making passengers with the cheapest tickets board those planes last.

BA’s low-cost rivals have their faults (Ryanair’s pilot shortage catastrophe might even make this week’s difficulties pale), but the absence of true customer service since Sunday seems to point to a threadbare organisation more concerned with short-term profit margins rather than long-term sustainability built on a quality product and the customer loyalty that deserves. And while BA’s chief executive Alex Cruz has promised a multi-billion pound investment in much needed new aircraft, as well as facilities like an improved business class and in-flight WiFi to help it catch up with its biggest competitors, this will do very little to repair the company’s reputation today. Because issues like paying for a sandwich are trivial when you can’t even get through to a helpline to get on a plane to begin with.

I’ve worked in corporate PR for many years and know that the first rule of crisis communication is to engage your stakeholders properly. If that means calling in every single employee on a Sunday to man the phones or hand out coffee and snacks at the airport, that’s what you’ve got to do. You can’t rely on automated text messages and bots rebooking people onto flights three days after they were due to depart as customer engagement if that customer isn’t being informed of the whys, hows, and whens. In a crisis you communicate and communicate often. Because if you don’t, an information vacuum  develops leading to frustration and, in the case of travel - rarely the most placid of human conditions - palpable anger.

Lessons should have been learned from the May IT meltdown, when passengers complained about the lack of information as to what was going on, either collectively or in individual situations. A cursory text message may be a modern way of saying getting out information quickly, but if the follow-up process falls down, the engagement is pointless. Just as airports should have been better prepared for the snow, airlines should have been better prepared by putting staff on standby. Just two people on BA’s information desk at Schiphol on Sunday wasn’t enough (a problem replicated throughout the airport with other airlines), and although Schiphol employees were handing out bottled water and bars of chocolate on Monday, there was no such comfort on the day it all went wrong. 

Perhaps, though, the worst lapse was in something that shouldn’t have cost a penny: an airline acknowledging that lives had been disrupted, that people wouldn’t be returning home to families or that business appointments would be ruined, that what should have been the simplest of excursions had been turned on its head.