''Rob, how the hell did you manage to take absolutely NO pictures of Amsterdam?'' - Rob

I think part of it must have been Christiania's influence on me back in Copenhagen. They didn't want you taking pictures in Christiania, presumably because of the pervasive drug use. Instinctively, I stopped taking pictures around people who were smoking up. And in Amsterdam, that pretty much meant I left the Coolpix in my backpack.

Amsterdam's city crest is adorned with the letters ''XXX.'' I wonder which was first associated with XXX - Amsterdam or pornography. Those who sought depravity didn't have to look far to find it there. First off, all the rumours are true. Yes, there's a lavish red light district. Yes, you can walk into all sorts of touristy ''coffee shops'' and pick up a souveneir t-shirt, weed paraphernalia, and even soft drugs. Yes, it's illegal for the cops to search you. And yes, especially from the point of view of anally-retentive Boston, Amsterdam was the most liberal place I've ever been.

But if you were looking to have a Dutch experience, you had to get as far away from the touristy stuff as possible. On my second evening there, I found an out-of-the-way spot called the ''Relax Coffee Shop.'' With a friendly staff, low-key atmosphere and Amsterdam residents coming in over the course of the evening for a quick break after work, I considered it Amsterdam's version of Tromsø's Kaffe Å Lars (if you can look at it that way). What Kaffe Å Lars doesn't have is a menu of types of weed from all around the world. I ended up spending over six hours taking with a British artist who moved to Amsterdam about fifteen years ago. He had many good things to say about the city, and had many helpful suggestions for finding more authentic Dutch settings.

This isn't exactly what I'd call an authentic Dutch setting in the year 1999, but the Netherlands were once covered with windmills just like this one. A significant percentage of the country is actually reclaimed land that sits below sea level. This land was reclaimed by pumping the water out, and containing it using huge dykes. Now, electric pumps are used in place of windmills.

When the Dutch were taking down windmills to replace them with electric pumping devices in the name of progress, it occurred to someone that it might be a good idea to save some of these historical buildings for posterity. Many windmills have been brought from all over the country to just outside of Edam, a town outside of Amsterdam made famous by its cheese. For more than three centuries, the oil mill on the left called ''De Zoeker'' was used to produce vegetable oil from different kinds of seeds such as linseed and rapeseed.

The cobblestone streets of Edam are a twenty-minute drive outside of Amsterdam. Back in the days when the canals of Amsterdam also served as an open-air sewage system, the aristocracy would escape the smell by taking trips to their second homes in Edam. They're still making cheese here, and it's still idyllic. Nowadays, though, it tends to be a place where the wealthy retire.

I had the chance to enter the De Zoeker windmill and marvel at its internal workings. My apologies; this picture suffered a lot from the image compression I was using on the camera at the time. You probably noticed similar problems with some of my subway pictures in Stockholm. I was rapidly running out of room to store pictures on the CoolPix, so I was cranking up the compression as high as it could go. It's still detailed enough for you to imagine what it must have been like to have all of this equipment grinding away right in front of you.

I had a very relaxing stay in Amsterdam, which was exactly what I needed after my trek through Scandinavia. One of the last things I saw before heading home was this shop full of wooden shoes. They do still wear these things in The Netherlands! They're supposed to be extremely good for your lower back, and if you're a farmer, they might just be the best way to keep your feet dry.

I donned a pair of wooden shoes, tapped my heels together three times, and said, ''There's no place like home.'' Eight hours later, I was walking through customs at Pearson International Airport in Toronto.