A Bar Room Encounter

I gave up on finding an explanation for Indische Buurt (I would go on to ask five more Indians about the neighboorhood, and received a blank expression in return). But it does exist, unbeknownst to many Indians in Amsterdam.

I wandered a few more blocks, and stopped at a typically Dutch bar for a beer. At the counter were three people, a forty-something black woman talking to a man of about 75 who was dressed in a suit and smoking a cigarette. Next to this pair was a Dutchman, about forty years old and a bit lanky. They noticed me ordering in English.

The black woman (Stella) told me that she was originally from Surinam, but had lived in Amsterdam for 20 years. She explained that there was a nearby Surinameese neighborhorhood . Stella introduced her friend as "Tony Montana". "Well, when I met this guy, he was Tony Montana," she said. In character, he theatrically dusted off his jacket, and made a gesture with his hand. He said his name was actually Hamid, and that he was originally from Turkey. Hamid asked me if I lived in Amsterdam. When I told him I was on the way to India, he shouted "India is Turkish!"

The other man started talking to me, asking me a bit about where I had been traveling. I told him I had just been in France. A look of disappointment flashed across his face. "France, they are not like us. It is a bad country."

"Not like you, in what way?" I asked, wondering what could have prompted such a negative assessment of France. The French seemed okay to me. He paused for a moment, seeming to be furtively searching for some words in English, then said "they are just different than us." I could only imagine what misdeed, or perhaps series of misdeeds, the French people could have committed to warrant such enmity. I finished my Heineken, said goodbye to Tony and Stella, and left the bar, and Indische Buurt.