In the Spring of 2017, we boarded the plane in Jakarta, a hot and humid metropolis built on top of steamy swampland on the northern coast of the island of Java, the island on which I live. My two coaches, Ryan and Albert, sat on either side of me on the plane, and another young tennis player named Samantha, who was 16 at the time and four years older than me, sat next to Albert. I had a strange, somewhat empty feeling knowing I would not set eyes on my parents, my house, my brother, my dog, or my room for two whole months. This was a new experience for me and, to be honest, I felt a bit confused. My heart raced with anxiety at the thought of being separated from the things I’d known my whole life, but I also was excited about heading into the unknown. I would be training and playing a lot of tennis over the next 8 weeks, that much I knew.

     My training began by hitting with Samantha, a familiar face, to get the feel of the court and  calm my nerves a bit. This was similar to what I did back home, and I felt my heartbeat slow and my body relax. I immediately noticed one thing that was different here—the air. Back on Java the air was thick and heavy in comparison. The simple act of breathing took extra effort. It also often had a perpetual, somewhat musty smell. Here, breathing took on a new feel. The air was light and fresh and entered the lungs easily. It was also cooler, so the feeling of the cool air entering my mouth and nose, then the coolness in my chest, seemed to give me energy. Or was it simply the thought of being on the other side of the planet? I don’t know.

     The training session was over at about 4pm, so Ryan and Albert suggested that Samantha and I go sightseeing with them to Dam Square in the city center. After all, we were in Amsterdam! We boarded the tram, tapping our prepaid cards on the way in. The high-pitched whine and clacking of the steel wheels on the tracks sounded strange for traveling around inside the city, but no one else on the tram seemed to notice anything unusual. After tapping our cards again on the way out, we hopped off the tram and onto the cold, grey cobblestone surface. Everything here seemed so old; the buildings and the streets were all different shades of gray and made of stone, not concrete or asphalt. The black wrought-iron lampposts were also from another time. There were lines of shops and restaurants all around the square, and of course lots of people milling around a bit aimlessly, but there were no cars or motorcycles. This was a pedestrian zone, made for people to just walk around. I wish they had pedestrian zones like this back home, but Indonesians don’t like to walk much.

     Samantha and I were following Ryan and Albert, who seemed to just be enjoying themselves and not really paying much attention to where we were going. Suddenly, though, there were lots of people around—tourists mostly, some French, some Italian, some Americans—and the sounds of their voices filled the street. We were walking along one of the many canals, and the shops on either side of the canal had very large windows at the front. On display, though, were not clothes or other items for sale, but women. Some were standing, some sitting, but all of them wearing very little. I wasn’t sure what to make of this, and my brain seemed to freeze a bit. Being from Indonesia, a predominantly Muslim country, I had never even imagined that a place like this could exist. To be honest, I’d heard about it online, but actually being here made it real. This is not what I had imagined when I read about it. We stopped in front of an exceptionally large window where there was a young, blond woman wearing bright red panties and matching bra. Other than that, all you could see was her smooth, ivory skin.

     Albert seemed amused and looked at me. “Why don’t you go in first.” I looked up at him, wondering if he was kidding. He wasn’t. “Go on, we’ll be right behind you.” Not knowing any better, I obeyed. I mean, who was I to disobey my trainer? I pushed open the heavy glass door and took a step inside. The air was soft and warm, and there was a faint scent of perfume. Off to one side was the display room with the young woman dressed in red, then there was a kind of long winding hallway, and scattered along this hallway were more young women. It looked like a kind of maze that you’d have to slither through to get a peek at all the women. I was about to try to do just that when one of the younger women, maybe in her early 20s, pulled her robe around herself, walked up to me and, frowning slightly, said, “What are you doing here? No kids are allowed.” In my mind, I protested. “Who’s she calling a kid?” but I couldn’t very well continue to stand there—after all, I was still not yet 13 years old—so I turned around and pulled open the tall, glass door, stepping out into the cool, late afternoon air.

     Albert, Ryan and Samantha were all standing there grinning from ear to ear. “What’s so funny?” I asked. Then they started laughing. “Justin’s just a little kid!” “No kids allowed, huh?” I didn’t see what was so funny, but I just laughed with them, happy that they found it amusing. To be honest, I didn’t really care that I wasn’t allowed inside. At this point in my life, I had no thoughts about girls. I saw the three of them talking amongst themselves, then Albert said to me, “You wait here. Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back,”. And before I could say anything, they vanished behind the heavy glass door. They were only gone a few minutes, but the teasing continued after they returned, and we laughed about the whole experience as the sun slowly sank and the shadows grew long as we were walking back to the tram stop.

     This was a good experience, I think. I felt more open-minded than I was before going there. I gained a respect for people doing things in different ways and having different values. The thing is, from what I could see, the women in the red-light district didn’t mind being there. It was a job for them. That’s how they earned money. They could quit if they wanted to, but they chose this line of work. That seemed to make it all right in my mind, even though in my country it would never be allowed.

     What an interesting place Amsterdam is, I thought. Someday, I think I’d like to go back there and finally see for myself what’s behind that huge, glass door.