by Theresa "Danzine" Dulce

Danced in Scotland a few months ago. I like traveling abroad so I can stop in Amsterdam (the largest city in Holland), just over the water from England. Imagine the closest thing to heaven we have on earth and you've got Amsterdam. I shoot for simple when I see Utopia and all I really need is a joint with my morning joe at a local coffee shop surrounded by small bodies of water. That and sexing a lady no muss, no fuss-like. Something I didn't do but liked knowing it was there if I'd wanted it.

Pot and hash are tolerated in Amsterdam; my advice is that, if you visit, you show your appreciation by remembering to be cool and smoke in an establishment that doesn't mind. Avoid hard drugs; they're a bad trip. There is a needle exchange available if you need it and you can get details about it at the train station. The local currency is the guilder and the exchange rate was two-to-one, which means that two Dutch guilders equals one American frog. It may seem like you're getting a whopper of a deal, but I think some places just double their price to make up the difference.

Trading sex for money is legal in parts of Holland. It is not legal when the person selling is not a citizen, doesn't have a work visa, or is hustling on the streets. There is a neighborhood where customers can pull over, park, and couple up without interruption, however. It also caters to gentlemen with a taste for South American boys, as well.

Prostitutes: There is still a stigma against working pros. Just cuz it's legal doesn't make it easier to break the news to mom and dad. Local government values the females' health and well-being more than any judgment about the fact she sucks cock for a living, though. In fact, if a customer hurts a pro or tries to rip her off, the police will be on her side. I was even told that if a person worked illegally and was assaulted on the job, they should still contact the police and that they would do their best to help.

There are two established organizations, the Red Thread and the Prostitution Information Center (located in the Red Light District of Amsterdam) with information for and about sex workers. If the street names weren't so long and trippin' I'd pass along the addresses, but it's probably easier to just wander around the Red Light and ask around.

Consumers: You too are encouraged to visit the Center. Two ex-pros built this space three years ago so that workers and clients alike could get honest answers and helpful advice. Pros use condoms and there are a few different ways to rent the services of a lady.

Red Light Booths: About 350 - 500 booths exist near the train station and they charge by services requested. (10 - 15 minutes.)

Outcall/Escorts: These have both men and women available, come to you and charge by time spent, usually about an hour.

Sex Clubs: These are licensed establishments which throw parties for potential clients and sexy workers. Couples pair off in separate rooms. There is an entry fee charged with extra fees for services requested.

Theaters: If it's a no contact feeling you're looking for, you can check out the live sex act theaters. My friend caught one and said she saw a lady eat a banana with her coochie.

I'm made in America and was told that I'd be in trouble working in Europe. I didn't want to work... I wanted to dance. There's a difference. A gal in Portland gave me the number of an agent in England. "Don't let him know we know each other. I screwed over a club owner for a lot of money," she warned me. The agent met me and my friend Sarah in a gentleman's club in London. London is cooler than shit but is in one of the few countries where the American dollar loses. The next time I'm there it won't be three days after Lady Diana passes away, because even if I could have afforded accommodations, there were none to be found.

The Scoop: The agent tells us that since we're not Euro-citizens, nor married to one, we'll need a work visa. That's hard for North Americans to get and impossible for dancers (and soccer players, interestingly enough) because they consider dancers to be entertainers and figure the whole lot makes too much money to let them into the country. So, here's the plan: Non-Euro dancers go to London, take a train to the French border, hang out for a day, come back, and tell the border patrol that they're in town to "work as a teacher." As the agent describes it, exotic dancing is still kinda new in some parts and the local girls need to learn from their more experienced Canadian/US sisters. So, when we're stripping in the UK, we're "teaching" the others by demonstration and practical application.

If I have any advice about dealing with agents, it's this: They'll provide you with leads for work, but don't believe the hype. We didn't get the whole truth about the workplaces or accommodations, but it seemed to sort itself out and gave us something to rag about. We almost lined up work in Greece, then caught word that immigration was raiding clubs and the poor dancers were spending time inside exotic jails for several days before being deported. The opposite direction sounded good, so I ended up in Scotland.

"But you like blood pudding," Mona told me after my safe return home. "I don't think that was me, Mo." "Sure it was. You just don't remember."

Scotland has the highest rate for heart failure in the world. Some people blame the food. I blame the UFO's. I know what I'm talking about because the bouncer at our club just happened to have videotaped what can only have been a vehicle from another planet.

Aberdeen, Scotland. I danced during the club's first week in business and felt like I had to either tranquilize guys who acted like they were in Bankok or break in young puppies who were misappropriating their college funds. The area's main source of income is oil! I was told that it was a conservative village with city traffic. Hard to tell from the inside of a strip club, but when I did get out, I liked it. I didn't feel the thick resentment that some folks have for people with a North American accent. At times it was unbelievable that we were all speaking English.

The Fantasy Club: Located around the corner from the train station, it was probably an old, cobblestoned gay bar 500 years ago. There were more agency fees, but the club offered accommodations at a reasonable price. The stage is carpeted, with a pole, but the money is all in the all-nude table dances. The bartenders and bouncers were great and I felt safe. The owner was a businessman who ran his business pretty straight. By far, the women were most excellent with dancers from Trinidad, England, Norway, Scotland, and Canada. I got to hear stories about getting naked in Germany, Finland, and Norway with the ladies comparing stories 'bout global cock. Those crazy broads made my trip.

After Aberdeen was Edinburgh. It's more of an international, stuff-to-do town with a castle upside from the train station. There are two clubs in Edinburgh. The one I worked at was all right, more business than pleasure. One of the owners was our worst customer; an ass grabbing, pussy-driven, "fun guy." Just when I'd pinned him as the same one who had asked a dancer I'd met in Aberdeen for a blow job, I got fired by the other boss! When someone loses their job in Scotland, they say that they got "sacked." I prefer that to being "fired"... sounds more bad ass. I think it was my attitude. I had heard of another American getting Euro-sacked and attribute part of it to being a smart ass Ameri-female who takes poorly to instruction, along with being so into yourself that nobody is your boss and anybody, manager, agent... anybody... who thinks they are your boss can just eat you. Two-girl shows were big. I felt square dancing all by myself for a guy but then Glasco bid for me and another lady to give him a dance. The girl was all giggles until I told her to can it and put her face down between my legs. You don't have to do the real deal. Think hair show.

Traveling Tips for the Tramp on the Go

Give yourself three months to get a passport. You can get information at your main post office. I waited until the last minute and it cost me almost double and I had to get to Seattle by 6:30am to get it and then the government guy behind the counter told me I was lucky that he was in the mood to deal with my crap.

If it's crowds you like, go to Europe in June, July and/or August.

Pack one bag and travel light. You'll be super glad you did.

Carry condoms. Most pharmacies and mini-stores have them and who knows? You might get lucky. Or, if it's bad luck and you still have to have sex, you now have a fighting chance to negotiate to loser into at least using a condom. If you do get raped, consider reporting it. Even though you are miles from home, local authorities can direct you to help and they should know there's a lose fuck running around hurting women.

You are a foreigner and are a guest in somebody's country. You have few, if any, rights. If the shit flies, go to the nearest US Embassy.

Look good looking bad. This is my favorite part, especially when travelling alone. When a girl has three hours to kill at a bus station, starting at 4:00am... spill food on your shirt, chew with your mouth open, yawn with abandon, look bored, limp like Mickey Rourke in Barfly, sneeze in your hand and wipe your thigh. The duel action nasty is putting toothpaste on your face... it'll knock out a pubescent zit and people will think you're crusty. I know you don't want people thinking that you're crusty in real life, but we're talking about numera una and that's you, baby. If you have to scare a few innocents in the pursuit of dodging a slice-em-and-dice-em psycho, you owe nobody an apology.

Set up a safety net back home; somebody who will accept your collect calls or will wire you money.

Tell a third person if you cut out and take in some quality time with a sex partner. For fun or profit, anonymous sex is just that, and leaving the name, number, and address of where you're going for the throw is basic insurance.

Rock out and good luck. Dancing is a great way to see the world. If you've got experiences in traveling and dancing, feel free to give me a call. Teresa Dulce (not the editor of Exotic) (503) 234-9615.