Amsterdam has as many facets as a 40-carat diamond polished by one of the city's gem cutters: the capital, and spiritual "downtown," of a nation ingrained with the principles of tolerance; a veritable Babylon of old-world charm; a font for home-grown geniuses such as Rembrandt and Van Gogh; a cornucopia bursting with parrot tulips and other greener -- more potent -- blooms; and a unified social zone that takes in cozy bars, "brown" cafés, and outdoor markets. While impressive gabled houses bear witness to the Golden Age of the 17th century, their upside-down reflections in the city's canal waters below symbolize and magnify the contradictions within the broader Dutch society. With a mere 730,000 friendly souls and with almost everything a scant 10-minute bike ride away, Amsterdam is actually more of a village -- albeit a largish global one -- that happens to pack the cultural wallop of a megalopolis. A wry bit of self-criticism has Rotterdam making the money, bureaucratic Den Haag figuring out what to do with the money, and Amsterdam spending the money.

However, this kind of thinking is becoming obsolete as Amsterdam reinvents itself as the business "Gateway to Europe." Hundreds of foreign companies have flocked here to establish headquarters and take advantage of Amsterdam's central position within the European Union. One result of this windfall is that the city is hastening to upgrade its infrastructure and to create new cityscapes that will distract photographers from the ever-photogenic Red Light District. Within a few years, the Eastern Docklands -- once a bastion for squatters attracted to its abandoned warehouses -- will be transformed into a new cultural and nightlife hub, with a boardwalk planned to be as image-enhancing as Sydney's in Australia. Could this be the birth of a new golden age?

Still, it will take time to fully erase more than eight centuries of erratic history, much of which was of a spicy nature: Anabaptists running naked in the name of religious fervor in 1535; a go-go bar claiming tax-exempt status as the Church of Satan; mass suicides following the 1730s crash of the tulip bulb market; riots galore, from the Eel Riot of the 1880s to the squatter riots a hundred years later; famed trumpeter-turned-junkie Chet Baker's last melancholic swan-song leap from a hotel window; the 1960s Provos playing mind games with city officials; the festival of Queen's Day, whereby the city transforms itself into a remarkable credible depiction of the Fall of Rome; and the endless debates -- about sin, students, gayness, sex and drugs, even, yes, about coffee shops.