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Pass the Dutchie to the Left Hand Side
With the sheer white cliffs of Dover Priory slowly disappearing at our backs, the port of Calais came into sight. The nearly identical cliffs beginning where the English Coast had left off, it was clear to see where at one point Britain had joined the main land. After taking the bus to the Calais station and 18 hours of train hopping and attempting to communicate via intense hand waving with the pompous french train conductors we had arrived just short of four in the morning in an absolutely frigid Amsterdam. With the last garbled words of the dutch train conductor informing us of how inexplicably terrible of an idea it was for us to be wandering around this time of night still resounding in my mind, we set off into the frigid northern night. The dimly lit cobbled streets weaved left and right seemingly constructed and expanded upon with the growth of the Amsterdam City Center, with no real rhyme or reason. While navigating the narrow alleyways was next to impossible for the first time in such a setting, we somehow stumbled upon our neon-lit saving grace; it read "The Flying Pig". After passing through the threshold, I was suddenly given an idea of the insanity of this place, pushing nearly five in the morning at this point, the bar was still in full swing and the smoking lounge had about 15-16 mid-twenties stoners passed the fuck out, two of which still holding cheeseburgers in their hands, waking up every fifteen minutes or so to take a bite just to pass out once again. We decided, with the situation as it was, to drink a bit and pass out as well.
And that we did.
Everyone seem to sleep soundly, but I was like a fucking six year old on christmas morning, just sitting awake waiting for daylight to come and the coffee shops to open with it. I woke up at what felt like six in the morning (but turned out to be one in the afternoon) while the rest still slept and slipped out of the room to try and get my day started, but just as I walked up the stairs I was hit with a nasal onslaught of Super Silver Haze and Orange Kush and about a hundred more, just as enticing strains from the pillow covered lounge in the front the Flying Pig. This was the point where i realized that the tables in the middle were littered with bongs provided by the hostel, all proudly displaying the Flying Pig logo along the neck. I decided I wanted to head out for a little wake and bake before a late brunch, but the moment I walk out the door I stumble upon Jiv, the only other person from our group who would have been up before me to smoke. I say hi to him and asked how he had been, since this was the first time I had seen him since the airport because he had gone to visit Haffner in Oxford while we were in Earl's Court. Jiv had been to Amsterdam about a month previous and told me he knew where all the best coffee shops were, so we wandered and wandered but of course he couldn't seem to remember, so we settled for a decent looking place in the red light and ordered an absolutely perfect pure weed tulip for just under 6€. This was a fat joint, I mean fucking FAT, probably about 1g of grinded white widow rolled in all of 20 seconds by a master of the art, and it was all for me! We took a place at the bar and did as the dutch would, and once finished we walked out into the blaring light of midday and the complete unreality of our situation began to set in. I could not wrap my mind around the idea that I was indeed in Amsterdam. Its a trip being the highest you have ever been, in the red light district, and looking around just to realize that every single store is either trying to get even higher or having an eastern european pseudo-model slap your ass with a leather whip, telling you its only 50€ to do whatever you want to her.
At the moment it was too much to handle.
So rather than stick around in the rather seedy red light we went to a fucking dank bagel shop (village bagels), it was ridiculous trying to read the half-dutch-half-english menu while being that blitzed, but eventually we made it through the ordering process and got our food. After that I can’t really remember but I'm pretty sure I was ready for a nap, so I split off and went back to the hostel. But of course after entering the hostel I couldn't even make it to my room before being offered to smoke again. The two dudes who offered it to me were from Minnesota apparently and seem nice enough, so I sat down to burn one down with them in the lounge. I can't remember this point all that well, but I'm pretty sure they had two going at once and passed me one and the other one the opposite direction, I took a hit as per usual and laid back on the pillows to revel in the situation. I was lost in thought when all of a sudden I realized the room was getting really cloudy and my hearing was distant and the lights began to trail.
I was starting to black out.
Realizing if things continued the way they were, I would only have a few minutes before I was unconscious, I quickly gathered my nerves and calmly as possible asked if there was anything else in the joint. The dude said, "No, man no just pure weed. Take another toke". 'Fuck that', I thought to myself, 'these guys are trying to make me pass out, I need to get the fuck out of here'. So hoping up haphazardly, I tried to quickly make my way out of the room. But before I could make it out of the lounge I feel a strong grip close around my arm.
'Oh Shit'.
All but blacked out at this point, the only thing I can remember clearly from now and when I woke up in my bed a few hours later was those last words he mumbled under his breath to me, 'We're staying here too. Don't forget'.
And with that he let me go, I stumbled down the stairs to my room falling on my bed moments before blacking out.
End of Day 1 in Amsterdam.
(i know i there is no ending, i just want to see if i am going in the right direction)
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