I was really quite hesitant to spend two days getting high in Amsterdam. What if we got lost? What if we crashed our bikes? What if we missed our flights? But I surprised myself, although a little slower and slightly forgetful, I’m quite an efficient stoner.
When I got back to work and announced I’d just been stoned in Amsterdam for two days there was an awkward silence that made me think my ‘Show & Tell’ wasn’t appropriate. However I’d just been in a country where it’s totally acceptable to fly high at 10am with your morning coffee, so hey-ho I didn’t mind a bit of British judgement.
Most humans who have heard of Amsterdam would know that it’s common practice to enter a coffee shop to purchase and smoke marijuana over there. If you didn’t know that then maybe you’re Amish or something. Weed is relatively cheap and if it’s your first time visiting, then the menus describing the strengths and types of highs you get from each kind of bud will make you smile. You can buy pre-rolled joints which is handy for those us travelling through customs the next day, and the real space cowboys can buy it by the gram.
It was my third time visiting ‘The Dam’ and I still find the place particularly whimsical. There is such a variety of unorthodox activities to engage in, yet society still seems to be so sophisticated and productive. Dan (my ex-boyfriend from previous posts) and I were topping up our highs pretty much every hour on the hour. It’s not something I’d normally do but when it calms your farm so much that you find yourself laughing about stupid shit instead of arguing over it, well gimme gimme gimme. Mary-Jane also seems to heighten your senses, so sex and food are also remarkable relationship benefits of the plant.
We hired a couple of bikes the first morning because that’s what you do in Amsterdam. It’s a much better way to get around than using your boring old feet. If you’re in Amsterdam and looking for a “coffee” shop that actually sells decent coffee, try this one, we rated it. It was there (while high and pondering over the gangster rap and stoner trance playlist that seems to bellow out of all the coffee shops’ speakers) that we decided to take our stoned asses to the Torture Museum. And I’m not talking about some raunchy S&M museum, I’m talking about the messed up forms of undignified pain humans endured back in the day of dungeons and dragons. It costs €7.50 per person.
After that I felt kind of weird about being a human because humans are farked. So we sat down by the canal and smoked another joint. I’m not actually sure if you’re allowed to smoke out in the open (technically it’s not ‘legal’ anywhere), but we figured a slap on the wrist wasn’t nearly as bad as the head crusher which may have been used once upon a time across Europe.
And off we toddled to the next tourist attraction: Red Light District.
While in the area we ducked into a €2 peep show and had a lady wiggle her bits at us through glass. Then made our way next door to the Museum of Prostitution. Due to the fact my brain was on thought-overdrive, I went through the whole experience imagining if I was a prostitute: the awkward greetings, the uncoordinated seduction, the self-consciousness of undressing in front of a stranger… My clients would all ask for refunds and I’d lose my job.
It was an interesting museum, I guess it tries to educate people on the professional side of prostitution with a few women empowerment themes. Apparently there are 900 or so prostitutes working in the Red Light District every day. There are 290 windows and they cost €150 to rent each day. Which means there are lots of prostitutes on duty behind the scenes.
And then we had ribs and Heineken for lunch. (Heineken is made in the Netherlands for those of you who don’t know).
That night, after more riding bikes, lots of walking and a mind-blowing visit to World Press Photo 2017, we went out to dinner at a Spanish tapas restaurant. And we were served slippery sloppy mussels that tasted more like ocean floor than usual. After sending them back with our apologies to the chef (consequently turning the entire restaurant staff against us) we sat there still super high wondering if the mussels were supposed to be raw and that’s why everyone was pissed at us. I’ll never know because they didn’t explain anything or try to replace them.
We went back to our hotel and fell asleep pretty early (a big day on the joints will do that to ya), only to wake up to find our bikes had been taken by the bastard council. Apparently you are not to tie your bikes to bridges and the government makes lots of money from stupid tourists like us. €80 later… lucky I didn’t spend that money on a big bong souvenir or something.