A Trip Through Holland
... plenty of space to stretch out, the disadvantage is, if there is an emergency I am responsible to assist in the evacuation of the aircraft. What are the possibilities, I think. I’ve been listening to these guys for nearly an hour now, and its making me more and more excited about getting the hell out of the states. The conversation ranged from how fucked up they are going to get when they get to Amsterdam to the bitches they can shag when they get there. The man seated next to me finally speaks,”We are getting very close now.” He says. “ Do you live in Holland?”, “Yes, this is my home.” He is wearing a very cheap tourist T-shirt of Nashville or something. He’s older like in his late fifties. God, I think, this guy looks just as bad as all those elderly American tourons. But the difference is this man is very at ease and friendly,” Are you traveling in Holland?”, he asks. “Yes, I will be meeting a friend there and we will spend some time in Holland before we go to other countries in Europe. I’ve been once before, last year. That was my first trip out of the States,” I say “well I’ve been to Canada and Jamaica, but this is quite different, I’ll be backpacking. Totally independent.” “Well “, he says,”if you are going to be in Holland , you need to go to Falling Down and Marking.and our national park, Hoge Veluge” I am having a hard time understanding this man, “What was that? Tell me again.” “Volendam and Marken’, He writes the names to some paper. “they are beautiful towns on the coast.” “thank you, that sounds very nice.” “Yes they are very Dutch.” We descend through the last cloud layer now and the green, horizontal plane below comes closer. It looks like nothing in America I’ve seen . Holland has a very obscure coastline with many curves and sounds. Ah, we hit the ground. The captain comes on,”we have landed at Schipol International Airport. The current temperature is 23 degrees Celsius. If you are not a Dutch citizen. Please go to immigration for a short check in procedure. Have a pleasant stay in Amsterdam.” I will, thank you very much. Get me the hell off this craft, I’m ready. It is early morning in Holland, the trip took a little over 7 hours from Washington D.C.’s Dulles airport. Where I had a short layover from Denver. I’m pretty weary now as it is about midnight where I’m from, but here I am. I remember last year, the same immigration line; very fast , very pragmatic, as is everything in Holland. A quick stamp in the Passport and its off to baggage claims. Where is Pat? I see contrasted faces, not an American audience. Strange features, smoking in the Airport, many languages. And very free. I find my backpack safe and sound and in a short while I see that familiar head of Pat Hayes come strolling through the masses, a familiar face in a foreign land. He looks tired and a bit puzzled. A sort of, this is all completely new to me look. We get his pack and its off for the city. The airport in Holland is actually removed from Amsterdam by 15 or so miles to the north. You take a train to Centraal Station. For me, this fragment I have done before, last year with Nigel. I am experiencing it again like in the dreams I’ve had since then. I recognize sort of, where to go, and Pat is like a general with out bearing right now. Were on the train, our first glimpses of the Dutch countryside, well, this part is the closest thing to Dutch suburbia. The tracks boarder some kind of canal system, the grass looks distinct, a lighter shade of green. We see a windmill, there are mysterious buildings arranged in a altered way. The air has a slight mist to it. There is a young semi attractive women sitting by us, she is smoking a cigarette, and looks at us curiously . The image of her with her little bag and her cigarette makes me want to smoke, I pull out my Three Castles tobacco and roll one up. We are pretty quiet, just absorbing the ambiance. I look to the girl and catch her eye. I say hello and she smiles, she knows we are American. We reach Centraal Station, the axis of Amsterdam. The memories from last year flood through me.”let’s put our packs in the lockers and go look for a place to stay.” I say to Pat, who is in another dimension I know. We lock up the packs, after some small difficulties with the lockers and the meticulously right combination of coins they take. We change some money in the station(I love the look of Dutch money, the 10 guilder note has Rembrant, and the 25 has bees) and out the doors right into the substance of Amsterdam. The trains , the canals, the smell of ganja and food. Over the first bridge, and down the leading street, there are cafes and restaurants, travel agencies and brown bars. What’s first we think. Well there is really no doubt about it. Let’s go to a smoke shop, a coffee shop. Remember, by now it is 3 in the morning in Colorado, and we both just endured a long mind numbing plane ride and are we looking for a place to sleep first, no we are going to partake in that aspect of Holland that brings people from all over the world, cannabis, legal cannabis. And what flavours they have. Our first stop was a little spot I remembered from last year called The Paradise, I remembered it not because of the dope, but the music. They play Juju, and Sukous , forms of African music and other ethnic tunes. Well after a good look over the menu, we decide on some bud called “Purple Haze”. We thought it rather suitable considering Pat’s last name is Hayes. And let me say, this pot was purple. The thing about Amsterdam is that you can really become a cannabis connoisseur , choosing from a variety of hemp, each producing a different psychoactive effect. The ol’ Purple Hayes did just what the name implies, that stuff had us in a cloud for hours, seeing as how we were pretty well sleep deprived to begin with. Well Pat and I have always been walkers, especially when we get stoned. We can walk for miles, for kilometers. And that’s just what we did. We smoked that stuff, rolled up a big joint and drank a cup or two of Holland’s fabulous coffee. We tramped over that city in the first two hours, well I should say that’s what were doing we are tramping now as I say this to you. This is a beautiful city, with its old world caress, its corner bakeries, and all the Dutch people riding there antique bikes through the streets. And as I had told Patrick the women of Holland are ravishing beyond comparison, or at least that is what I thought at the time.But where is time, it is here in the present, and that is where I am, here, now in Amsterdam. And we are getting tired and go back to get our packs from the lockers at Centraal Station. We look for a place to stay in the Red Light District, the shoddiest of all in town. Well according to the Lonely Planet guide book they are some of the cheapest spots. We find a room at the Hotel Bierestraat. The man is charging us 75 guilder. About 50 or so bucks, for a double. From our room, we can hear the bells of Old Kirk ring while we sleep. We are passed out for about 4 or 5 hours. When we awaken, it is dark, I have no idea of the time. I feel disoriented. “Get your ass out a bed”, Pat remarks,” It’s time for a little Amsterdam puntang!” Amsterdam is a different place at night, the creatures are all over the red light district. A strange scene of tourists and heroin dealers. “What do you want, acid, hash, heroin, black or white, xtc, cocaine, speed, elephant pussy, the cock of baboon?” What you want, they probably hold in Amsterdam. But this is the trivial surface. This is for the tourists. The Dutch are riding their bikes, and tucked away in their reticent taverns, speaking to each other in exclusive utterance. But we can not escape our status as tourists with the obligation to become inebriated with the fruits of the land. So we head to a second coffee shop, and decide on a hashis...