Amsterdam – Part 1

I have visited Amsterdam several times over the years and it’s always big grins.

We got a nice deal with WOW airlines ($1,300 for two round-trip), Iceland Air’s answer to Spirit, where they hit you with the Chinese water torture of additional fees for bags, seats, and air. We left BWI at seven in the evening, flew all night, went forward in time five hours, and then had a sleep walk stop at Ice Station Zebra, otherwise known as Keflavik, Iceland, where nothing grows except snow.

Knowing that we would be flying all night with little or no sleep, I decided to book a hotel near the Amsterdam Centraal Train station. Trains run directly from Schipol Airport to downtown Amsterdam every ten minutes, and it’s easier to figure out than the Washington Metro. You can do it in your sleep. Trust me. We did it.

The 3 star Hotel Luxer is located on Warmoestraat, in the Old City, about a five minute walk from the incredibly busy station and we checked in at the stroke of noon. http://hotelluxer.nl/

We unpacked and then stumbled out into the big city to have a look-see. It was overcast and a bit chilly, but it wasn’t raining, and in Amsterdam, that’s always an added bonus.

There are lots of bars and restaurants around Amsterdam with American names and down home foods. They weren’t our cup of tea – I mean, why travel all the way to Europe and eat American food? – but we found them pretty amusing nonetheless.

The Central Square, known by the tongue-twisting name Nieuwendijk, is like a magnet for the tourons and chock full of weirdly cool sights. Like the psychedelic mushroom store attached to the hulking ancient Royal Palace, once home to Napoleon’s little brother Louis, the Rabbit King, when the French ruled the land.

There are giant buildings lining the town that look like bacon.

The Red Light District was near our hotel and the girls in their provocative underwear were always working the windows. The little red neon light bars over the windows are lit when they are open for business. But you need to be very careful because if you take a picture – and it’s really hard not to – they will immediately open the door of their little bedroom to confront you, and your phone is likely to end up smashed on the cobblestones or at the bottom of the nearby Amstel River. But sometimes the girls will come out of their lairs to play in the sun. Then it’s okay to snap a photo – discreetly.

Amsterdam is a city of canals, lined with houses, bars, and coffee shops. It’s like one, big party that gets more and more amped-up as the day goes along.

They toil constantly with trucks, steamers, sweepers, and sanitary workers to keep the place clean, but the trash comes relentlessly by land and by water.

When the weather is nice, the locals party like crazed weasels. They like to pack a barge with everybody standing closely together as they pound beers, smoke spleefs, and sing and dance to the latest Euro beat-box tunes. We also saw couples, families, and friends, taking an leisurely evening dinner cruise. There were the guido guys cruising solo in their pleasure crafts, trying to pick up a friendly skirt. And then, of course, there was the constant parade of long, glass-enclosed canal tour boats, serving cocktails to their clients. It’s an endlessly entertaining mix of party people.

But it’s not all drugs and whores. There are some really nice places to eat – especially in a section called the Spui and along the many canals. And the beers are uniformly outstanding. I especially liked a locally brewed light IPA favorite called Funky Falcon.

And when the weather is nice, people sit by the canals and pound frosty beverages until the wee hours of the morning. It’s like an all-night party down in the Red Light District, as rowdy bands of Brits roam the streets with drunken abandon. Now that it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to Amsterdam on the Chunnel, the place is crawling with wankers on the prowl.

Amsterdam is probably best known for its many unique coffee shops where they dispense weed and hash. But if you are there to partake of the cannabis experience, you need to keep in mind that they dispense a very potent product, and it takes a long time to get through just a gram of good hash, so you need to be prudent and selective.

The BULLDOG coffee shops are a big chain, sort of like the McDonald’s of weed, and they are all over the place. The locals, being true connoisseurs, don’t go near them, but I found them to be retro cool in a shabby way and a little rough around the edges. They actually have bouncers at the door checking ID’s.

DAMPKRING is the undisputed champ and consistently wins the Cannabis Cup most years. http://dampkring-coffeeshop-amsterdam.nl/

And ABRAXIS is – well the name pretty much says it all, right?

I popped into the 420 coffee shop to check out the ornate building and because I was intrigued by the name. The friendly young lass at the counter informed me they they have a giant party there each year to celebrate April 2oth. Why April 20th?

Well according to: http://herb.co/2016/01/19/what-is-420-and-where-did-it-come-from/

“The use of the term 420, 4/20, or 4:20 began in the early 1970’s in the town of San Rafael, California. There was a group of 5 San Rafael high school students who called themselves the “Waldo’s”. The nickname came from their favorite hangout spot, a wall nearby the high school.

The Waldo’s heard of a marijuana crop that was hidden in the nearby San Reyes peninsula and they agreed to meet at a statue of Louis Pasteur near the school to seek out the buds. The group would meet week after week in the same spot at the same time, they would pile into their car and smoke joint after joint on their way to search for the mystical marijuana crop.

Originally, the group would say “420-Louis” as their code as their code to schedule a meeting. Eventually, they dropped the “Louis” because they found themselves using the term “420” to describe anything marijuana related.

I could say to one of my friends, I’d go, ‘420,’ and it was telepathic. He would know if I was saying, ‘Hey, do you wanna go smoke some?’ Or, ‘Do you have any?’ Or, ‘Are you stoned right now?’ It was kind of telepathic just from the way you said it. – Steve Capper, one of the original Waldo’s.

Grateful Dead

The Waldo’s may have connected 420 and marijuana in their high school days, but it was the Grateful Dead that helped it catch on in American counterculture. After the Haight-Ashbury scene was overrun with “speed freaks”, “thugs” and “artists”, the Grateful Dead packed up and headed to Marin County hills, just a few blocks from

After the Haight-Ashbury scene was overrun with “speed freaks”, “thugs” and “artists”, the Grateful Dead packed up and headed to Marin County hills, just a few blocks from the Waldo’s high school.

Mark Gravitch, another original Waldo, recalled that his father managed real estate for the Dead, so the group often knew where the band would be. Dave Reddix’s (also an original Waldo) brother managed a Grateful Dead cover band and was friends with Phil Lesh, the band’s bassist.

The Waldo’s remembered often hanging outside of the band’s rehearsals, they would smoke joints and listen to the band practice.

The Band had this rehearsal hall on Front Street, San Rafael, California, and they used to practice there. So we used to go hang out and listen to them play music and get high while they’re practicing for gigs.

But I think it’s possible my brother Patrick might have spread it (420) through Phil Lesh. And me, too, because I was hanging out with Lesh and his band [as a roadie] when they were doing a summer tour my brother was managing. – Dave Reddix

The Waldo’s managed to get the term 420 stuck in the band member’s heads and as they began using it 420 was solidified in history. The group was often invited to Dead parties and they would use the term in those crowds, further spreading the popularity of 420.

Phil Lesh admitted that Dave Reddix is an old friend of his and that it is likely that he and his friends coined the term, adding to the validity of the Waldo’s claim to fame.

High Times eventually picked up the term, in the early 90’s, and published it throughout their magazine. Many believe this is how/when the term went global.

Today we use 420 less as a code and more as a celebratory roar. Everyone knows that 420 signifies something to do with marijuana and I doubt that will ever change.”

In addition to the coffee shops, there are stores galore selling all things weed. They sell BONGS and PIPES in every size and shape imaginable.

They also sell SEEDS of every variety, with little menus that describe the effect.

They sell clever STASH CONTAINERS to hide your goodies when travelling.

And VAPES from another planet.

And they even sell POSTERS about weed.

Okay, so let’s talk a little about cannabis in the Netherlands. This gets a bit complicated, but it also speaks to the basic nature of the Dutch, so it’s pretty enlightening. Drugs are ILLEGAL in Amsterdam. Say what? Yes, it’s true that people come from all around the globe to smoke weed with impunity in Amsterdam. They have hundreds of coffee shops around the town that are licensed and strictly regulated by the government. And people are smoking smoke weed wherever you go all day. The smell of pot is like incense in the air. And it’s all illegal! But the cops ignore it, unless you are making a fool of yourself or causing trouble.

To understand this curious dynamic, we need to go back in time to when the Catholics were running the show back in the 1400s. And they did exactly the same thing with prostitution then, that the Dutch do with drugs today. In those days, Amsterdam was one of the biggest ports in the world, servicing the world’s first stock company, the colossal Dutch East India Company. That meant lots and lots of sailors. And what do sailors like to do when they aren’t sailing? They like to play with girls. So, the Catholics taxed the prostitution trade and charged the sailors for absolution. They could even pay in advance of their sins, like a pre-paid sin card, so they were free to shag with an official dispensation from the church while they were ashore. You see, the Dutch are businessmen first and foremost and will allow almost anything, as long as the government (or Church) gets its cut of the action.

Then came the Dutch Revolt, in 1568, when the Protestants rose up and drove out King Phillip II of Spain. Catholicism became illegal. But the Catholics controlled a lot of the business trade and that spelled lost revenue. So, the Dutch Protestants came up with a clever plan. They simply turned a blind eye, made the Catholics practice their religion in the attics of not-so-secret homes where the singing of hymns could clearly be heard on Sundays, taxed the crap out of the Papist vermin, and continued to collect their hefty slice of the pie.

Now, flash to today, and the drug trade. It’s a straight philosophical line since the Dutch crawled out of the swamps. In the end, it’s all just about doing some bidness.

But when all is said and done, Amsterdam is a city of bikes. EVERYBODY – young and old alike – rides a bike and you need to be ever watchful wherever you walk because they haul ass and seem to suddenly appear from every angle, pretty much non-stop. I saw many near misses, but, amazingly enough, I never saw anyone take a spill. Amsterdamers are real pros.

They even have parking lots and garages just for bikes.

We ate dinner on our first night in town overlooking the busy Warmoestratt, at a very nice Argentinian streak house, which are all over the city. The beef was amazing!

And by ten, Inna and I were sitting at a lovely cafe overlooking the Gelderse kade Canal, as the sun was slowly setting. Yes, you read that right. The sun didn’t set until after ten!