A trip to Amsterdam

A city I've always loved from the distance: Amsterdam. Since I was a little boy, I read and heard all those stories about the city that makes you go wild and then I had my chance to see and feel by myself what it is like to be there, to walk on the streets paved with thousands of generation's footprints and to feel the sea wind of autumn singing at my ear that a cold merciless winter is coming.

Now, enough of poetry thoughts, I'll get straight to the point. I'll be brief since it's no big deal... it's just the strangest, creepiest, most stressing yet funniest experience I think I'll ever have in my lifetime... Maybe you, readers, may already predict what is certainly coming.

I went to Amsterdam for the All-Saints holidays with my German roommate, a pretty small-town girl with the purest and most innocent eyes you've ever seen. She was my German porcelain doll, she was under my responsibility, at least for that night, at least that's how I felt about her that night.

I told her I wanted to smoke some marijuana since it's a very normal practice there and I'm not rich enough to come to Amsterdam whenever I want to. She replied that we could go that evening because she was also into it, which surprised me, I must say. So, we went there, Dampkring Coffee Shop, the one where some Ocean's 12? 11? 13? film was shot. I noted first the the Bollywood decoration that adorned this peculiar location and then, the soothed attitude of the customers. I addressed some words to the guy in the bar in order to buy a regular weed, not too strong, while my fellow settled in. I came back and joined her with a joint of 'I forgot the name' and asked her if she was completely sure of what we were about to do -I didn't want her to feel forced or something just because I wanted to smoke... no peer presure, man!- and she answered with a wide and gentle smile on her face that it would be her second time indeed. Then, we lit it up.

She went for some tea for the two of us as I started feeling the effects in me. It was nice to laugh at nothing, stare at the window for some minutes and find it interesting, but I had to come back to earth since she was approaching again with to cups of hot tea. I displayed one big ridiculous smile to her and said so slowly that I couldn't even believe it, and with the WORST latin accent I'd never had in english "Hey... ai jaf tu tel yu sonsin... ai don nou in güich languach all bi espiquin fronnou on... so pei atenchon plis". I made a fool of myself. She smiled, just to be kind, and made a gentle joke about it. And then, DISSASTER.

My cell phone rang once, twice, thrice... It was MY MUM! OMG! My own mother was calling me at the worst moment. I decided to pick it up, beacause her persistence showed some shade of urgency. In fact, my mum was in the middle of some nervous breakdown and was calling to tell me that I had to phone my bank ipso facto since my debit card had been stolen. I insist, DISSASTER. I told my friend what was happening and urged her to leave inmediately. Black out. The next thing I remember of doing was walking by her on the wet streets, trying to keep us away from any danger, specially taking care of her. She looked so juvenile, so fragile, so breakable... and God damn her accent in english that stresses all the features on her I just described! I was totally, utterly freaked out. I'd had heard some stories about people getting killed by junkies in Amsterdam and my German porcelain doll was there, so helpless, walking beside me.

We got to the hotel and everything was settled at the bank: my account had been succesfully blocked by my mum. So we got into the room and I wanted to end this little nightmare. But nope, I was still high. I remember that I was lying on my bed, trying to go unnoticed by a british hottie next to me. I hid from his eyes and just could see his sheet, a blanket full of threatening skulls that looked at me with rage. That didn't scare me at all... hmm, strange.

Then I turned my eyes to the bottom of the upper bet, my friend's indeed, and I immediately designed a sort of train into the abstract forms of the mattress. It was my 'train of thoughts'... no, it was actually my 'traaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin of thougts" (that's how the words came and went in my mind during my turbulent highness. My friend was chatting with the british hottie about my snoaring last night. In a normal state of mind, I couldn't have helped but be ashamed but since it was not, I was completely oblivious. She came down to check on me, she's so gentle, and then I passed out.

And that was it! It was certainly a nice bad trip.