On the road ... again

I'm in Amsterdam. It's been a while since I last wrote one of these so you're going to have to bear with me until I get used to it again.

I got mugged the day before I left London. You might imagine this to be bad timing, but I think it just cemented what I felt about London. After that there was no more "well, maybe it just needs a bit more
time, another chance," only "I want to get out of here."
Getting mugged is pretty disheartening, all the more so when people ask "Did you get hurt?" No. "Did they have a knife?" No. "Did you fight back?" No. Sure, it's not worth getting beaten up over a shitty
mobile phone and 40 quid. But knowing just how easy it is for you to be invaded/robbed/violated is not a happy piece of knowledge to be carrying around in the forefront of your mind. Especially when you're walking around by yourself. Any rough looking guy could be an attacker. You start sizing them up as they walk towards or by you ... would you run or fight or kick him in the nuts and then run? ... or would you just give him your wallet? ...
And if you got mugged by a couple of black guys, just try and see if you can avoid being racist when you're walking down the street by yourself. Racist in the sense that you think differently about them - that you're afraid of them. It's not nice to notice yourself doing this.

Anyway, I left London in a foul state ... I suppose I also left london in fowel state, if you consider flying to be the natural state of fowels. (That's punny - ie. something that rhymes with funny ... but
isn't actually.) I got to Holland and stayed with a Dutch girl called Noor and her family. Four days with Noor fixed my foul mood and made me happy again.
I kissed her goodbye and got on the train to Amsterdam.

Half way there I realised that I was missing my guidebook. I swore for a second and then got this freefalling moment of watching my safety blanket disappear. And then I thought, those moments are the
best ones about travelling, the seconds when you ask "what the hell am I doing?"

Arriving in Amsterdam was kind of surreal. I'd just left the closest thing to family life that I've experienced for year or more, and suddenly I was at the footsteps of the city most renowned in Europe for
being the place you could be or do anything. Sex, drugs and rock n roll are all legal and for sale in this city - though the best versions of each may not be.

Amsterdam is actually a rather nice city. You arrive here with the expectation that it's all just about sitting in coffee shops getting stoned, or walking through the red light district while you're stoned, or seeing tulips while you're stoned (whether or not it's the right season). But it's kind of pretty aside from all that.

One of the coolest things about Dutch is the fact that "dag" means both hello and goodbye. Thus, everytime you meet or leave someone you get to cry out "Dag!" at them. I know Deb would love this.
Even better though, "Ja" (pronouced ya) means yes. So everytime anyone says something to you, you can reply "Ya dag!" and in Dutch you're merely saying "Yes, hello."
Come to think of it, this may explain why there always seem to be problems with Australians at Information Desks here:-
"You'll never believe this Mother. I just walked up to that lady over there to ask where our train left from, and she called me a dag!"
After an appraising look, Mother replies "Yes, well Father, I've got to admit that you do look like a bit of a dag with those socks and sandals on. They're quite fashion conscious over here, you know."

Everyone ride bicycles here. This makes the cities a lot nicer to walk or ride around in (although it can be a bit dangerous until you get used to looking out for bikes - which are practically silent until they're right on you.) Many young Dutch people don't bother getting driving licenses and I think the overall understanding of cars is lacking somewhat. The following example may demonstrate:

I walked past a carpark in Amsterdam yesterday. There were two shops
attached to the carpark complex. The first was a service station, which makes sense - you can buy petrol and car stuff and other little impulse buy items. The second shop was a piano store ...
Well, of course! You'd never fit a piano on your bicycle ...

Searching for the perfect gift bong is a common tourist activity here and I almost found mine the other day. I was looking in a shop and saw these pipes made out of matchbox cars. The one I immediately began
looking for was a fire truck. That'd be way cool, I thought (... okay, maybe I'd had a bit of a joint myself earlier in the day). I couldn't see one, but I began to wonder whether maybe they used to sell them.
I could imagine there might have been a few incidents that prevented their continued production.
...
Ash spills out of the pipe and onto the shagpile carpet setting it alight. Someone screams "Fire!" An ever practical, but very very stoned man cries out "No worries, I've got a fire engine. We'll have that sucker out in no time at all ...
...
...
Now how do you turn this thing on ...
...
..."

Before I finish here's a couple of things NOT to do in Amsterdam when you're stoned:
- Visit Anne Frank's house. Going into a maze of rooms crowded with a hundred complete strangers is a daunting enough prospect when you're stoned. The last thing you need is that unwanted, unbidden mental image of being locked in there for 2 and a half years before
being dragged away and shot by Nazis.
- Buy chocolate ... cos they know ... and they WILL charge exhorbitant prices just because you won't realise or care.
- Buy a piano ... it will NOT fit in the car ...

bye

John