Trip to Amsterdam

Free cheese sandwiches and wine on the plane. By the time we landed in Amsterdam, I was already sauced. Things were off to a good start.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the engineer in me, but I thought these were the most incredible things on the freaking planet:

Yes, I’ve never seen a double decker train before. So?

I took one of these babies out to Amsterdam Centraal Station, from where I would take a cab to my hostel. That didn’t happen - evidently it’s a bit tough trying to get a taxi in a big city at midnight. Not that they weren’t everywhere, in fact there were a few dozen of them waiting outside the station, it was that not one of them would actually take me to my damned hostel. It was near enough to walk apparently - except that I had all my luggage, and I was slightly inebriated, exhausted and in fear of getting attacked by random junkies*. No way in Hell am I walking.

Finally I found a helpful taxi driver. At least he gave me directions to the place. There was a way in Hell after all.

So I walked, and walked, and walked and could not find the place. I followed the man’s directions to the tee but could not find the road I was meant to turn into. Maybe it’s further on? After a while, I guessed the answer was ‘no’.

I was desperate. I had to break the Cardinal Rule of Cliches Regarding Men: I asked for directions.

I bumped into this lady, walking on her own somewhere. I must be in quite a safe area then, I thought. After all I’ve heard about this city, I just couldn’t imagine why any girl would want to be out walking on her own at this time at night. Aside from the obvious reason, but this wasn’t it.

All I meant to was to ask where my street was, but she went out of her way to show me the place. Not only do the locals feel safe walking alone at night, they feel safe walking with complete strangers as well. Things like this would turn out to be a common occurence in Amsterdam. This was a safe city.

In fact, judging by this lady, the Red Light District image Amsterdam holds among College frats around the world is kept pretty seperate from what the city’s residents see.

Her: "So why are you in Amsterdam?"
Moi: "Well, I just had a difficult break up and I’m here to have fun and cheer myself up."
Her: "That’s weird, I really don’t know why we get so many tourists here. It’s quite a boring place."
Moi, trying to stifle a laugh: "You have nice buildings. And the canal system, it’s pretty unique."

I checked in at the hostel, and had a look around the area. I was at Kloveniersburgwal, at the edge of the Red Light District.

Just a few hours before my flight.

I couldn’t sleep last night, partly because I’m excited and partly because I told L I’d miss her and she didn’t say she’d miss me too - whatever. In a way, that incident pretty much sums up what I think of the week ahead: A part of me wants to act like a blind lesbian in a fishmarket once I set foot in Amsterdam, but another part of me wants things back the way they were.

The problem is, the the way things were was never the way L or I were. Before we started going out, we were drinking buddies, mixed up with occasional spliff and illicit sexual encounter. Unfortunately both booze and buzz had to go once we began our relationship in earnest and started eating each others’ faces. L’s always been a lightweight, and absolutely detests anything I drink. I had to give it up if I wanted to be in the same room as my girlfriend without her wincing in disgust at me. After a while, our relationship became one of trips to the cinema, fancy dinners, concerts, and aborted nights out - things people do when they’re bored sober. We watched other people act or play music, or sat down and ate food someone else cooked. In other words, most of what we did together did not involve actually doing anything together.

Don’t get me wrong, those three years were the best of my life, but there was something missing that neither of us noticed until it was too late. That was God damn youth - doing things that are fucking retarded for the sake of it, being the immature cunts we always were. In three years, I never danced to Black Sabbath’s Iron Man.

We tried going to this club once and I told her I didn’t like that night, and she believed me. The next time I was there, I had a great time and looked it, but she didn’t believe me. Doesn’t have much to do with anything, but I’d like to throw that in there.

Jesus Christ, my parents ran a strip bar, my uncle has bedded so many women he can’t even count the number of illegitamate children he has, my female cousin is a pimp, and I ended up more inane than Ben Stein.

And this, more than anything, is why I wanted to go abroad. I want to be my old idiotic self: streaking convents, making my Fundementalist Christian English teacher tearfully pray for my soul, asking my booty call if we can still hook up minutes before I ask her classmate out, getting my cock pierced*, you get the idea.

I mentioned at the start of this post that a part of me wants to have a crazy time, and another part of me wants it to be like it used to. In essence, I’m hoping for both.

I’ll let everyone know how it goes.

Note: everything I mentioned actually happened, even streaking a convent.

*to be fair, I got it done while L and I were out with each other.

You’ve just been dumped by your girlfriend of three years. What do you do?

Me, I bought myself a trip to Amsterdam to try and have the craziest time of my entire fucking life - completely unplanned, by myself and with so little cash in hand I can’t afford to take a shit while I’m over there. It will be blogged.