Arriving In Hampsterjam

So, here I am in Amsterdam! Stop one on the world tour, and a crazy stop it is indeed. For the first time in my life I'm in a place where the world outside my head seems stranger than the one inside. Where do I begin in describing the weirdness? Perhaps with a couple of tourist-trap points.

For example, yesterday I learnt, to my surprise, that the phrase 'Red Light District' isn't just a charming metaphor or global slang. It was only when I saw a woman behind her glass front door supporting her breasts with a stool, that I noticed the crimson tint to all the lighting. Ho-hum, maybe I'm still too naive? But I'm learning.

Learning, indeed, that it's time for a new European contest to re-energise the spirit of EuroVision with a little Zeigeist. And so, in the spirit of the post-modern age, I offer the contest to beat them all - The Search For Europe's Friendliest Drug Dealer! At first I thought it weird, then I thought it was a cartel, but now I feel sure that in general, Amsterdam has Europe's friendliest dealers of hard drugs. Never in my life have I been so warmly offered a date with Charlie. Truly the level of cordial and helpful service you'd normally only find at London's posher hotels, all for free and available at a canal near you. All the call-centres, hawkers, salesmen and evangelists of England could benefit from their expertise.

Speaking of canals near you, it's no mere historical curiousity when they say that the Netherlands has been largely reclaimed from the North Sea - the place has more canals, bridges and seasick-town-planning than a 8 year old's Aylesbury School Project. The place spirals around the waterways so much that you start to feel you're on a minature DiscWorld, or some kind of crazy talisman from which there is no escape, and the hapless tourist is destined to keep coming to the same square from about thirteen different paths.

Luckily for the more hapless of us travelling types, there is sweet-smoke-filled bar of Bob's Youth Hostel. On seeing the sign, how could I not choose Bob as the patron saint of my first few nights here. The dorms are straightforward, clean, cheap and only suitable for those of us who can sleep soundly through traffic, snoring and people coming and going all night long. Happily, most of the time I'm the kind of person that will never die in his sleep, because Death would have to wake me up to get any attention from me.

And attention is exactly what you need in the waking hours in Amsterdam. For only by fierce attention and the most rugged scrutiny will one find sufficient booze in their thimble-size beer glasses to get a taste of the local beers. When you do, mind, it's truly excellent stuff that make you believe that Dover must have never dropped the British Flavour Embargo set up during the war. And don't be optimistic travellers - the price doesn't drop along with the size. No wonder they've had to make other soft drugs legal.

But good to see that there are some standards left - many of the bars have signs on the door saying, "No Hard Drugs." Well, at least it's honest. You wouldn't get signs in England saying, "No Illegal Drugs," I suppose. Or better still, "Patrons Are Requested To Only Consume Drugs Bought From The Bar."

If they did, they'd probably win the affections of the student population. Hopefully, I won't have to, and I can inconspicuously sit here in Amsterdam University Library enjoying a drink, the view, the library and most of all the freely available electricity to power the Blogging apperatus. By the time you read this, I will have solved the uploading problem too...
And with thoughts of such challenges ahead, and the desire to get some food, air and culture in me, I shall leave you.

Your EverLovin' K.

P.S. - For those of you who would worry (i.e. Mum), I did politely decline the cocaine.