Family Connection

When I look at my family in Australia I wonder where my desire to go hard comes from. But today I found out it definitely comes from the Dutch side of my family.

Sitting in my auntie’s boat in a harbor on the canals of the Netherlands I was smashing down the half litre cans with my uncles, whilst my aunty and Oma destroyed their Rose’. When everyone let up a cigarette I was asked whether I would like one. In Australia I hide the fact that I smoke from my family as the lectures are really annoying but in the Netherlands this isn’t an issue as everyone doesn’t care what you do, it’s your choice. So I accepted and got handed the Drum, one problem there was no filters. When I asked whether anyone had filters I was meet with confusion, as it turns out no one in Europe smokes rollies like we do, it is with no filter or a roach at the most. ‘When in rome’ a rollie without a filter is actually quite good and it did make me wonder why we go to the trouble of putting one in.

My aunty is by far the biggest smoker I know, she can finish a 50g pouch in a day or so. Rolling cigarettes that are as thick as your thumb, but once I had got over my fascination with the difference in rollies amongst countries we went onto land for dinner. In the restaurant the drinks kept flowing and before long I found myself in gods waiting room, a kind of nightclub for old people. As it turned out this was quite a funny place in my smashed state. With at one point in the night my 80 or so year old Oma was dancing in the middle of circle to ‘I don’t speak no americano’ or whatever that song is called whilst wearing an afro. It was then that I saw the family connection! 

Amsterdam Round 1

The Dutch are very interesting people, always putting in a smart ass comment when they can, but I guess when even the average mcdonalds worker speaks four languages this is only appropriate.  My favorite comment came from the ticket man at the railway station responding with ‘sorry, can you say it in Dutch please’ when I asked whether he can speak English in Dutch. shitting himself laughing by the time i realised what was going on. I love the Dutch, their chocolate milk is to die for and there is something very attractive about girls on old school bikes.  

When I first went into Amsterdam I thought all coffee shops would be the same, full of young kids smoking up which is partly true but they vary massively. Similar to pubs, you have your low end shops full of English men who I don’t even understand to that where you would be happy to bring your parents. My first experience was somewhere in the middle. A shop with only a few people but very chilled. The guy at the counter after informing me ‘you give me money I give you weed’ when I asked him how it works explained to me the difference between the different types of weed. From diesel a mellow hi to haze C3 a super strong skunk that will knock out even your most seasoned smoker.  I once again settled in the middle with the menu mix, a mix of mellow weed with abit of giggle thrown in for good measure. Sitting down with my pre rolled joint i looked around. A black man, posh German girls and a group of British men one wearing a matching green track suit and poker style sunglasses. Typical of Amsterdam a weird mix of things, having weed and the red light district in the same city as famous museums and art, with old tourists and drug tourists in one big happy mixing pot all while people lived and worked.  A nice mellow hi and a toastie went down nicely. I can now say I understand baseball after becoming fixated on the tv for god knows how long.

Stepping out of the coffee shop and back into the light, I relised how hi I actually was, I could barely walk! I should have known though I couldn’t speak when I ordered my tea in the shop. I wondered the streets not at all dazed at the fact I had no idea where I was walking. Until I found myself looking at a 40+ prostitute pushing her tits together, continuing the next window was a reasonable looking eastern block girl who suggested we have a 3-some with the random standing next to me.  I stumbled across the red light district and it scared me a little. I figured I would save the sex show for a time with friends as doing alone would be a little creepy.

 After more wondering I once again found myself in another coffee shop, this time a homely feel where everyone was alone and reading a book. Getting stoned and trying to read a newspaper is more difficult than it sounds, the diesel went well very mellow. Sitting in the sun and reading stoned is a very relaxing way to spend an afternoon.