I participated in two of the three. I ask you, the viewer, to guess which two.
Before we proceed, I must protest against this hellish keyboard. Farking Germans. They lose the war, they fark the tourists. Y and Z are flipped around. So if you notice any spelling mistakes, blame them.
Anyway, onward and upward.
We finished up in Amsterdam, 3 nights, 2 days of solid rain, then blue skies and beautiful scenery. Just as we left Amsterdam Centraal Station. So I didn't get many decent pictures, unfortunately. What we have, I shall post.
As already mentioned, we saw Anne Frank Huis, which was really fascinating. On the 2nd day, we did a couple of things that we kinda wanted to do, and missed one that we really wanted as well. We ate 'stamppot', which is a Dutch specialty that we saw in the Lonely Planet guide. It consists of (to my understanding, anyway), mashed spuds, bacon (or sausage, or whatever), and a few veges. Like a fancy pants bubble and squeak, but not fried. Found it at a deli, took it back to our B und B, and nuked it. Is nice.
Seriously though. This keyboard is the devil. I thought that the Germans had it in for us by inventing SAP. This keyboard is worse!
Anyway.
Did I mention the canal cruise? We did that too. Stood in the pouring rain, freezing our tits off, until it started. The tour was quite nice, saw some crazy stuff, and it gave us some inspiration to see what we did the next night.
The Red Light District.
Yes, it needs underlining. I considered using bold as well, but that's just getting too showey. Anywho. It was a real eye-opener. We were told that it was pretty amazing, but nothing prepares you for it. Hundreds, literally hundreds of hookers, stand behind glass doors, gyrating around and smiling and waving to you. Even if your girlfriend is standing right there - they'll flirt with her too. There are literally red lights (neon bar lights) above each 'room', which designates it as a hooker's room. Farking crazy. The 'johns' mosey along, looking at the girls, window shopping as it were, and picking the one that takes their fancy. I'm not kidding or exaggerating. These men will walk right up to the glass, stroke their beards, furrow their brows, and give the quiet nod, if they like what they see. Bizarre. After this little song and dance, the lady (should have used quotes!) will open the door, allow the man inside, and close the door. A red curtain is then drawn across the window, to show that the lady is 'occupado'. Like a toilet. But you'd probably rather eat a meal with a toilet. Bleck.
A quick rundown of the types of ladies in the RLD.
1. Normal chicks.
2. Fattie boombahs (there was a row of these. some weird Dutch fetish bizzo).
3. Sammich-needin' bitches. Seriously, eat something.
4. Half decent chicks... and
5. Grannies. Ew. Hotdog down a hallway sort of thing. *shudder*
Alli just reminded me - 'did you forget about the men'. And when she says men, she means ladyboys. Girl on top, man downstairs. Small man, but man nonetheless. More shuddering.
Another fun experience in the RLD - being offered drugs on the street. Like, five times. 'Speed, ecstasy?' No thanks. My trick was to simply shake the head, wave them away like a fly, and keep walking. Alli, being as adorable and cute as possible, when being asked 'speed, ecstasy' replied, in her nicest voice 'no thankyou!'. Not a hint of malice. Like she'd just been offered a sample of a new Maggi product at a sample stall in Coles. I set her straight, of course - no eye contact, just wave them off, they'll leave you alone. Not true, of course. We then were asked whether we wanted the aforementioned drugs by a nice gentleman. I waved him off, as normal. This time, 2 other gentleman joined this man, and started following us. Seriously. We had one more store between us and a stretch of very dark, unlit street ahead. I quietly told Alli to head into the store (a bottle shop, for what it's worth). 'Why?' 'We're being followed'. 'Oh my god!' We ducked into the shop, did a pretend lap around the store.. the three gentlemen passed, and we were safe. Whew! One needs to keep their wits in the 'Dam.
OK. Enough of that. What else? Oh yes, the rain. It rained nearly nonstop for the two days we were in Amsterdam. Almost got me in a shitty mood, but it was too awesome to really care. Now for the bit you've all been waiting for.
Pot smoking in Amsterdam.
We seriously debated whether to do this or not. Alli practically dragged me into a 'coffeeshop' (as opposed to a 'coffee shop' or a 'cafe' - all marijuana-selling places must be called 'coffeeshop', one word). Just kidding of course.. I was fairly keen to try this unique cultural experience. We found a not so seedy looking place.. some places looked decidedly seedy, but, given that it really is legal there, there are many unseedy shops too. Clean, neat, nice. We walked in. Sat down opposite the bar. There were two seperate bars - one for beers, one for pot. I asked for a couple of beers (Heinekens, natch) at the beer bar, in the hopes of getting up the courage to ask for something entirely different, and somewhat naughty, at the second bar.
I eventually took myself off to the second bar. There was a little chart there showing the various types of dope, and the price by the gram. I asked the guy (he was Dutch) 'what would you recommend for two Aussies who haven't had a smoke in ten years?' He suggested the Thai - 'very smooth, very mellow. Easy to smoke.' How much? 4 Euro - about $7AUD, for a prerolled, ready to smoke, doobie. It even came in a little plastic tube, somewhat like those used for cigars. We borrowed a lighter from a Pommy bloke next to us, and lit up. We shared it, of course. Lightweights that we are. Smoked pretty much all of it, got absolutely ripped. Walked to an Italian place, oddly hungry all of a sudden (I told you - ten years). Figured that we'd share a pizza and a pasta, and take the rest back to the B&B for 'later'. Somehow managed to eat them both. Walked to a tram station (I still don't remember doing this) and taking the tram back to bed. Which I also don't remember - but there were two stamps on our tram card to prove that it really did happen.
Drugs, my friends, are bad, m'ka'?
And that's almost the end of our little Amsterdam trip. Except for one last thing... the morning of our departure for Frankfurt in Germany, and given that we had 2 hours to wait before the train departed, we decided to avail ourselves of a coffee and a hot chocolate in the very, very opulent cafe at the station. After a few minutes, Alli trots off to the loo, and comes back momentarily. Phil's turn.
Here goes.
I trotted off to the bathroom. There was one stall, and it was free (and clean, yay). I closed the door.. had some trouble getting it to lock, but fiddled with it and got it locked. Did my sinful business, finished up, stood up, flushed, zipped up, et al. Then I tried to open the door.
It wouldn't open.
Fiddled some more. Smiled as I thought 'this will sound funny on the blog'. It still didn't open. Then I started getting desperate. I banged on the door. I called out. No-one answered. Uh oh. I then tried to shoulder it open, like in the movies.
Movie version: door splinters off the hinges, man emerges unscathed.
Real life: shoulder fucking hurts. Door doesn't budge.
Oh hang on now. I have my phone. Salvation! I'll call Alli! She'll ride in like a knight in shinig armor, and save me! Yeah! I ring Alli.. she.. doesn't recognise the number (stupid international shenanigans, it blocks the number), and given that it's eleventy billion dollars to take a call in Europe on your Aussie mobile, she hits reject.
Moments later, my signal drops out. Emergency calls only. Fark.
Another five minutes of stressing, cursing, shouldering, kicking and altogether being a man, and I cave. 112. International emergency number. 'Hello? Do you speak English?' 'Of course, how can I help?'. I'm stuck in a toilet. In Amsterdam Station. Yes, seriously. No, I am not kidding. The one in the restaurant. Yes, the lock is broken. OK. OK, you're sending the Politie. Uhuh. Fine. Thanks.
All of 30 seconds later, and a staff member arrives. 'Hallo?' 'Hello? Can you get the staff? I'm locked in here!' 'You are stuck in there?' 'Yes! Get the staff, please!'. 'OK, one moment!'
Staff arrive. Screwdriver in hand, and I am liberated, 25 minutes after entering the stall. One takes a moment to point out the 'Defect' sign on the door of the stall. The very same door that was wide open when I entered, and thus, completely hidden from all eyes. They start laughing. 'Very funny, yes? This is a Dutch joke on the Aussie, isn't it?' 'No, not a Dutch joke, just funny!'.
Ha.
I trot back to Alli, and explain the whole thing. A minute later, and 3 police (Politie) arrive. All armed to the hilt, wired headsets, and serious looks. I explain that I was, indeed, the one who called, and that I had been saved by the bar staff. They just smiled and thanked me, and walked off. Nothing fazed them (as shown in a flyer distributed by the Dutch police ... and I quote 'If you fall into a canal after smoking too much, do not be embarassed. We have seen it all before'). Top stuff.
And we hopped onto the train, and took first class all the way to Frankfurt. Even had a beer on the train. Very smick.
I'll leave it there. Internet in Europe ain't cheap. Will post some more pics in the next couple of days.
Love yas.
Phil and Alli
