Stories from the trip of a lifetime…
I don’t have a convincing analogy for the type of people who go to Amsterdam and don’t smoke weed. Just declarations; like those are people I don’t want to know. Just kidding, not that harsh.
Disclaimer: I smoked weed in Amsterdam.
And it led to a moment where I stated “this is the best night of my life.” I understand that one most likely had to do with the other, but let me set this up for you.
Literally the most random crew you could put together. Nationalities all over the place: American, Canadian, Australian and German. I think there were seven of us in total.
We walked out of the hostel bar like we were ready to own the night. I was deep in conversation with somebody about something, in the zone where you’re just ready for something crazy to go down.
Personality conflicts were creeping their way into our makeshift family. I knew who was expendable and who was a member for life (aka who I’d want to be Facebook friends with later), but anticipated watching it play itself out.
We headed to a coffeeshop, which is code for a marijuana smoking joint. Pun intended. We were there for either fifteen minutes or two hours, not sure…I was either in a time warp or high.
Next the gang hit up a coffeeshop/bar combo. I announced that if I didn’t drink, my next stop would be my bed. The Australian ordered cognac and we literally could not get over the fact that he ordered cognac. He justified it by saying, “What? I’m on holiday.” I found that to be hilarious and adopted it as my own. I missed my chance to buy a drink, entranced by the awkwardness that was going down between the German and the Canadian.
These two could not have been more different, or better representative of their respective stereotypes. The German was brutish and blunt, the Canadian was polite and reserved. The German sat in the Canadian’s seat when he was gone, and I convinced myself a blowout was bound to happen. But I forgot that Canadians are like, insanely polite so he just stood instead.
Then the pack headed to a jazz club, only to be rejected for the Australian looking “messed up” (probably because he ordered cognac) and the German attempting to bring a drink in from the previous bar. Amateurs.
Then a showdown happened in the middle of the street. The German wanted to head to the red light district to find some ladies, the Canadian did not. Nor did the rest of us, but we were especially unable to make decisions and defiantly non-confrontational.
We started walking towards our hostel, leaving the German behind after it was stated that he was old enough to take care of himself. I found it all to be terribly funny and couldn’t wait to write about it.
I’m now realizing that it was more of a “you had to be there” type of night.
My solution is that you go to Amsterdam and stumble upon your own story.