Boyjake's Last Day in Amsterdam

I've been home for a couple of days now and I'm ready to share stories of my recent travels.

After breakfast with the the Boss I walked to the Rijksmuseum where I paid for the artistic (as opposed to historic) audio tour narrated by the prolific Dutch character actor Jeroen Krabbé and wandered through the maze of Dutch masters, all the way through the Rembrandts and Vermeers. I actually got a little teary looking at Vermeer's Street in Delft (see photo) but I don't know why. It may have been a combination of jetlag and missing my woman. After my tour of the Rijksmuseum I jumped on a tram heading toward Centraal Station, paid my 1,60 Euro and road to Dam Square where I bummed around for a while just trying to get my bearings.

I ducked into the first little coffee shop I found. A young blonde woman sat behind the counter smoking a regular old tobacco cigarette. She pointed at the cannabis menu sitting on the counter. I saw a large airtight plastic cake box on the counter in front of which was a sign that read: SLICE CAKE: 5 Euro. I suppose I should have confirmed that there was hash in the cake, but I figured there must be at 5 Euro a slice so I ordered one with a cup of tea and sat watching the Middle Eastern youths at the table nearby rolling regular tobacco cigarettes (all cannabis smoking seemed to take place in a room upstairs).

A couple came in - a young black man and a short, thin, attractive olive-skinned woman. It did not take them long to choose a bag of weed, grab some rolling papers and head upstairs. A guy and two girls (I suspect they were Dutch) came in, reviewed the menu and discussed what to buy. They knew what they wanted, but were disappointed to find out that it only came in 2.5 gram bags as they didn't need that much. They eventually grabbed it up anyway with some rolling papers and went upstairs. One girl stopped on the way and bought a slice of cake.

When I finished my tea I left in search of the Red Light District. I got a little lost, but eventually found my way. I walked up one prostitute alley and down another, noticing that most of the windows were empty (it was Sunday afternoon after all), but there were still plenty of women to choose from if that's what one was there for. I was not. Satisfied that I could say that I strolled in Amsterdam's Red Light District, I jumped on the tram back to the hotel where I noticed that my face felt a little numb and I caught myself wondering in a mildly paranoid way if everybody on the tram knew I was stoned. That's how I knew I was stoned. I reminded myself that I was in Amsterdam and it didn't matter in the least. I giggled.

Thanks for playing.