But not the only kind by far. And indeed, the previous case study is only but one subtype of Amstoner – and they range from the burnt out to the plugged in. They cover every race, appearance, class and nationality. A curious cross section of society, but that’s not what this is about.
This is about… leaving where I am because the music is terrible.
…
As the laptop shutdown, I did manage to meet a second person, though the experience was interjected with the polish guy guffawing at the MTV bimbo on the screen and asking for weed. I’m not sure what this second guy’s name was – he left to go get more weed before I asked, and I left to get away from the toxic mixture of American filth and Euro sleaze… But to the topic at hand. This kid (and I say kid, though he may have been either older or younger than me) was from Indiana – somewhere a half hour from Chicago – and unlike his neighbor on the other couch, seemed liked a genuinely nice person, and I hope I run into him again. Yet his story that I’ve gathered is that he was going to take a three week whirlwind
I start off talking about Amsterdam by describing (some of) the stoners, because I find them a fascinating juxtaposition to the other long term residents of the city – the Dutch that seem simultaneously courteous, exasperated, and perhaps even still slightly bewildered by the menagerie of tourists that form a kind of chaotic, stupid and inebriated occupying army. They seem an interesting people, though I doubt I am going to have the time to venture far beyond the Centrum of Amsterdam to try and meet many – mastery of the tram system will have to wait for another visit (and one will surely happen).
But, the lack of locals (at least many willing to try and get to know a tourist) is offset by the virtue of this city’s internationality – there are people from anywhere and everywhere wandering the streets, and it’s just as easy to meet a fellow American as a Parisian, an Aussie or a family from India (indeed, the Indian food in the city is excellent, but that is a somewhat awkward story for another time). In particular I’ve met two excellent people – Stephanie (Steph), an Australian, and David, a Parisian. As we all sat at the check-in counter, waiting for the shift to change so we could pay and put our things away, we ended up talking. We’ve wandered the city together, and they’ve been great company. David parted ways from us today, going to Brussels, and Stephanie and I are parting tomorrow – her to London, and I off to Prague (I think)… but to make a story short, we have all come to the conclusion that nothing could be better than a vacation in Croatia – a place Steph mentioned, and I’d been meaning to look into previously. So, the plan is to meet up with David in
Random Notables
- The group of bros (white/blue button up shirts, jeans or slacks) in this city seems to be some kind of a fixture. Perhaps a permanent one, perhaps some kind of ongoing stag party, but I’ve run into them (or their clones) in large herds spilling out of a small bar in a back-alley at night, or announcing their presence in advance with a loudly slurred chant (“ooohhooooo do you want some more, of course!…” is all I can make out) as they run in packs of varying size through the streets, presumably on some kind of endless pub crawl (they’ve been by twice today, at least). Whatever their mission, they explain a bouncer’s explanation of drinking in public laws – “Its like anything, as long as you’re not all loud and ‘wahhhblahhhhh!’ its okay. Just be chill.” …As I type this, I hear them coming by again…
- I’ve seen an interesting mirror of me sitting right across from me in a square. Like me, sitting on a sunny day, drawing book in hand, staring out at the canals and looking for inspiration. Perhaps a mirror of me, had I gotten more into Japanese things. Mine doesn't seem a wholly original reason to be here, perhaps. But it's a good one.
- Ugly prostitutes. I’ve thus far been deterred from the redlight district by the phalanx of hideous creatures in the windows around its edge. I suppose there’s someone for everyone… or every price.
- People in coffeeshops especially seem to have a problem with hats. I can’t quite explain it.
- The bikers (and moped drivers) in this city are certifiably insane. There is little that stops them, often including lights. Lesson learned: a turning car will stop for a pretty girl to cross the street. It will not stop for me.
- Dealers: Although I won’t claim its universal, David pointed out to me that hard drug dealers are always in leather jackets – after he pointed it out, I noticed it seems to be true. That, and they’re black. They will often walk towards you quietly saying “heroine, cocaine, …” – I didn’t pickup on this before. I just figured they were crazy people talking to themselves.
- Dealers part II: interesting fact, it’s legal to buy up to 5 grams of weed per day (per coffee shop), and being caught with more than 5 grams is interpreted as intent to trade, which is illegal. Thus, it is legal for ‘coffee shops’ to sell weed, but not to buy it in the quantities they need as a reseller – leading to an interesting back door/front door situation between the black and white markets. I believe I may have gotten to see a glimpse of this. Upon entering and sitting down in a coffee shop, after a minute or two a waitress kindly walked up, put a reserved card on the table, and told me that this table – along with two other tables and half the room – was reserved for 2-3 creepy, silent men that sat together in the far corner. They had all the characteristic charisma of mob footmen, perhaps Ukrainians, and did not seem particularly interested or impressed that the waitress cleared half the shop for them. If I had to guess, I’d imagine these are the fellows in charge of larger purchases. A good example of the pitfalls of half-assed legalization.
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