The second part of my two-leg short term holiday replacement for Egypt took place in two different countries over six days and despite the sound, it was more rejuvenating than I was expecting. I really hadn’t planned this getaway, more jumped on the tail of someone else’s. My housemate and good friend, Adam, who will be familiar to some of you from such tales as ‘The Move From Hell’ and ‘The Most Tired I Have Been On Christmas Day, Ever’ had planned to visit his brother, Jon, in Germany.
I think Adam’s idea of a perfect holiday is smoking some nice skunk, getting the munchies, eating, resting and repeating twice before taking some magic mushrooms and visiting a brothel. Not surprisingly Amsterdam is very close to his idea of heaven. Adam is a professional musician of the brass variety and would not look out of place in a rugby scrum. His brother Jon looks nothing like him. He’s much taller and thinner and as such they make a strange combination but you couldn’t find a stronger bond between siblings. The fact that they love each other is obvious. They are always there for each other and have seen each other through hard times with the promise of better ahead. Jon studied astrophysics and was working near Frankfurt for the European Space Agency but sounded like he needed a break. In the past year he had studied frantically to try and pass his degree, which once finished smoothly transformed into a summer job in London which swiftly transferred to a full-time job in Germany, all without a break. If I had been him I would have been bashing my head against the wall in an attempt at relief so I was fully supportive of Adam’s plan to enforce a break upon him whether he liked it or not.
It was in high spirits that Adam and I left for Germany. It was a lovely morning and I was feeling better after successfully catching a plane twice since missing one. I have a suspicion that I will never be late for a plane again but am doomed to sitting in airport terminals for hours on end. I must admit to not feeling totally confident that the trip was going to be a good one. For some reason something always goes wrong when Adam and I travel anywhere so I was on my guard. It may have something to do with a lack of planning. I don’t like organising things in detail and Adam likes drifting about in the breeze just as much as I do, so all we had done was to buy tickets to Frankfurt and arrange a lift from the airport. The basic outline of the plan was to hire a car in Germany and drive up to Amsterdam but that could wait until we got there. We were just happy to be on the move and get some relief from the urban jungle and daily grind that our lives were turning into.
Everything was going to plan as we took our seats in the plane. There was a bit of jostling for position as we both hog a bit of shoulder room, but as I exerted some authority on my personal space Adam leant a bit too far into the side of the plane. There was a loud crack and I shouted “I don’t believe it! You’ve broken the plane.” Adam looked appropriately abashed and put on his “I didn’t mean it … please don’t hurt me” face. I thought my shout that the plane was buggered would bring some attention our way but no-one seemed that worried about it. They were too busy shoving their bags into the overhead lockers. Eventually Adam got the attention of the flight attendant who came over and tried to stop laughing but couldn’t help herself. Apparently a slight dent in the inner lining of the plane and little bits of foam sticking out wasn’t a big deal. I offered to fix it if she could find a screwdriver but I guess they don’t like amateur mechanics five minutes before take-off. In the end it turned out to be fine. We probably could have ripped the whole panel off and stayed in the air but we managed to survive the remainder of the flight without causing any more damage.
I’ve been to a few airports and I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that they can reflect the personality of the country they are in. London airports tend to be busy and frantic while slightly unorganised. Bangkok airport is steamy and full of plants. Barcelona airport is light and relaxed. When you arrive at Frankfurt main the first thing that hits you is the acres of space and the second is the brisk efficiency.
Jon lives around Darmstadt which is a large town near Frankfurt. It has a large, airy feel to it but in a very planned and ordered way. There aren’t any small, dark alleys or buildings spilling out onto the street. Everything is new, in rows and clean. This mainly has to do with the fact that Darmstadt was demolished during the second world war, a victim of English fire bombing. It probably deserved it – large Nazi headquarters were based here in the town hall, strangely enough the only building that remained standing. I should point out that I have done absolutely no research about this so don’t blame me if you’re at a party going on about the Nazi headquarters in Darmstadt and an ex SS officer tries to kill you. You’ve had fair warning.
I picked most of my information up during my last trip to see Jon so I was happy to put my inquisitive mind on hold for the week and abandon myself to the lures of relaxation and switching off. In that spirit our first night in town saw us at the pool hall. Based on the popularity of the place on a Tuesday night it wouldn’’ surprise me if the next Pool champion of the world comes from a small town in Germany that no-one has heard of before. I guess a small town is a small town the world over. I understand the ethos, coming from quite a small city. There isn’t a wide range of leisure activities so you have no option but to follow the flow. The local brew was consumed and a few games racked up before we stumbled back to the house in order to rest before the next day’s preparations.
Jon works in one of the prime jobs for anyone who loves space. He’s located amongst Europe’s scientific elite at the headquarters for the European Space Agency. At 22 most of his colleagues outstrip him in age by decades but have the looks of scared adolescents and social skills to match. In this respect it probably isn’t such a fun place to work but it’s hard to resist an organisation that launches and controls satellites as a way to start a working career. A quick tour of the building revealed banks of computer screens, the obligatory map of the world and different time zones, the worst hair styles I have seen for many a year, and some pretty cool satellite replicas doubling as garden sculptures. It feels like the kind of place that goes about a mile underground and the number of important looking doors with no windows didn’t do the conspiracy theorists any harm. No-one has that many brooms.
Our main reason for going to ESA was to enquire about cheap car rental. I am not exaggerating when I say planning for this trip was minimal as you will see later. We were directed to a car rental firm somewhere in Darmstadt and the taxi kindly took us to the car rental heartland. The first place we went to was run by the type of woman you expect to be roasting a pig and preparing sauerkraut by the barrel while running the pub and suckling a baby. She sensed we were not German very quickly and we sensed that she didn’t like us. It’s strange to be on the receiving end of language prejudice. I must remember that if someone doesn’t understand a word, repeating it slower and louder doesn’t really help. We had to leave in the end but luckily the place up the road had a slick, black VW golf. We jumped in and with transport sorted we were halfway there.
A minimum of effort was spent in packing before we jumped in the car, bought a map and set off for the bright lights and aromatic smells of Amsterdam. I have mentioned elsewhere Adam’s incredible ability for getting lost. It’s almost as if he senses the wrong direction to go in and chooses it every time. Luckily the road to Amsterdam follows the freeway all the way there without deviation. Jon got us onto the right road and directed Adam to follow the signs to Koln. I don’t know quite how it happened, and there was rigorous debate at the time in the car, but Adam managed to get us heading south, rather than north. It took about 10 minutes to find somewhere to turn around, but by the time we were heading in the right direction the stereo was pumping, the sun was shining and the car was being pushed to top speed on the autobahn.
The drive from Frankfurt to Amsterdam is unremarkable apart from one point. When you drive through Germany there are gently sloping hills covered with woods and deer. This continues for a few hundred kilometres until you reach the Dutch border. There are no big signs announcing your entry into a new country but they aren’t needed. Holland is characterised by a lack of hills but the extent of it doesn’t really hit you until you drive into the lowlands and all you can see is horizon. It is the dullest, flattest stretch of grassland I have ever seen. As far as the eye can see there are farms and a road stretching into the distance.
But we weren’t going to the Amsterdam for the scenery. We were going because dope and magic mushrooms are legal and it sounded like a very relaxing place to be. The first thing on my mind on arrival was securing a hotel but as we drove around the city it appeared that whoever had built it had ingested quite a few magic mushrooms beforehand. Amsterdam is the most confusing city to navigate that I have been in so far. There are no landmarks, the city is totally flat with two storey buildings everywhere, there is a canal on almost every street, the roundabouts split off in five different directions which connect with roundabouts going in another five directions, tiny one way streets, trams, bicycles, no map, no plan – we parked the car and walked for a bit. At this point Adam got a strange look in his eyes. He was in his Holy Land, Nirvana and Mecca all rolled into one. I don’t exaggerate his fondness for smoking and he had gone a couple of days without a spliff which is near his breaking point. He started wandering off down the street and while Jon and I were keeping an eye out for hotels Adam was peering into cafes in his search for dope.
He started to take on the aspect of a dog straining on his lead as Jon and I tried to point out that it made more sense to find a hotel before we smoked, as marijuana tends to relax you to the point of inaction, but it was no use, he was a man on a mission. We eventually came across a converted basement. It was like being in a hobbit’s hut. The wooden ceiling was so low that I couldn’t stand up straight but I stumbled over to a lavishly cushioned bench near the wall. Adam was at the counter perusing the menu. The menu consisted of little plastic bags filled with samples of skunk and hash which you can choose from. To be honest, I was feeling a little bit tired and grumpy. Dope is nowhere near my drug of choice and I’m not a heavy smoker. I was anticipating a couple of drags knocking me out and I wasn’t far wrong. In the dope head vernacular I was blitzed and monged but mainly tired. The feelings were shared and we stayed there long enough to regain motor control and the motivation to find some hotel rooms. As we headed out into the Amsterdam night all was quiet. It was clear and peaceful and I couldn’t feel my feet. I floated along behind Adam and Jon as we headed back to the car. It was nine at night, we were stoned, we had half a tank of gas and no sunglasses but it didn’t seem to matter that much. I’ll give skunk that much – it’s hard to stress out on the stuff. When we got back to the car I felt like going to sleep and I could tell Jon felt the same but to his credit and my undying gratitude he stepped up and drove that car like a beast in a strange city in our quest for accommodation.
Adam quietly asked if I would be pissed off if we had to sleep in the car. I replied that I would probably be a bit grumpy in the morning and I could tell by his thoughtful silence that he knew that was a situation it was best to avoid. We found our first hotel but it proved beyond our budget. We drove a little way out of town, gazed mournfully at the Ritz, then headed back into town. On our way to the coffee shop we had met a man who pointed out a non-smoking hotel with vacancies. It was a last resort but we just wanted to sleep at this stage. We turned up at reception, no doubt looking a little red-eyed and confused, a look I’m sure we shared with many an inexperienced Amsterdam traveller. Our saviour informed us that he only had one room left with three single beds at a good price. The three of us stared in shock at each other briefly before mumbling “Yeah … yeah … that sounds great.” The gods of not planning were on our side for once and we had stumbled into a great little room. I don’t remember much of the rest of the night but it was a very good sleep.
My plan for the following day was magic mushrooms. I really like psychotropic drugs. They agree with me, stimulate my thinking and allow me to transcend the everyday. It was a beautiful day and I was all for getting some mushrooms and relaxing in the park. Adam agreed with my plan and Jon was forced to come along even though tripping really isn’t his cup of tea. I understand where he’s coming from. There is a point towards the tail end of a trip when it can feel like your brain is going to collapse under the weight of itself and it can take some effort to maintain sanity. I don’t find this too hard but I can understand the reluctance of Jon to want to go through it, especially with the mentally taxing year he had been experiencing. Magic mushrooms are an over the counter drug in Amsterdam, supplied by new age type shops rather than the pharmacy. Mushrooms usually come dried and taste like crap. We settled down for a quick breakfast and tried to convince Adam to hold off on the mushrooms until we were actually in the park but he sprinkled a pack on his pancakes and chowed down. I’m sure you can see a character trait developing here. After breakfast I thought, what the hell, and joined him with a mushroom flavoured mars bar. It really was an amazingly nice day to be wandering around in a pleasant daze.
We had a map supplied by the hotel but it only vaguely helped. We could tell from it that Amsterdam was based around the port and spread out in ever expanding semi-circles of streets and canals. We could see where we were on the map and we could see where we wanted to go but getting there proved deceptively hard. We took a pit stop at an café and reoriented ourselves with the help of the waiter. New directions firmly in place we proceeded to walk in a circle back to the café. We set off again in a new direction and largely thanks to my strangely good sense of direction we managed to hit first the smaller park before finally making it to the promised land of greenery, ducks and ponds. It was a pleasant little park, but like the rest of the city, nothing spectacular. Amsterdam is the kind of place that, when you think about it, doesn’t have any famous landmarks. Paris has the Eiffel tower, Sydney has the Opera House and London has the Houses of Parliament, but to this day I don’t know what the Amsterdam equivalent is. Once we were in the park Jon started to make a stick hut from the little bits of wood scattered in the grass. It started out as idle hands but as it grew it turned into our own little landmark in a city bereft of them.
This is the strange thing about Amsterdam. The streets all look alike, the canals are dirty and nothing really impresses you about it, yet you still come away from the place feeling like you’ve been somewhere interesting. It’s more about the atmosphere, especially after coming from somewhere as tense as London. Some might argue that the place feels relaxed because skunk is legal but I get the feeling that the place has always been pretty relaxed – it’s just the way people are. When the evening commute came it wasn’t bumper to bumper cars or people cramming on buses, but lots and lots of bikes with people talking as they rode along. I think it’s a pity in a way that Amsterdam has the reputation of being the drug capital of Europe. As we left the Easter weekend was starting and I can imagine the scenes that followed as a wave of tourists descended on the city in search of exactly what I had been there for. I’m heading back this summer to check out the paintings I didn’t see this time, but it’s my last stop on the European mainland, so I think there will be a bit of partying as well.
Dave out.
Recent Comments