It was the day before I was to head back to the states and I was feeling a deep melancholy pulsating through my body. I wanted to stay and feel more of the city which had worked some miraculous wonders in me but the clock was ticking me my last hours son. It was a slow morning and I had chosen to lie in bed a bit longer in a semi dreamy state. Eventually I pulled myself out of bed and hopped into the shower. I kept thinking that the most important component to all of this was that I no longer had any illusions. I was free to create whatever sort of reality I wished.
I could hear distant chimes ringing at their usual time 9:00 AM bringing me to the awareness of the time.
I dried myself off, got dressed and smoked a nice fat bowl of Sour Diesel before hitting the streets again. Tonight the Cannabis Cup would end, so I needed to swing by the Power Zone one final time. I didn't really see a reason to vote because all of the weed at the Cup was good but, what the hell, I'd come all that way after all. I walked around the city a little before heading to my favorite Coffeshop that doesn't sell weed.
Lost in Amsterdam
Nieuwendijk 19
I found this shop one day while I was deep in a stone and the clouds hung heavy in monotone. It struck me immediately because just inside its front window was a circular cushioned area with a round table in the middle of it and a hookah sitting on top. [What a sweet smoking area.] I was intrigued so I went in and the rest is history, I was in love. I went back there everyday to smoke and meditate on my journey.
The unique thing about this Coffeeshop was that they don't sell weed, not one single solitary bud. I was a little bummed about that, but what lifted my spirits was the fact that they don't care if you smoked your own. Basically they specialized in flavored tobaccos and such. They had big hookahs and portable hookahs everywhere. I don't smoke tobacco but for you smokers out there, you'd be in a paradise of Turkish delights.
The overall feel of the place lended itself to something Turkish or Moroccan perhaps, dunno but it worked for me. The lighting went from nice and dim, perfect for me when I wanted to slip into a deep meditative coma, to well lit areas where I liked to sit and write. The patrons that wandered through were as diverse as the bustling streets and crooked back alleys. All in all a very nice chill spot that I hope to get back to sometime in the near future.
I tucked myself away in my usual corner and prepared to write. I rolled a joint of Jack Herer and thought about everything - introspection. It was my last day in the Dam but I was hungry for more, there were still many shops to visits and so many sights to see. I lit the joint and inhaled. But by the time the smoke was making its way out of my lungs I decided to continue my journey and stay a few more days. I put my joint out and hurried back to my hotel hoping to change my arrangements.
Too bad things didn't go as smoothly as I would've hoped.