Amsterdam was flat out lovely, filled with willowy tall blonde women, fit and slender from riding miles and miles on their bicycles each day.  The local beers, other than Heineken and Amstel, were pretty awful, bitter pilsens the whole lot of them.  The canals were muddy, filthy yet picturesque at the same time.  Modern buildings intermingled with the canal houses built in the 1680s, at the zenith of Dutch global influence, power, and wealth.  But the Amsterdammers don’t give American tourists the time of day, especially one tending toward the effeminate, with an earring and an  androgynous look.  Nederlander men, apparently, are men-men, not girly-men.

Oh, and I got high.  A lot.  Every day, in moderation, of course.  And Heinekens in the hotel drink machines on every floor (2Euro apiece – a bargain!).  Sampled White Widow, blonde generic hash (didn’t do much for me), and Nepal black tar hash.  That was a terrific, head-clearing potion, to be sure.  Nederlanders roll their weed mixed with tobacco (blech!) in big, cellophane-thin papers that are really difficult to work with.  The white widow’s clean taste was wasted that way, so I repeatedly tried to roll a weed-only j with little hash bombs interspersed, and while effective, I just don’t roll a very good fatty.

More soon – Kisses!



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