Mike had been in Europe before so I let him take the lead. With a rudimentary grasp of the language he was able to get us a taxi and a hotel over in the Bastille neighborhood. I got my first experience with the scaled down size of things, the hotel room was barely big enough to fit two single beds in with no room left over for any other furniture. The Bastille area was beautiful with a nice blend of historical buildings, bars, and cafe’s. After checking in we decided to take a stroll through the area and get a feel for things. We had been out less than ten minutes when we walked by the local McDonald’s and were pleasantly surprised when a guy asks if we want any hash? This seemed too good to be true! In all my years of smoking, I had only come across hash about a half-dozen times and every time it was a cherished treat, now within my first hour in Paris, a stranger was offering me some. Obviously we were sceptical at first, after all how many times do you get good drugs on the street? However after letting us check it out, it seemed legit. It was soft and gooey with a sweet smell that I knew to be hash so we bought a gram and headed back to the hotel room for a smoke. We fashioned a pipe out of a can and proceeded to get baked, after a nice session we were ready for a night out in the city of lights.
I’d love to say we had a magical night out, but with the beers too expensive and the people too pretentious, we only had a few then headed back to the hotel room to end the night with another hash session. In the morning we headed out to see the sights, we went to the Louvre but the line was too long, we went to the Eifel Tower but it was too expensive, then we went to Jim Morrison’s grave and smoked some hash, definitely the best part of the day. Mike had an old college chum who lived in the city and had invited us to dinner at his place. He was an Italian dude and his girlfriend was French so I was looking forward to some good eats to say the least. I was not disappointed as the food was excellent and the conversation stimulating, it was a very relaxing night and I felt truly at ease for the first time since leaving Mike’s house. When we got back to the Bastille neighborhood we decided to see if our friend with the hash was anywhere to be found, and sure enough he was. We bought another gram and went back to the hotel for a final smoke-out in Paris for in the morning we would embark on the final leg of our journey to the promise land.
In the morning we said good-bye to the Bastille and headed to the train station at Gare du Nord where we boarded the fast train to Amsterdam. I was not too stressed out but there were butterflies in my stomach when I thought about going through customs again. I still had the Belgium and Dutch borders to cross and did not know what to expect. We crossed over the Belgian border and prepared for someone to ask for our passports but there was no one. We thought maybe they would check in Brussels but once again, nothing. I was beginning to think that there would be no checks what-so-ever when at the last stop in Belgium, a group of guys in uniform got on the train and sat right near us. I felt my heart start to beat a bit faster but when they smiled, said hello and continued with the conversation they were having when they boarded, I figured they were just some military boys heading to Amsterdam as well. As soon as we crossed the Dutch border, the smiles and laughs were replaced with stern looks as they started asking people for their passports. It turned out they were Dutch border guards and had to wait until we were in Holland until they had any authority. When I handed my passport to the guy bothering us his look became even more serious as he scrutinized it and me. He turned to ask one of his colleagues to look at it and to my luck they were all occupied at that moment so he takes Mike’s passport and checks it out. He seemed to relax once he saw that Mike’s was perfect and once again looked at mine. he kept rubbing his finger over the bubbled plastic, I could see that he was weighing whether to ask me more or just let it go, when he turned once again to find a colleague, he saw that they were heading up the train checking passports. With seeing that, he handed us both back our passports and said “enjoy Holland”, then turned to catch up with the others. I let out a big sigh knowing that I had almost fell at the final hurdle but now it was smooth sailing right into Amsterdam.
When we pulled into Amsterdam’s Central Station my anticipation equalled that of a five-year old boy waiting for Christmas morning, and when I took my first look down Damrak into my new city, I had the most spiritual experience I had ever known. I was flooded with an overwhelming sense of peace and joy, as if a thousand pounds had just been lifted from my back. I took a moment and gave thanks to whatever or whoever was running the universe and vowed to do anything it took to stay. As we started to head down the Damrak to look for a place to stay, Mike stops outside the first hotel we see. It was a beautiful 4 star hotel called the Victoria and I was puzzled as to why, Mike knew I was looking for the cheapest thing possible. He says “since this will probably be the last time you sleep in luxury for a while, i will pay for us to stay here tonight”. I wasn’t going to argue with that logic as he was probably right so I smiled and gave him a big hug saying “thank-you my brother”! After getting checked in we stayed only long enough to drop off the luggage and check out the place. It was a big improvement from what we had in Paris but I was somewhat unimpressed. I was expecting all the trimmings of luxury however it reminded my of a room at the Holiday Inn… nice but nothing to write home about.
We left the hotel and headed for green pastures, I was very excited to visit my first ‘coffee shop’ ( a coffee shop is the place you could buy weed and hash in Amsterdam ). Mike directed us over to the Warmoesstraat, which was the outer edge of the ‘red light district’. There were coffee shops everywhere and picking one was difficult, too many to choose from. Then I saw the familiar ‘Route 66’ highway sign and something inside told me that this was the place. It was very small ( I would soon learn that most of the coffee shops were ), it had a bar for drinks and a booth where they sold the weed and hash, we made our way there. The guy handed us a menu on which contained all the choices along with their price. I was shocked and couldn’t help but feel the irony, here I was in a place that was about to sell me weed legally in a respectable establishment and back home in the supposed ‘land of the free’, they would put me in a cage for it. I wasn’t about to let it get me down for I had some smoking to do! We bought a gram of ‘White Widow’, borrowed a bong from the bar and proceeded to have the first of many sessions in an Amsterdam coffee shop. Where we went next I can’t say as we went to many coffee shops that day but just like with girls ‘you never forget your first’ and I will always have a warm spot for the Route 66.
A Continuing Story About Life On The Run