By the time I went through customs at Schiphol I was exhausted. I took a taxi to Kerkstraat. I called Humphrey on the way and left a message on his cell. When I arrived at the apartment I paid the cabbie and placed my suitcase and backpack onto the street. It was drizzly and cold. I had an umbrella in my case—short, small, and collapsible. I opened it and covered as much of the suitcase and backpack as I could. I had on a winter cap, one with a yin/yang symbol that I bought at a souvenir shop in November. It was getting soaked so I took it off and waited. Someone from the apartment complex opened the door and I snuck my stuff inside hoping to flag down Humphrey if he drove up.
I called Direct Wönen and got an automated message saying something or other in Dutch. It was after four and I was beginning to worry. Humphrey was supposed to arrive between 3:30 and 4:00 PM. I tried his number again and left a message. I left a message at Direct Wönen as well and left my Amsterdam cell number. By 5:00 PM, I gave up and started making my way around the neighborhood looking for a hotel. At least at this time of year one was bound to have vacancies. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to the prices.
A few blocks around on the Amstel was a place called the Paradise Hotel. I knew nothing about it but as I walked in I saw it was a dive. I talked to the gent at the front desk. He informed me rooms were 50 Euros for the night. That was dirt cheap in Amsterdam. Even hostel prices can climb up there. I was on the fourth floor and fortunately they had a small elevator. I barely fit with my suitcase and backpack. The room was also tiny, maybe 10x10. There was a community shower down the hall. For one night, this was fine, great even because I had no intention of doing anything other than sleeping.
I woke early in the morning. Check out time was eleven and that concerned me. I went for a short walk to get some fresh air and move my legs. It was cold so I didn’t wander far. By 9:00 AM, I got a call from Humphrey. He apologized profusely but said he had been by the day before … at 3:00 PM! Our signals had gotten crossed. He said he could come by at noon but not before because he had his children for the weekend. I walked back to the hotel and asked if I could check out a little later, around 11:45 AM. There was a different man working and he said that would be fine. I went back upstairs and took out my Dutch-English translator, flipping through it aimlessly and practicing Dutch while watching the walls. I was tired and wanted to be settled.
I woke early in the morning. Check out time was eleven and that concerned me. I went for a short walk to get some fresh air and move my legs. It was cold so I didn’t wander far. By 9:00 AM, I got a call from Humphrey. He apologized profusely but said he had been by the day before … at 3:00 PM! Our signals had gotten crossed. He said he could come by at noon but not before because he had his children for the weekend. I walked back to the hotel and asked if I could check out a little later, around 11:45 AM. There was a different man working and he said that would be fine. I went back upstairs and took out my Dutch-English translator, flipping through it aimlessly and practicing Dutch while watching the walls. I was tired and wanted to be settled.
At 11:30 I took my bags down and checked out of the hotel. I walked the few blocks back to Kerkstraat, pulling my heavy black suitcase on cobblestones half the way, and set up shop next to the entrance. A woman entered the building and smiled at me. I smiled back. I was about to tell her I was renting an apartment, but she was inside before I could get the words out. At almost exactly noon, Humphrey drove up. He was in a rush, but he handed me a set of keys for the door to the building, the apartment door, and the mailbox. He waited to make sure they worked and once I carried my suitcase inside he waved goodbye and told me to call him if I had any trouble. Otherwise, “See you in April!”
I lugged my black suitcase into the bedroom and rested it against the wall. I walked into the living room and put down my backpack. I started walking toward the kitchen but saw a note on the table in the living room, the table that would prove to be my work desk. It was a welcome letter along with a litany of things to do, how to do them, and other items she thought might be of interest or import. I walked into the kitchen and found the fridge stocked with food. “How thoughtful.” There was a note taped to a carton of milk. It read, “I stocked up for you. I hope you like the food. Please help yourself to anything you like. If there’s anything you don’t like just throw it out. Have a great time!—Susan.” Yet another great hostess in a great city.
I went to the window in the living room, putting my knees on the couch and leaning on the back of it. I cranked it open and heard the rush of the street below. There were cars parked here and there along the street and occasionally one drove by, but there were far more motor scooters, bicycles, and walkers. It was cold so everyone moved at a brisk pace. I shut the windows and looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was still before one. I unpacked my bags, starting with my backpack. I got my MacBook up and running. Susan had left the Internet cable wrapped up jutting out of her bedroom. She had given me a good twenty-plus feet so it easily ran to the table. I could even sit on the couch with it connected if I so desired. I entered the password and was up and running. I sent emails to let a few know I had arrived safe and sound. I went to the bedroom and unpacked my black bag, hanging up clothes and coats, placing some in drawers, putting my toiletries in the bathroom, unloading books and CDs, and so on.
When I had finally finished I saw it was near three. I wanted cannabis for a celebratory smoke. A nice glass bowl was what I wanted and a little dugout for smoking mobility. The Greenhouse was close. They had a good cannabis selection and they sold paraphernalia. I put on a warm coat, grabbed one of Susan’s colorful umbrellas just in case, and walked across the Magere Brug, turning south along the Amstel. The Greenhouse was on the corner of the Amstel and Niuewe Herengracht. All in all, about four long blocks including the bridge crossing.
I went inside, surveyed their wares, purchased a colorful blown glass pipe for about 60 Euros, a dugout for ten, a gram of Northern Lights No. 5, and two grams of Super Lemon Haze. The Haze looked incredibly fresh, as if it had been delivered that day. The No. 5 looked so-so, but it was an old standby so I made the purchase. I thought of hanging out in their lounge and smoking—it looked inviting and there were few people—but I was too tired from jet lag. I didn’t want to doze off in public.
I walked back toward the apartment and as I was turning onto the Magere Brug I looked down Nieuwe Kerkstraat (the Amstel River separated Kerkstraat from Nieuwe Kerkstraat just as it did Herengracht from Nieuwe Herengracht). I saw that there was an Albert Heijn within two blocks. This was a boon because I wouldn’t have to lug groceries nearly as far as I had on my previous visit. I turned and crossed the bridge, ambling through the cold with my umbrella and bag full of goodies. I took a deep breath to smell the fresh, crisp air. The faces were smiling less than I remembered but that was either due to the cold of January or the fact that I was in a different area of the city. Kerkstraat was a well-traveled street by all types from travelers to locals to clubbers to commuters to artists and so on.
I unloaded my bag back at the apartment and took a good look at the pipe. It was mostly blue swirls with wisps of red, yellow, and orange around the bowl. There was a bulb on the right and another on the front for holding the pipe if it got hot and a carb on the left. The bowl was good sized and looked as if it could hold a half gram. I loaded the bowl with the Haze since it looked so fresh. Before I lit up, though, I went to the kitchen and filled a glass of orange juice and made a ham and cheese sandwich with mayonnaise. “A ham en kaas broodje mit mayonnaise,” I said aloud, practicing the little Dutch I knew. I wanted to try a little harder this trip to learn Dutch.
I ate my sandwich and drank the O.J. then went back to the living room, grabbed the bowl, went to the couch next to the window, looked out at the action—so different than the quiet of Entrepotdok in the Plantage—and lit up. I exhaled with an instant high. I wasn’t going to be able to stay awake much longer. I pulled one of the comfy blankets draped over the back of the couch on top of me as I lied down. I adjusted the fluffy couch pillow and dozed off in a restful sleep.
...
I woke around seven. My sleep schedule was way off. I ate a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mayo thanks to Susan’s kindness. I washed it down with a bottle of sparkling water. I wasn’t sure about recycling, but Susan had shown me where the trash shoot was. I checked her list to see about recycling and there was apparently a box by the front door in the first floor lobby. That was also where the mailboxes were. I put the bottle on the counter and figured I would take it down when I headed out. I first wanted to shower and wake up.
Susan’s shower was a bit of an adventure at first as there was a plastic stool-type thing for sitting. I didn’t think of it until after the shower, but I could have removed it. Instead I performed shower gymnastics to wash my body and shampoo my hair. I got out and went about brushing my teeth and whatnot. I came out of the bathroom and noticed the chill in the room. The windows were closed so the temperature outside must have been dropping. I turned up the thermostat. I got dressed in blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a light red sweatshirt. I logged onto the Internet to find out the hours for the smart shop somewhere near Rusland in the Oude Zijde. Finding it was going to be an adventure. It was open until nine so as long as I didn’t get too turned it would all work out.
I was going to dig deeper during this stay and find out what was really going on inside of me. I felt that I had healed during the first visit in the fall, but on this trip I wanted to learn how to live, to find my soul, to find fulfillment. In a sense, I intended this stay in Amsterdam to be a vision quest. I would do no more cocaine and while I might smoke cannabis I intended to shroom early and often, come what may. No more “half-living.”
It was a little past seven. I put on a black wool coat that I had originally purchased in Amsterdam in 2000 and went out. I walked to the west and passed Utrechtsestraat, a hip, busy street; I walked north and passed through the garish neon of Rembrandtplein, across Halvemaans Brug and then … got lost. I wandered streets, turned right when perhaps left would have been better, turned left when straight might have served me well, and just when I was about to give up, I stumbled on a quaint little street and there it was, a smart shop near a wonderful corner café/bakery.
I went into the smart shop and, after looking at the menu, talked to a young Dutchman with dark curly hair and significant stubble on his chin and cheeks. He was wide-eyed, exuberant, and helpful. I told him I was looking for a body high—I figured I would go with what I knew first and go for the cerebral Hawaiian in the future. He suggested the McKennai and I quickly remembered how much I liked it the first time I shroomed. He asked if I needed any other products and I said no. I paid by credit card and went merrily on my way … getting lost yet again on the way back.
I could see that getting to and from this particular smart shop was going to take some work. There were plenty of others and I could have easily gone to the one on Kerkstraat, but I loved getting lost in Amsterdam and was happy to find that I still could. I knew I was in the Oude Zijde and I realized that it was larger—or at least more confusing—than I had originally thought. In other words, a real treat. However, when closing time for shrooms was at hand I wanted to know where I was and how to find the shop.
I found the Amstel and the Halvemaans Brug, passed through the noise of Rembrandtplein again, and walked back to my apartment. I changed into comfortable clothes, took a puff of Super Lemon Haze, and gobbled up the shrooms. I washed them down with a glass of water and ate a couple chocolate cookies Susan had left in the cupboards. The list she made said “Help yourself to whatever you want” so I did.
As I was waiting for the shrooms to work their magic I checked out her television. There was about a hundred stations it seemed. She also had a DVD player and a satellite radio which pleased me. I figured there must be a video store somewhere in the area. I turned off the TV, though, and switched to the stereo. I found a radio station playing House and let the rhythmic beats and trippy sounds sooth me.
When the effects of the shrooms swooshed I changed the station to calming music. I found a station reading “contemporary world music.” The sound of drums beating gently filled the room. My body liked. A Native American emerged from within me and hopped about the room, turning ever so slowly in tune with the measured beat. A trance-like state became my head space. A flute or lyre joined the dance and suddenly there were birds fluttering about, tweeting and chirping. They circled like a living wreath over the Native American's head who knelt in prayer as the wreath became a halo.
Knees do not like hardwood floors. The man who was and was not me moved to the rug where the coffee table sat. Getting up, though, caused the birds to disperse; there was no more need to kneel as the Native American disappeared. I turned down the music so much it was barely audible. I wombled to the white fuzzy comfort by the see-through glass peering into other worlds resembling apartments across the street. I turned a crank and the glass opened out to let the other worlds in. Tiny noises emanated from the street thousands of feet below. Darkness was illuminated by globes of white and colorful hues from window worlds across the canyon separating me from them.
A thought emerged and the thought was that this time was known as "Saturday night." This time was celebrated by bands of warriors and gangs of lotus worshipers wandering to and fro. The warriors howled at moons I could not see; their howls grew larger as the warriors grew toward me. They had been quite small moments earlier but were now hundreds of feet tall, giants walking down the middle of the street canyon. It seemed that the lotus worshipers coming from the other direction stood no chance, but they, too, started to grow. They passed without incident, the giants from each group easily a thousand feet tall. A spell may have been cast or perhaps warriors and lotus worshipers were secret allies that had made a pact to--
Holy fuck, a metal space craft flying through the canyon at warp speed! One of the giant warriors gestured angrily, but it had no effect on the space craft. There was so much drama in this canyon! I leaned back inside, needing a break from the intensity of the alternate universe outside my apartment. I clumsily malted the pipe and lighter with fleshlings, managing to spark a flame to the green godhead within. Clouds of smoke billowed from a chimney in the middle of my face. I mangled the pipe and lighter onto the floating glass slab that prevented things from falling. I flashed on a cigarette pack and groovered one while decimating several others. The lighter ... fleshlings absconded with it and brought it to me. "Absconded." A weird sound. It couldn't mean anything, could it? It couldn't mean what I meant it to mean. It had to, though, because what had happened had happened.
A lit twig in my mouth directed me to the open window. I looked out and saw more bands and gangs. The street was now only twenty feet below--how did that happen?! The beings were sized to this universe and were dressed to attend differently themed parties, all of which involved tea and cookies being served. It seemed especially odd for the Macbeth sisters covered in tattoos with faces pierced by various objects. Their ear lobes escaped through holes stretched several inches wide by circular objects and their jet black hair ragged and jagged. The drums that had played for the Native American earlier had obviously attracted these women toward my apartment, but since the sound had stopped they were wandering aimlessly hoping to at least score tea and crumpets from groups dressed more colorfully. I wished them well, but they didn’t hear me call out because a motorized missile melded to a Japanese anime character vroomed past.
A thought emerged and the thought was that this time was known as "Saturday night." This time was celebrated by bands of warriors and gangs of lotus worshipers wandering to and fro. The warriors howled at moons I could not see; their howls grew larger as the warriors grew toward me. They had been quite small moments earlier but were now hundreds of feet tall, giants walking down the middle of the street canyon. It seemed that the lotus worshipers coming from the other direction stood no chance, but they, too, started to grow. They passed without incident, the giants from each group easily a thousand feet tall. A spell may have been cast or perhaps warriors and lotus worshipers were secret allies that had made a pact to--
Holy fuck, a metal space craft flying through the canyon at warp speed! One of the giant warriors gestured angrily, but it had no effect on the space craft. There was so much drama in this canyon! I leaned back inside, needing a break from the intensity of the alternate universe outside my apartment. I clumsily malted the pipe and lighter with fleshlings, managing to spark a flame to the green godhead within. Clouds of smoke billowed from a chimney in the middle of my face. I mangled the pipe and lighter onto the floating glass slab that prevented things from falling. I flashed on a cigarette pack and groovered one while decimating several others. The lighter ... fleshlings absconded with it and brought it to me. "Absconded." A weird sound. It couldn't mean anything, could it? It couldn't mean what I meant it to mean. It had to, though, because what had happened had happened.
A lit twig in my mouth directed me to the open window. I looked out and saw more bands and gangs. The street was now only twenty feet below--how did that happen?! The beings were sized to this universe and were dressed to attend differently themed parties, all of which involved tea and cookies being served. It seemed especially odd for the Macbeth sisters covered in tattoos with faces pierced by various objects. Their ear lobes escaped through holes stretched several inches wide by circular objects and their jet black hair ragged and jagged. The drums that had played for the Native American earlier had obviously attracted these women toward my apartment, but since the sound had stopped they were wandering aimlessly hoping to at least score tea and crumpets from groups dressed more colorfully. I wished them well, but they didn’t hear me call out because a motorized missile melded to a Japanese anime character vroomed past.
Coldness entered me and I wanted less of it so I closed the see-through glass, cutting me off from the world that wasn't. My mind said things such as "I am happy there will always be performance art out the window." I had no idea what this meant or who the fuck was thinking it for me. Nevertheless, I agreed with the mind that said, "Kerkstraat is delightful." A shower sounded good so I disrobed and entered. I moved the stool out of the way and the shower head cascaded water onto my body. Warmth, yes. Luxurious warmth. I had a profound realization: I had been cold! My God! How could something so obvious escape my attention? I shook my head at myself and decided then and there that I was not going to put up with any more dissatisfactions with my actions nor every ounce of butter in the city! Oh, that was dizzy.
I removed my body from the shower; it was as if a giant invisible hand was a part of my "real self" and it lifted "tiny me" from the shower. I was glad the real me was huge and invisible, but I wondered why my perspective was limited to "tiny me" most of the time. I needed to connect with my gigantic invisible real self more so I could become who I was meant to become before I shrunk into a long-term debilitating tiny me stasis.
Tiny me left the bathroom. I wasn't sure where the real me was, if he was with me, in the bathroom, or jet-setting to other galaxies. Maybe the real me lived inside Jupiter and only came to visit when I was cold but didn't realize I was cold. I saw the black wand that controlled the sound machine and changed radio frequencies. A music my mind recognized as jazz be-bopped and shim-shimmied with a lippidy-dip-twiddle. My arms and legs kicked and thrust with each horn blast. I felt like a puppet and the trumpet was my master. The power of sound; I barely understood the relationship between sound and body ... hell, which body? Which sound? "My body is mostly water and sound is vibration. I don't like jackhammer sounds because they fuck with my water!" Jagged, asymmetrical crackling, like a car window shattered in a bad accident. "I need Bach." Perfectly symmetrical crystals. Decibel levels? I wanded the sound and serenity became me.
My intellect registered momentarily. "The poor suffer more from stress-induced health problems because they live in areas with abrasive noise and apartments with poor insulation. The rich benefit from quiet surroundings and better insulation." I shrugged my body and started jibbering it. "Fuck the intellect!" Tiny me wondered what difference it would make if he knew this or not. What could he do? He was tiny!
Tiny me left the bathroom. I wasn't sure where the real me was, if he was with me, in the bathroom, or jet-setting to other galaxies. Maybe the real me lived inside Jupiter and only came to visit when I was cold but didn't realize I was cold. I saw the black wand that controlled the sound machine and changed radio frequencies. A music my mind recognized as jazz be-bopped and shim-shimmied with a lippidy-dip-twiddle. My arms and legs kicked and thrust with each horn blast. I felt like a puppet and the trumpet was my master. The power of sound; I barely understood the relationship between sound and body ... hell, which body? Which sound? "My body is mostly water and sound is vibration. I don't like jackhammer sounds because they fuck with my water!" Jagged, asymmetrical crackling, like a car window shattered in a bad accident. "I need Bach." Perfectly symmetrical crystals. Decibel levels? I wanded the sound and serenity became me.
My intellect registered momentarily. "The poor suffer more from stress-induced health problems because they live in areas with abrasive noise and apartments with poor insulation. The rich benefit from quiet surroundings and better insulation." I shrugged my body and started jibbering it. "Fuck the intellect!" Tiny me wondered what difference it would make if he knew this or not. What could he do? He was tiny!
Thinking was tiring. Movement, too. I lied on the couch on the far wall opposite the kitchen and relaxed. I laid for eons, my closed eyes watching crystallized snowflakes flutter from the black sky of my mind. At some point, I dozed off, the effects of the mushrooms giving way to the power of jet lag.
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