Been enjoying reading others' travelogues so thought I'd share a previous trip with you..
In the summer of 2003 I spent a few weeks backpacking/eurorailing through France with the intention of finishing off with a few nights in the Dam.
France was cool, spent a lot of time in the south previous to this and found it very easy to score some pretty nice squidgy hash in Nice and Montpellier. From there I made my way to Paris via Bordeaux. Hated travelling solo in Paris, ridiculously expensive and was nearly mugged a few times on the subway.
So after a few nights there I booked the Thalys to Amsterdam and reserved a room in the Hortus. The Thalys was delayed by 4 hours so arrived in A'dam at approx 6pm.
As soon as I got out of Centraal station I felt strangely at home, this was compounded by the endless smells of various strains of smoke which wafted towards me on the mile or so walk to the Hortus.
Was tempted to stop at a CS on the way but I was eager to check in and get rid of the massive rucksack.
Got to Hortus, friendly surfer dude tells me he'd assumed I wasn't going to show so gave my room to someone else. I was aware of the high demand for hotel rooms in this city, especially during summer months, and started to freak out. The guy said that there is a guest house type place up the road next door to a butchers shop and if I was lucky then the old dear who owns the place may have a room.
I anxiously approached the place "Kitty" on Plantage Middlaan (sp?), expecting it to be already fully booked. In my mind I was running out this nightmare scenario which involved me sleeping rough and ending up enslaved by a gang of Albanian smack dealers.
I knocked on the door of Kitty and was greeted by an ancient German lady who informed me that she did indeed have a room. Wahey! I dumped the bag, had a quick freshen up and flew out onto the street, headed towards the Bluebird, which I had passed on the way to Hortus, also been recommended this place by a few people back home.
Got in there, pretty much ran up the stairs to the counter and started looking at the amazing book menus, still completely awestruck at being able to buy and smoke weed legally. I asked the BT what he recommended and he instantly pointed me towards the New York City Diesel. He asked if I wanted to smell the bag "nah mate it's ok, I trust you" I beamed, so anxious and excited to try this stuff. Fast forward about 90 seconds and I was sitting on the large couch lighting up. Aaaand relax..
Found myself in a state of total bliss. The details for the rest of that evening are really sketchy. Remember going to the large Albert Hein near the Bluebird and munched myself stupid. I went to another cs, no way to remember any details sorry, and bought some ak47. That was the end of day 1, I was totally exhausted from the combination of travelling, smoking and the adrenaline comedown from the sheer exhilaration of the experience.
That night I slept soundly, like a proverbial baby, minus the incontinence and screaming.
Day 2 is a real blur but I remember going to Goa cs and buying a few different types of bud and a hash called Poison, which I remember cutting through the fug of all the sensi. I spent a fortune that day but had the foresight to visit the easyjet desk at Schiphol earlier on that day and booked my flight home for late afternoon on day 3 otherwise I'd have been joining that Albanian rent boy gang. Phew.
As I say, the details of day 2 are absent from my mind, apart from the surreal airport trip and visiting about 2 dozen cs and buying a g in each one. I do remember one place by Nieuwmarkt (though that could be wrong) which had a tough door policy, quite a queue outside and when you got to the door there were a couple of staff on a turnstile asking people their age. Felt like an upmarket type of place with booths and playing good downtempo music (kruder & dorfmeister, the herbaliser etc). There was a group of uber good looking American women sitting near me who kept on laughing ridiculously loud. Made me really paranoid, didn't occur to me that they were probably just stoned and enjoying themselves...
By about 9pm I was totally smashed and had walked my feet into oblivion. I made my way back to Kitty, stopping for frites on the way. Can still taste them now, they were so good.
I got back to the guesthouse and Frau was surprised but really happy to see me there "most of the men, they come here to see amsterdam by night (disgusted look on her face), but you seem like a real gut boy"
Yeah, I thought to myself, pockets bulging with about 2 ounces of assorted ganja in 1g bags..
Next day I woke up really early and marched the streets looking for an open cs. Found myself in Central and bought a fat bag of Orange Bud. Really cheap price too. I smokes a fatty in there and was astounded by the taste, it was so.. ORANGE (well duh). The bt had recommended it as I'd asked for something fairly mild. It seemed to totally fuck me up, in a good way. Went wandering in circles for what seemed like hours, totally lost after a while. Panicked a bit and done the one thing which Englishmen never do when lost; I asked someone for directions.
This kind soul insisted on walking me as far as Nieuwmarkt, which was about 2 miles away. Decent dude, told me he was a DJ and we discussed mutual tastes whilst sharing a spliff of AfghanxWidow which I'd made whilst lost.
This was about midday and my flight was 4pm so I went back to bluebird, bought a g of warlock and smoked it all in a pure cone.
Got back to Kitty, grabbed my bag and Frau insisted on giving me a huge hug goodbye, bless her.
I'd already made the decision to smuggle my stash back with me, hidden in a bottle of shower gel and wrapped in loads of sandwich wrap.
This decision paid off in the long term (ok about a fortnight) but plagued my flight. Never had a fear of flying but somehow had a silent whitey on the plane, next to a couple of bemused travellers. Landed in Liverpool, got through customs without qualm and straight into the arms of my girlfriend, who is now my wife.
After that trip I was hooked, scouring the pages of the Smoker's Guide which I'd picked up, meticulously planning my next trip, which was a few months later, this time with the future Mrs H in tow. I felt like a Catholic in Lourdes, a Muslim in Mecca, a Man U fan in prison.
Hope you enjoyed this read, sorry for the scant recollections on cs and strains etc.
I love planning my trip too, reading /watching videos on new strains, researching and ordering myself a new pipe for each trip and reading about CSs. Not sure i'd ever have the stones to try smuggling any back home, what's the penalty if you had been caught? I couldn't stop laughing at this part by the way "The bt had recommended it as I'd asked for something fairly mild. It seemed to totally fuck me up" 
bravo!