The cell alarm goes off and we're up, anxious for another day in paradise! We open the curtains and survey the Cornelis... the locals are up and about doing their morning shopping and on-the-way-to-work prep. We, however, have different plans: smoke and wander!
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We light up in our room but close the doors and crack the door to the French balcony; we're being more considerate since we found out a young couple with a toddler live upstairs and we hear them passing our door periodically (the daughter is always giggling!) and don't want to come across as a couple of stoner tourists (even though that's exactly what we are!). Besides, the weather is cooperating something fierce and, despite our gorgeous apartment, we just want to explore!
So, we've smoked some Amnesia (I always keep the sativas at the ready for the morning wake-and-bake) and head off on Gil to check our email and get a REAL cup of coffee. Ok, backspace real quick: our apartment has a gorgeous kitchen overlooking the balcony...including an espresso maker. On Monday we tried it out and YUCK
, we have a Nespresso machine at home and were hoping this pod-based unit would at LEAST be close. Nope, it was (as Cleveland Brown would say) "NASTY"! We stop next door for a quick muffin (her) and a chocolate croissant (me)So come Tuesday we pass on even trying to brew and head out to, where else?, de Graal! We smoke some left-over hasj, some left-over budz and are becoming regular fixtures now greeted warmly upon entrance. The budtenders are bringing us our coffees now, telling us to just go in and get comfy. Half the time we have to remind them that we still have to pay by the time we leave (we'll run up 4-5 drink tabs over the course of 2 hours or so) and we always tip some change (not too much, nobody likes a show-off!).
Now we hop aboard and begin to explore on our 2 wheeled buddy. My general goal is to find the Kashmir Lounge, so we make a feeble attempt at locating it WITHOUT an address on hand, we just know the street runs off the Overtoom. Circling around the Vondelpark, we head down the overtoom but overshoot our right and wind up God knows where... You know you're getting into some serious local neighborhoods when you start seeing hair salons EVERY block. Gone are the local gastro pubs as local markets, churches and mosques begin to replace anything that might interest a tourist, including our beloved coffeeshops. We just keep riding, again the weather is cooperating something FIERCE and we're really in no rush to get nowhere special!
As the neighborhood begins to open up around us, some tell tale signs give us hope that a coffeeshop will be close by: train tracks, a main road, a distinctive lack of the all-housing with a dash of market and hair salon feel...and, is that neon I see? Yes! We find ourselves at
COFFEESHOP HAPPINESS
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Ahh, Happiness indeed! We've only been driving around for maybe a half hour or so but when you're lost it can feel like hours; so when we find a familiar sight we're psyched and ready for a rest and a smoke.
Ok, first off...BEWARE! The coffee is BAD, I mean REALLY, REALLY bad but the rest of the shop makes up for it! We park Gil and head inside; it's a non-descript shop, no funky interior and your basic white/beige colour scheme. No need to lure tourists, they sell weit and hasj to locals so no artificial palm trees and garish wall paintings necessary...
We're buzzed into the first little room where the menu and proprietor are:
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Nice, basic menu. We pick up the SUPER POLM @ 8 e/g and it's lovely for sho': squishy, light brown and packing a punch. It would run an EASY 14 e/g in the city centre. We're buzzed into the NEXT tiny room, maybe holding a dozen people in 3 or 4 small tables. We order our (so-called) coffee and it's dispensed from a machine into tiny plastic cups. All the sugar in Jamaica couldn't hide that american instant-coffee taste and we barely take two sips before abandoning our cups. The table next to us is filled with Moroccan-Dutch locals, maybe 18 - 20 years old, and they're well aware that these two American tourists have found their way into their own shop and instead of trying to intimidate us, they begin to drop some English if not very American words here and there and glance over to see our reaction and seem enthused when we react with smiles. Far from uncomfortable, we feel warmly welcomed! That feeling continues as we finish up our smoke, stoned to the bone, and wander back to ask the budmaster if we can take a picture of the menu. An older Moroccan gentleman, he is a bit reluctant at first but our genuine smiles and well versed Dutch-style politeness soon yield us an enthusiastic response as he carefully positions a large joint and cigarette pack to show scale. We chat briefly, mentioning our intent on moving over here, and he responds telling us what a great idea that was and this neighborhood was wonderful! Turns out we were on the western end of the city, just buffering the A10, and when we asked directions back it was "just follow this street ALL the way". We drove a good 20 minutes or more and found ourselves back in the western part of the city ring, near the Marnixstraat. Low and behold, Gil was in DESPERATE need of a fill up! Two days on the scooter and more than 300 kilometers later and we were talkin' at the texaco, fill 'er up my man...
Katsu
, vondelpark and Tweedy 
later that day...-HD
