I'm looking forward to this. My first lightning-stop overnighter. In one afternoon, out the next. Usually I'm in Amsterdam for three or four days, and it's a laidback time, but this is clearly gonna be a case of cramming in as much smoking as I possibly can in a 27-hour period. There's no time for sightseeing, aimless wandering, or even venturing very far out of Centrum on this trip. I'm gonna be working hard from the off.
The DLR deposits me from my home to the airport within 40 minutes, the flight goes smoothly and we land ahead of schedule at 1.40pm. After a series of unbelievably lucky touches at Schiphol, in no time at all I'm strolling off the train at Centraal and heading to my hotel five minutes away on Warmoesstraat.
Check-in sorted, let the fun begin! My first call is usually Utopia but I only had half a joint of kush for breakfast and I'm desperate for a smoke by now - I dont want to traipse for 10 or 15 mins over to Utopia still straight. With Voyagers more or less at the top of the road, it's the obvious alternative. I walk in and it's a good start: The BT doesn't ruin it by asking for ID
- twice in a row for me now, I'm beginning to feel like Gapie 
Have a brief but pleasant conversation with the BT who bemoans the lack of quality hash in Amsterdam these days (a bad omen of things to come) while he weighs me out a gram of the Lemon Haze. This shop still feels a bit too claustrophic for my tastes - like everyone can hear everyone else's conversation, so I head out and hit one of the smoker friendly bars on Warmoesstraat. I order a coke for the sugar and a beer in case I get a wobble of paranoia, then settle down on a comfy sofa to get stuck in. The Lemon Haze is fantastic, a great taste and strong high. I like it so much I power-smoke two more joints back to back and then check the time. Without realising, I've managed to set a new personal best - exactly 85 mins from plane touching runway to brain duffed up. But there's no time to sit around congratulating myself. The weed is really revving my engine by now and I want to walk the streets, so over to Utopia I head. I stop on the Damrak to buy stamps, then have a brainwave and decide to dip into McDonalds for a quick fill up. Given this is a one-night trip and I'm burning daylight already, there'll be no time for sitting down and ordering food - it's strictly an eat-on-the-go deal.Job done on the food front, I shamble over to Utopia and to my huge delight I see that in addition to the Champagne Haze they also have three 'new' indicas on the menu that I've not smoked before. Result! The lovely, friendly female BT shows me all three and recommends the Wappa and the Gaffa. She takes time to explain the differences between the two (one is a "slow, steady stone", the other is "a kick in the head") but I'm so captivated by the sight and smell as she tantalisingly waves each box under my nose that I have a brain freeze and cant remember which is which. I buy a gram of both, and one of Champagne Haze, grab a coke and smoke a joint of the haze. Now we're talking. My head feels as though it's been gently pulled open and there's a lovely clear breeze blowing right through it, and I've got mild visuals as the artwork on Utopia's cool walls start to shimmer slightly. I sit for another ten mins enjoying the buzz but it's really time I wasnt here. I have a stoned idea to grab some hash and find a bar to smoke it while watching the English football results come in. As the weed fuels my brain this scenario becomes a mild obsession, and I ask the BT what their Nepalese is like. She holds a lump of the hash out for me to inspect but it doesn't look all that healthy, and there's no aroma whatsoever so I leave it alone.
Heading left out of Utopia I skip across to Anyday to check out their hash selection. Surely I'll get lucky here? Nope. The Roh Tang hash really takes my fancy but I bulk slightly at the 17.5 euro price tag. But what the hell, the hash-and-footie-results plan has become a must-do, so I'll treat myself. Except I wont, cos the Roh Tang is out of stock. Miffed, I leave and head back towards Warmoesstraat, smoking another joint of CH on the way. There's not enough time to get to Green Place to try for some Twizzla before the results are due in, so in desperation I dip into Hunters and buy their 'Nepalese'. It wont be Nepalese of course, but I'm hoping it might at least be some decent Afghan in disguise. It isn't. I'm not surprised to discover it's actually the ubiquitous GAB Hash (Generic Amsterdam Black). I wander down towards Dam Square, then turn along Damstraat where I stroll several times up and down looking for a bar showing sports, fail, and head back to Warmoesstraat to Stones cafe. Sadly they're showing football but not the English results, the GAB Hash is as dull as I feared it would be, and there's a really annoying loud drunk Mancunian shooting his gob off at the bar, so I leave and head down towards Green Place for one last shot at getting some decent hash for the night.
When I get there, the joint is jumping. Smoke engulfs me as I walk through the door, and it's standing room only throughout. Lady luck at last smiles on me, as the grinning BT informs me that sure they have the Twizzla in stock, and cuts me off a nice chunky nugget. Staying here for a smoke is not an option (I skinned up at Waterloo station once, very unpleasant it was) so I try Basjoes, where I order a coffee and find a seat. I roll up a joint of the Twizzla and spark it up. I think I'm in love. I hardly ever drink coffee so maybe that messed with my taste buds but the first few puffs have a maltey, almost chocolatey flavour. Very sweet and very smooth. This soon gives way to a spicier taste and a more familiar aroma of hash, but still very sweet and smooth. It's an incredible hash, one of the best I've ever tried. Smoke of the trip.
I float back to my hotel room for a well deserved lie down, then resurface an hour later, smoke a joint of the Champagne Haze and head out for the evening. I'm in the mood for pounding the streets, so I head up the Damrak, cut across to Spuistraat, down to Dam Square, and across onto Rokin. My feet are just leading me at the moment, I'm in a daze from the haze. I end up near Dampkring and briefly toy with popping in for old time's sake but then remember swearing off it after being ripped off with shit hash one time, so I walk on by. It's well beyond nightfall by now, and after a nasty mugging experience back in the late 90s when parts of Amsterdam were still dodge city, whenever I'm alone in town I prefer to end the night within shambling distance of my hotel. Just for peace of mind more than anything. So I grab some vlaamse frites, head back up along Kalverstraat and do a tour of bars in the RLD and Warmoesstraat.
As always, the details get hazier from here. Over beers and cokes I make a sizeable hole in the two indicas from Utopia, the Twizzla comes along for the ride, and at one stage I mix the lemon and champagne hazes and throw in some of the crap GAB Hash for a pre-graveyard joint. I laugh like a drain watching a crazy guy doing press-ups in the middle of the road for about ten minutes, and there are the usual fun conversations with first-timers and gangs of leery Brit lads. Amazing how getting properly stoned makes me so tolerant of people I would avoid at all costs back home. If only everywhere was like this.
I eventually grovel back to the hotel at what must be around 2am as everywhere is starting to shut down. I'm not quite done yet, so I skin up a beyond-the-graveyard joint of the Wappa and enjoy a wonderfully relaxing nightcap on the street outside. It's almost 3am when I finally collapse into bed, content and happy. Job done
I wake at 9am, loaf about in bed til 10, then get up and shower. A quick dope inventory confirms the CH is no more, and both the Wappa and Gaffa have been surprisingly well dealt with too. There's a nice chunk of the Twizzla left, the nasty GAB Hash is still hanging around, and a bit of the lemon haze which I roll into a joint before checking out of the hotel. Leaving my bag there, I smoke the lemon as I head over to Nieuwendijk for breakfast. It's a beautiful sunny spring morning, the kind of morning when you wish you were landing in Amsterdam rather than leaving. But then, aren't they all? I order eggs, beans, toast, orange juice and tea at a lovely little cafe I've been to a few times, and have a chuckle at a crazy eastern european family (mum and dad with grown up son and daughter) as they all down a shot of vodka before tucking into their breakfast, all the while acting as though there's nothing unusual in ordering hard liquor at 10.30 in the morning
Well set up for the day, I head over to Utopia where a different female BT from yesterday "checks" I have ID (fuck me, it's catching!) and hands over a nice bud of CH. I buy a coke and sit down to smoke as the sun pours through the windows, giving the place a real old-skool smokey feel. It's superb, and I smoke another joint of the CH as I soak it all up. By now it's gone noon and I have barely an hour before I have to leave, so I bid farewell to the BT and take a leisurely stroll back to the hotel, via Dam Square where I sit and watch the mental fairground rides for ten minutes. I collect my bag and pop into a bar on Warmoesstraat to drop off some British magazines to an English girl I know who works there. She's on duty, so we chat about old times while I sip a beer and finish off joints of the Wappa and Gaffa. I roll up the last of the Twizzla for the road, then work my way through it as I make that familiar empty walk back up to Centraal.
At the airport the last of the GAB Hash gets sprinkled in my cheese salad sandwich - gross, but it kinda tastes a bit like Branston pickle (if you close your eyes and try hard not to retch) and a fat leftover bud of CH is heartbreakingly moved to his new home in a toilet bin. Before I know it there's an uneventful plane journey and I'm back on the DLR, yet again cursing the fact there wasn't a customs guy in sight. That CH could have safely stayed where it was. I make a mental note to stop off on the way home and buy myself a pair of bollocks.
They didnt find it (it was in my sock and they only searched my bag and patted me down) but it was close enough to scare me off ever doing it again.
