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I'd been grounded since last November because I had to give a pill to a cat twice a day, something neither of us liked much. Though in sedentary phases I might not have spent a night away from London for years, it's different when you can't. Over six months with shiteweed the only thing regularly available, though one brilliant gifted bud last month stands out in golden isolation. followed at some length by a mediocre bit of hash.

So I cut the cat's throat, or rather paid a vet the sum of several trips to Mokum to do it, and she seems fine now, happier than when taking pills, which probably knocked her out a bit, apart from fighting me about it. I've booked some time off work at the end of June, but what about using the bank holiday for a cheeky overnighter? She and her sister won't even notice, as I'm taking my day bag instead of the suitcase...

I think I'm getting too old for the coach, though. Two pints of Old Rosie, of all things, at the pub in Victoria, and two pints of Bud on the boat just to get some sleep, where a reflective pipe or two would put me in so much better a mood, and I wouldn't have to worry about feeling sick or hung over. But then if I had a selection of nice things to smoke and could smoke them openly, I wouldn't be travelling, would I?

At least the boat is semi-civilised:



Arriving at Amstel some time after eight, I don't have to start off in Central, as I generally do when dumped there a couple of hours earlier. So it's straight onto the Metro, down to Centraal Station and over to Utopia for breakfast. A cup of their excellent cappuccino, a gram of OG #18 and one of Nepal cream; the first customer, I sit at the window and watch a shocked American couple nearly enter ('But – it said coffee shop!') and a madman take a handful of chips from an abandoned McD bag. Youngsters from the hostel filtered through. Time to move on; two days doesn't give you much time to fritter away.

I want a copy of the museum map from the Leidseplein ticket shop, as it's pretty good and I couldn't find my copy before I left. I'm there before they open at 10, which makes me feel stoner-efficient. Then it's time for the next smoke; I go towards Vijzelstraat, pass up Noon for Mellow Yellow, the first shop I found so unexpectedly in late 2011. But it's no longer the place of refuge and cheap white widow that it was then; it has a slick new menu with Dr Grinspoon and such things, and is open all hours. I pass it up, and it won't be the first.

Rusland is next. They're always changing it, but this is pretty drastic – the whole lower level's inaccessible. No cat in sight, though she's around. Two grams of Afghan to go, and do I detect a hint of soapbar? My least memorable purchase of the trip.

Next up: Green Place for Jack Herer and coffee, the first time I've ever smoked there. As always, I have to restrict the green; don't get carried away, because all those lovely tastes are wretched travel companions. So not more than 3g is the goal for the trip (it was 4 in the end).

Anyday's next, for a g of Nepal to go.

Then Siberië around noon for a g of Nepal, their excellent coffee and the computer; nobody else in at that time. Read Winnie's post about open day for buildings, and decided to make my way to my hotel via a couple of them. So the first five coffeeshops have been visited, and one rejected, and it's on into the afternoon of the first of only a brace of days.

A stoner reflects: somewhere in this trip there's a gram of Turkish I've misremembered as Nepal. Possibly it was from Anyday in the last post. Also, a gram of green I can't trace back to a shop.

En route to 't Ballonetje, I visit the Dr. Sarphatihuis, which is open to the public and free on this day. It had been a poorhouse, but now is a nursing home. Looks like 't Ballonetje's another shop that's gone all slick and renovated, but the Neder ice I remember from last year is still about, costing €10. I don't stay, but go off towards my hotel, looking for Overkant Hortus on the way. I passed it once going to the Resistance Museum, but can't find it now.

My hotel compensates for being strictly non-smoking with oldworldy charm and sweets on the pillows. Nice view on the park.





A hot shower, clean clothes and a bit of a doze in front of some Euro TV, my guilty holiday pleasure, and I'm recovered for the evening stage. Off to Trefpunt on Zeeburgerdijk, another new place; ironically, via the windmill that marks the Brouwerie 't Ij, which would have been nice for a beer in any other context.

There's no black hash at Trefpunt, and indeed only one of the three Moroccan blonds they have is available, so it's not for me. Back to the familiar pastures of de Pijp, then, via the endless Sarphatistraat. I check out Trinity for the first time, something I've meant to do for a while, but am met with a similar lack of black. At Ibiza I get a €10 deal of Nepal and note their special offer of 4g for €30; another g of Nepal at Club Media; a g of some haze at Katsu; no Nepal, and hard sell on the blond hash at Papillon, which irritated me. Then to de Graal for a further g or Nepal and a test of the latest purchases. While I'm there I check the exact address of Hortus Overkant; on the way back to my hotel, I check its opening hours for the next day's proper breakfast. And so the first day ends.

what coffeeshop has the best black hash?
pleace detail
thanks

Very nice read...roll on (literally) the next installment.

You put in the miles this trip!! All on foot or did you get a bike?

All on foot apart from the initial Metro to Central, and in this one a tram to de Pijp from Dam Square and another from Overtoom to Amstel.

Monday is sunny and warm. The breakfast at the hotel is generous beyond normal standards, and I'm ready for the second day, after consolidating previous black and green for export.

First stop, Hortus Overkant for NYCD, but the budtender says that the cheaper cheese is better, and in truth the NYCD doesn't smell all that promising. So that's my last bulky temptation, and I get some mystery Nepal with an idiosyncratic but forgotten name to go with it. A very good shop, with seats within and without.

As I go back to the centre for more assorted grams of black, I pass the Portuguese synagogue, which I've never been in, though I've visited the Jewish Museum itself. Can't see any reason not to, with a museum card; as with many museums, I'd probably feel cheated if I'd paid the relatively extortionate entrance charge for the one alone. Also planned to see the World Press Photo exhibition in the Oude Kerk later that day, but wasn't in the mood, what with hot weather and real, rare sun.

I have a look at Bluebird's offerings, but pass. Consider trying some gardella from Utopia if Nel's in, but he isn't, which swings me towards Prix d'Ami, where I go for some King Hassan just to see whether it lives up to its 30-odd% alleged strength, but don't stay. I have a smoke at de Kuil, where I get yet more Nepal, while Bobby pretends he doesn't care about intruding cats:



Back to de Pijp for Ibiza's deal on 4g (over 5g as it transpired). Stayed to smoke and pack the second day's shopping, and to take a picture of the cat:



It's mid-afternoon, and I'd happily spend the rest of my time until evening sampling a few more strains, but I don't want to look like anything but a law-abiding pillar of the community with only a hint of the bohemian when I encounter Her Majesty's representatives. So it's off to pretend I'm here for the beer; well, at least there's some decent stuff about. Gollum is some way away, but maybe there's a hidden jewel between de Pijp and Overtoom. I hate this part – knowing that my last few hours in the Dam will be smokeless makes me feel as though I've left before I've had to.

Revenge of the Cat:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0ffwDYo ... ata_player

The hidden jewels between de Pijp and Overtoom remain hidden, at least to me. I may not have wanted to drink, but if I have to, it isn't going to be Jupiler in a corner boozer with all the charm of a random south London pub. Gollem's a bit of a walk, but I'm rewarded to see they've now got two cats to watch you drink one of their hundreds of beers.





The beers are quirky and strong, so bitterballen may be in order – but they've got lobster croquettes here, a nice exotic touch when you're aiming to soak up excess alcohol. Can't look too bohemian, after all. Then some food for the trip from AH below Abba, and the tram takes me back to the Vale of Tears.

The journey from the bright colours of a rare spring day to English grey drabness was at least uneventful. We got to Victoria early enough, and I was home by 6.30. The cats had been fed in my absence – were they resentful? Had I got away with it?

They seemed grateful enough for my leftover magic cheese (not that sort), as I enjoyed a tasty mix of hash and green in the land of takeitorleaveit. Then went to retire to bed for a while. Or would have done, had there not been cat vomit on both duvets. The actual volume wasn't great, meaning that someone had taken great care to spread it as widely as possible. Someone whose throat I could have cut myself, as I reminded her, but she was unimpressed. Cats usually are.

And I didn't have time to do half the things I wanted to do – go to Birdy's in Haarlem, go to Monnickendam, visit several shops that have been on my list for months, like La Tertulia or Betty Boop, just for starters. But I went to a few new places, crossed a few old favourites off the list and got as much crammed into the bank holiday as was possible. Now just roll on the end of June, and a week to explore, and hope there's not too much disgruntled cat vomit at the end of it all.

Things I've learnt this trip:

It's not worth the exhaustion of travel to go for just a couple of days. Though I imagine I'd do it again if there were no alternative.

Lots of shops now open all or almost all permitted hours, shifting to slick, mainly expensive menus – Mellow Yellow, Rusland, 't Ballonetje – and losing all or almost all atmosphere in the process. Is something particularly awful going on?

Back in my day, whenever that was, blond hash was something I bought for variation's sake, and it was always cheaper than black, because inferior in taste and effect. Nowadays there are some extremely pricey non-black exemplars, but I've rarely been impressed by any I've tried – still not strong, to my mind, and certainly not tasty. However, the King Hassan from Prix d'Ami changed all that. I'm a convert, and only wish I'd got more than the philosophical sampling gram.

A bicycle would be a very nice thing to have.

Despite the duds, and some good shops getting not so good, there are gems out there to discover.

If you start looking at your euros to see where the coins come from, lots of people will ask you what you're doing and then start doing it themselves.

I am old, and shall get older. I suppose my only choice is to do it disgracefully.

A smartphone with a good camera to replace my stupid phone with what was once a very good camera, but sadly no longer works, would enable me to ditch the proper camera and a lot of weight for short visits. For that matter, the proper camera should be replaced, or ditched for good, not being worth the weight any more.

You can't trust cats.

Cat in Centrum:



Cat on Zeedijk:



Original Gollem cat:



In front of a beer I sampled:

I am old, and shall get older. I suppose my only choice is to do it disgracefully.

Yeah, but with a certain panache and style.

Very nice indeed, a good selection of pussy too.

Nice work. I see a future in journalism.

Wonderfully written, thanks for the great read.

I only have three nights out there soon, so only two full days, but it's that or nothing so I'm raring to go.

A great read
Glad you had some good times

Great read, thanks for sharing!