Nothing (much) To Report

…I’m on a posting-roll!

 OK - painfully aware that I’m a terrible waffler when it comes to writing blogs, I will try to very quickly finish my Amsterdam ramblings. The emphasis should be on the word try.

The RAI, for those not in the know - it’s a big conference/exhibition thingy on the outskirts of the Dam. Trying to get there to meet someone *cough* at this place proved as difficult as getting on tram number 9. First thing in the morning I had to find a chemist to buy some deodourant (sp?) as I bloody left mine at home. After minimal wanderings, I found one selling one tube of the stuff and so I snapped it up,  making sure I said a cheery “good morning!” in Dutch to the shop keeper. So I was a little miffed to be replied to in French. Oh well. Another 1/2 hour of wandering and waving at by dustbin men (everyone is just so friendly there!) I stumbled across the underground station that I needed to get to the RAI. When I do get there, I realise that I didn’t ask this person exactly where to meet, and it becomes quite obvious that the exhibition thing is fookin huge and full of shiny things which distract me terribly. But, using my usual method of navigation I find the person I’m looking for in, Oh, well under 1/2 hour! Well done me.

Tapvreugd, is the name of a really smashing bar somewhere near Waterlooplein. The bar keeper is (again) a lovely Dutch man, really knowledgable about the stuff in his bar, and let me try some of his blue vodka. He also lets the cycling bar of Amsterdam stop to use his toilets, which means you get to see aload of blokes pedalling a bar past the window a number of times. Always amusing. This bar is so great, that after going to Coco’s Outback, we made the cheerful chappy and his bike-taxi thing take us to this bar at 1am without knowing the name, or the street it was on. I did feel very guilty about taking a bike taxi, but the man really was very nice and didn’t seem at all like he was enslaved to do this. In fact, he says he has to concentrate on being a bike taxi so much because otherwise he just defaults into party mode because of Amsterdam being one big knees up.

Next - Anal beads. There, I think I have your attention now. Yes - I had my first “go” with anal beads in the Dam. To be fair, I wasn’t sure quite what to expect but after some sound advice from the shop keeper I decided to give them a try. Just going into the sex shop filled me with unexpected school girl giggles, I did try not to be so British but I just couldn’t help it. Much as I’d have liked to have gone straight in, look the shopkeeper in the eye and ask all about anal beads in an adult manner I first went around the shop sniggering about “6 speed reaming technology”. I needn’t have worried, the shop keeper was very friendly and not at all embarrased about explaining about the subtle differences with anal and normal lube. God bless the Dutch and their liberal attitudes! I’ll leave the actual application of the anal beads for another post

Coco’s Outback is an Australian bar near, errrr, Rembrantplein (I think) and it is very cool. We grabbed some food there Saturday night and it was surprisingly nice and freshly cooked - this is despite their catchphrase “lousy food and warm beer”! You can even have kangaroo burgers there, and get a good frowning on by moosh. A few beers and cocktails later, the DJ really turns up the sounds and everyone starts dancing pretty much anywhere there’s a space. This is where, on the dance floor, us girlies met the pole dancers from essex. We couldn’t help but notice that they could _really_ dance, and not just the wiggling around a handbag syle. So, in my slightly squiffy state, I had to approach them and commend them on their dancing. It only occured to me later that they might not have been English, but they were so friendly and we were amalgamated into their dancing circle and spent the rest of the night jibbering and stumblling around. There was much hugging and waving when it came time to say goodbye- those girls could really party!

Now, it may seem to you from my impression of the Dam that it was all just one long orgy. And you’d be right. Even in the quietness of my hotel room, I was minding my own business - putting my make up on near the window…when I notice, out of the corner of my eye a naked man a few floors down. A rather gorgeous naked man. Woo yay I think. Trying (unsucessfully) to avert my eyes, I also notice that he’s actually sprawled on his bed with a box of tissues next to him and that he is *cough* engaged in quite a marathon wanking session. Surprised at myself for finding this quite so erotic and completely unable to stop watching, I’m drawn closer to the window to get a better view of this Adonis. Part of me wondered whether he knew I was watching, part of me didn’t care - perhaps he does this quite alot or maybe he’s just Dutch and being very liberal about fancying a quick hand shandy with the doors open. I don’t know - all I knew was that I was very turned on and perhaps I have a slight incline towards dogging.

Moving swiftly along (yes I did get to see the vinegar strokes, for those interested).

I didn’t think my morning could get any better, but then I had a “moment” in Dam square. It was about 11.30 am, I was completely alone but sat amongst all the other people chillling by the big statue when I just had such an overwhelming feeling of peace and ok-ness. I’ve had a couple of these moments in life, but none for a number of years - it was just a sense that everything in the world, for me, was absolutely correct. No plagueing doubt, no thoughts of work or shit like that - just rightness. And it felt good.

So, it just kinda felt right that the next thing to do would be to go into one of the many hash cafes. I should say that I used to be quite a stoner a few years ago, so I thought a trip down memory lane might be just the ticket. I bought a couple of hash cakes, and thinking that they probably haven’t got much in - ate both of them. Mistake number one. The next hour passed by swimmingly and it was then that I realised that perhaps, things had got alot softer and prettier outside. This wasn’t so great, as I had to go back to the RAI to meet for lunch. I floated back there and wandered around the stands, for much longer than the 1/2 hour it took to find it the first time and arrived with a big cheesey grin on my face. I thought, it’s ok moosh, you can do this. We went for lunch in some Italian place and it just went very surreal, and I soon thought that perhaps being on a different plane of exisitance might not be very appropriate here Somehow, I finished the meal and floated back off to the underground station. Waiting for the train, it became obvious (to me) that the escalator was in fact playing quite a jungle beat. It was infectious. It was all I could do just to tap my feet, when what I wanted to do was dance. Not seeing anyone else dancing, I satisfied myself with bit of head bobbing.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur and I’m hoping didn’t involve dribbling or staring at shiny things. I did go back to Waterlooplein to try and find my favourite bar, but it had completely and utterly disappeared! Baaaah! I knew I had the right street, and there was even a bar-shaped kinda whole where the bar was - but it had just vanished (or just had some great shutters, I worked out later. *ahem*) Somehow I managed to pack my suitcase and take a shower which made me feel much less trippy, as I had to leave at 8pm to get the train back to Schipol.

I felt really sad to leave the Dam, and promised myself that I’d go back again and not leave it 9 years. Schipol airport at 10pm on a Sunday just added to my misery, as would any airport that is going to take you home and make you go back to work. The only thing that really made me wake up was realising the police presence at Coventry airport as you go through passport control. I was still a bit mashed at this point and even though had nothing on me, became paranoid after the encounter with the Dover Customs and Excise people. Thankfully they didn’t have any dogs with them, and just ignored all the red-eyed loonies stumbling and giggling past them. I did meet up with the couple from Glasgow again in the luggage hall, and I’d swear that they were stoned too - but then you generally do when you’re a bit spacey yourself.

The end. (Thankfully)

-moosh