tambourine-man
Bluelight Crew
Cannabis, experienced. Visit to Amsterdam - first joint in over 2 years.
Substance: “Super Skunk”
Amount: More than what I thought would’ve been required to smash me.
Experience: Used to be a big toker. Haven’t really touched any spliff for over two years.
Location: Amsterdam Café (and surrounding area)
Company: Girlfriend (and the rest of Amsterdam)
A FEW MONTHS BACK, we'd decided to go to Amsterdam for 5 days – a city-break of sorts. I’d been before (many years ago) and knew it to be a fairly accessible city. The first few days we’d done the usual tourist things, Van Gogh Museum etc. Anyway, I think it was on the third day, we’d been walking around the Centre and we’d passed a few ‘coffeeshops’
As a rule, my girlfriend tends to stay away from the drugs (other than the occasional pill) and had never experienced marijuana, however, she’d said that she wanted to try it before she hit 30. Being the dutiful boyfriend that I am, I was only too willing to indulge her interest and casually mentioned that I wouldn’t mind briefly reprising my toking career (for her benefit, of course
). And so it came to pass, that we came across a nice shop with a familiar waft drifting through its doors. Sadly, they didn’t serve spacecakes (which was a bit of a problem as my girlfriend doesn’t smoke). Undeterred, I ordered the smallest bag of ‘superskunk’ and went about fashioning what was the crummiest joint in the world. It was so embarrassing, here I was, infront of my girlfriend, with years of joint-rolling experience (I’m not kidding, I roll ace spliffs), and I’d produced a spliff that appeared as if it had been mutilated by Hannibal or gnawed on by a passing dog.
Not set back by this disturbing degradation of my spliff-rolling skills, I duly sparked up and carried on the conversation we’d been having. About halfway through this mutant joint, I realised that my words were slurring and that I was having some difficulty expressing what I was thinking… off a single spliff! She just sat there and looked at me as I kinda melted into the chair. Christ, I was so far gone. I’d never had such a subtle, yet hammer-like hit of skunk before.
I decided to get out of the chair and walk to the bathroom, it was at this point that I realised how monumentally high I was, that warm, fuzzy feeling, enveloping my entire body. The sensitivity to light – it was all there again. I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and laughing at how monged I looked. The only saving grace at this point was that I managed to figure out how to operate the lock on the toilet door… ah yes, my memory was flooding back about how even the simplest of things become complicated after a spliff.
After I came out, we agreed that we should probably go back to the apartment. I needed to lie down and she wasn’t impressed with how chilled out I was! Ha Har! Anyhow, we came out of the ‘coffeeshop’ and crossed over the road. The sun was magnificent. It was that perfect temperature where it complements your own body warmth without becoming too oppressive or overpowering. We walked to the most convenient bridge and started to cross the river, as we did I could see two men talking at the foot of the bridge. One was a vendor, selling bongs or something, the other was clearly his mate/assistant. As we turned right at the foot of the bridge to walk along the footpath, I realised that the entire footpath was covered with market stalls, each selling their own fascinating objects, each covered with their own brightly coloured tarpaulins blowing and breathing in the subtle breeze. We walked (well, I sort of stumbled) onto the footpath with stalls on both sides and the canal on the right. I was overcome with wonder.
As we ventured further into this crazy assortment of garments and paraphernalia, I remember floating beside my girlfriend, listening to the conversation that the two men at the foot of the bridge were having. I must have listened to their conversation for at least 45 seconds, while walking normally in a fairly busy marketplace, and yet I could still pick out their conversation when we were 40 or 50 meters away. At will, I could switch between their conversation, the sounds of wind chimes, or the intense acoustic guitar riffs of a lone busker – he was amazing. As we walked past him, I watched him wide-eyed like a child, mesmerised by the detached liquid sound that felt as if it were being beamed directly into my mind. Just as we passed him, he looked up directly at me, mid-chord, winked and then nodded his head, smiling as if he knew what I was living through – as if he knew that he’d just given me something that I’d treasure. It was fucking magical. I regret that I’ll never be able to thank him.
We walked further through this collection of vagabonds and hippies and reached the next road. As we stopped, I thought I could still hear the two men’s conversation. Not clearly, but definitely their patter. I turned to look back on the market place and could see in the distance the two men I’d heard previously. They laughed and joked, patting each other on the back. I tried to figure out whether it was my mind playing tricks on me, matching sounds to movements – you know what I mean, but the voices were so reminiscent of those I’d heard just a few minutes earlier. Same pitches and inflections.
Suddenly, I felt a tug on my arm… it was time to cross the road, I looked at my girlfriend and wished she was ‘here’ with me, experiencing what I was, feeling what I felt. We walked hand-in-hand back to the apartment and enjoyed the benefits of the increased bloodflow. Enough said.
Just wanted to share.
PS: We eventually found somespacecakes - but that's another story.
Substance: “Super Skunk”
Amount: More than what I thought would’ve been required to smash me.
Experience: Used to be a big toker. Haven’t really touched any spliff for over two years.
Location: Amsterdam Café (and surrounding area)
Company: Girlfriend (and the rest of Amsterdam)
A FEW MONTHS BACK, we'd decided to go to Amsterdam for 5 days – a city-break of sorts. I’d been before (many years ago) and knew it to be a fairly accessible city. The first few days we’d done the usual tourist things, Van Gogh Museum etc. Anyway, I think it was on the third day, we’d been walking around the Centre and we’d passed a few ‘coffeeshops’
As a rule, my girlfriend tends to stay away from the drugs (other than the occasional pill) and had never experienced marijuana, however, she’d said that she wanted to try it before she hit 30. Being the dutiful boyfriend that I am, I was only too willing to indulge her interest and casually mentioned that I wouldn’t mind briefly reprising my toking career (for her benefit, of course
). And so it came to pass, that we came across a nice shop with a familiar waft drifting through its doors. Sadly, they didn’t serve spacecakes (which was a bit of a problem as my girlfriend doesn’t smoke). Undeterred, I ordered the smallest bag of ‘superskunk’ and went about fashioning what was the crummiest joint in the world. It was so embarrassing, here I was, infront of my girlfriend, with years of joint-rolling experience (I’m not kidding, I roll ace spliffs), and I’d produced a spliff that appeared as if it had been mutilated by Hannibal or gnawed on by a passing dog.Not set back by this disturbing degradation of my spliff-rolling skills, I duly sparked up and carried on the conversation we’d been having. About halfway through this mutant joint, I realised that my words were slurring and that I was having some difficulty expressing what I was thinking… off a single spliff! She just sat there and looked at me as I kinda melted into the chair. Christ, I was so far gone. I’d never had such a subtle, yet hammer-like hit of skunk before.
I decided to get out of the chair and walk to the bathroom, it was at this point that I realised how monumentally high I was, that warm, fuzzy feeling, enveloping my entire body. The sensitivity to light – it was all there again. I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and laughing at how monged I looked. The only saving grace at this point was that I managed to figure out how to operate the lock on the toilet door… ah yes, my memory was flooding back about how even the simplest of things become complicated after a spliff.
After I came out, we agreed that we should probably go back to the apartment. I needed to lie down and she wasn’t impressed with how chilled out I was! Ha Har! Anyhow, we came out of the ‘coffeeshop’ and crossed over the road. The sun was magnificent. It was that perfect temperature where it complements your own body warmth without becoming too oppressive or overpowering. We walked to the most convenient bridge and started to cross the river, as we did I could see two men talking at the foot of the bridge. One was a vendor, selling bongs or something, the other was clearly his mate/assistant. As we turned right at the foot of the bridge to walk along the footpath, I realised that the entire footpath was covered with market stalls, each selling their own fascinating objects, each covered with their own brightly coloured tarpaulins blowing and breathing in the subtle breeze. We walked (well, I sort of stumbled) onto the footpath with stalls on both sides and the canal on the right. I was overcome with wonder.
As we ventured further into this crazy assortment of garments and paraphernalia, I remember floating beside my girlfriend, listening to the conversation that the two men at the foot of the bridge were having. I must have listened to their conversation for at least 45 seconds, while walking normally in a fairly busy marketplace, and yet I could still pick out their conversation when we were 40 or 50 meters away. At will, I could switch between their conversation, the sounds of wind chimes, or the intense acoustic guitar riffs of a lone busker – he was amazing. As we walked past him, I watched him wide-eyed like a child, mesmerised by the detached liquid sound that felt as if it were being beamed directly into my mind. Just as we passed him, he looked up directly at me, mid-chord, winked and then nodded his head, smiling as if he knew what I was living through – as if he knew that he’d just given me something that I’d treasure. It was fucking magical. I regret that I’ll never be able to thank him.
We walked further through this collection of vagabonds and hippies and reached the next road. As we stopped, I thought I could still hear the two men’s conversation. Not clearly, but definitely their patter. I turned to look back on the market place and could see in the distance the two men I’d heard previously. They laughed and joked, patting each other on the back. I tried to figure out whether it was my mind playing tricks on me, matching sounds to movements – you know what I mean, but the voices were so reminiscent of those I’d heard just a few minutes earlier. Same pitches and inflections.
Suddenly, I felt a tug on my arm… it was time to cross the road, I looked at my girlfriend and wished she was ‘here’ with me, experiencing what I was, feeling what I felt. We walked hand-in-hand back to the apartment and enjoyed the benefits of the increased bloodflow. Enough said.
Just wanted to share.
PS: We eventually found somespacecakes - but that's another story.
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I've been there before too (not Amsterdam, I mean toking again after years off). That first, almost-virgin high is always so good. Argh, why does cannabis tolerance have to last so bloody long!?
