Luminous Grays

Going to Amsterdam was always a blast.  It was always easy to get cheap flights into Schiphol.  A lot of Asian and Middle Eastern flights used it as a fuel stop.  It worked out well for me and I got to discover airlines like Royal Jordanian and Tower.

Getting off at Schiphol was easy enough.  The train station is connected to the airport so one could easily just jump on a train and go.  It was an easy train ride and then you were getting off the train at Centraal Station.   I had a hostel on Warmoestraat that served as a go to place for a cheap bed.  

Generally speaking, I would get off the train and fall in with English soccer hooligans.  These drunk limeys found me every time.  We’d have to hit up In de Wildeman and T’ij for some good Dutch beers.  We’d be best friends politely overlooking the insurrection/revolution.

Of course, Amsterdam offers all sorts of stimulation.  One needn’t stick to just to beer.  There’s the old Hill Street Blues Coffee Shop sitting next door to a police precinct.  You can walk along the canals on those old streets.  There’s a lot of overcast weather in Amsterdam.  You get a good deal of mist and drizzle.  And yet somehow, Amsterdam always seems to have the most luminous grays.  It often feels like walking through an impressionist painting.  The funky centuries old buildings are off kilter and the sky bleeds right into the canals.  Bicycles whiz by and I avoid streetcars finding my way out to the Dam Raak.

And one must indulge in the arts.  The RijksMuseum and the Van Gogh museum are lurking in the shadows calling out to me.  You have to see The Night Watch.  Frans Banninck Cocq needs our support.  Prometheus was chained by Vulcan but I narrowly make my escape.  After that, it’s time to slide over to the Van Gogh museum.  

You can peruse the pedestrian underpass to get from one museum to the next.  That provides entertainment on its own.  Two street musicians with accordions are playing “Tocata and Fugue.”  The sound is majestically ricocheting off the bricks.  That’s about the time that the psilocybin begins to kick in.  The echoes are causing seismic tremors to run down my spine.  Haunted houses are no longer required.  There are no doubt many ghosts and spirits dwelling in this tunnel way.

I nearly forget I’m supposed to go visit Vinnie Van.  It’s always a treat to wander through.  The irises and sunflowers slowly seep into my consciousness.  The crows invade the wheat field and stir up subconscious memories.  It’ll become all too much to handle.  Time will come to cautiously step back out into the open air of the city.  Nearing sunset, orange, pink and purple are starting to puncture the gray clouds.  It’ll be a long walk back to the hostel to catch some sleep.  The jenever procured from Wjinand Fockand should help settle me in for a few hours.  New adventures will wait tomorrow afternoon.

AUTHENTIC STONER GIBBERISH: Schaefer, George: 9798811598632: Books

Published by fuchebuyahoocom

poet, philosopher and comic. Philadelphia born but suburban bred.

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