Amsterdam

Amsterdam. My favourite city of all those I’ve visited.

When you mention Amsterdam, most people think in terms of puffing pot in cafés and window shopping in the Red Light District. But these unique aspects of the place are simply the result of what I like about the city—its tolerance and quirkiness.

A couple of examples:

I was staying with Derek, an old friend from my Gibraltar days. His apartment was above a bar called Babbles in an area known as ‘The Pipe’—right near the Heineken brewery (a rather unfortunate location for a sober lad like myself).

A couple of 'Babbles' regulars

Around two o’clock one morning, after the bar closed, Cappy the manager decided it would be a good time to have a barbecue on the patio. There were about five of us as I recall. Obviously, after a night at the trough, all of us had consumed quite a few ales—and we weren’t about to slow down while we waited for the charcoal to get the right glow.

So I guess our voices were a little loud. They had to be in order for us to converse above the music. Needless to say it wasn’t too long before a police car arrived.

The two officers—a man and a woman—did not act at all aggressively. But Cappy took exception to their mere presence. “Fook off you Gestapo bastards,” he yelled, before either of them had even said a word. (Cappy was Dutch but spoke English for our benefit I guess). He then proceeded to throw a couple of raw steaks at them, which they managed to dodge.

In parts of North America you could be shot for something like this. In Amsterdam, one of the cops yelled out for us to keep the noise down then the two of them got back in their car and drove off – taking their steaks with them!

Another time, shortly after I arrived there, a few of us were sitting out on the patio on a sunny spring day having a late morning beer as we watched the goings-on in the street.

Derek suddenly sat up in his chair, focussed his gaze on a far corner and said, “This should be interesting lads. The Colombians are setting up a deal.” He nodded toward the corner. “There’s the point man. In a couple of minutes one of them will walk by here to the other corner…”

Spider, Cappy, Derek

Derek had seen it all before and rattled off the moves as if he’d choreographed the whole thing himself. There was quite a bustle of activity involving the comings and goings of swarthy gentlemen and cars driving past. We had a ringside seat.

When the whole business was over and we’re settling back in our seats, an old lady pipes up from the street, “Did any of you boys drop this?” She’s holding up a Beretta 9mm by the trigger guard. We were all obviously a little taken aback. Not so much that the Colombians might be carrying pistols and one of them dropped the thing, but that this sweet-looking lady wasn’t shrieking in alarm.

Spider was the first to recover. “Oh, thank you,” he says, getting to his feet. “Yes, that’s mine.”

Sounds like I’m making this stuff up but I’m not. Amsterdam is truly a one-off. I spent six months there and there was always something interesting going on.

Oh yes, right—tolerance and quirkiness. Try hookers and pot!

Davina