The spring of 1995 would be the start of another new frontier, world travel. Sure, it sounds glorious, but that first trip will always be an adventure to remember. It was just another random Wednesday working the computer support line, where every caller seemed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown as we tried to help them remove the virus their computer had contracted.
When Jim, the vice president of international sales, stopped by my desk to see if I would like to consider a business trip that was very important to the company. I had never been on an international business trip before, and to be honest, it would get me off the phone for a few days, so I said, “Sure, I am in.” He replied, “That’s great; do you have a suit and a valid passport?” I had neither, but the company was willing to make sure those two obstacles did not stand in the way.
Amsterdam would be the most unique city I’d ever seen. The dreary and drab weather mixed with the world’s cultural sin city icon would be quite an awakening, and the 17th-century architecture injected with a rail system for getting around and navigating a city of canals. The ambient air was enough to bring the scents and smells of what lies just around the corner, always a distinctive aroma of strong European tobacco with a whisper of something else, cannabis.
I was truly lost in translation, life whisked by with thousands of ambient conversations taking place on the train, on the street, in restaurants. Eventually, I tuned out the foreign tongue as just worthless white noise around me. While the Dutch spoke perfect English, when spoken too in English, their native dialog was much more Nordic in tone.
Upon arrival at the SAS Radisson Hotel, it was quite evident to me that the travel agent back in California had no idea where they had booked my accommodation. Indeed, it was a Radisson, a chain familiar to Americans, but oddly, this one was in the heart of the Amsterdam Red Light District. While interesting, the novelty of the location wore off quickly, and it was quite a long walk from the central train. After switching hotels from the SAS Radisson to the Dutch Victoria Hotel, I headed to my room to relax and watch some TV. As I pulled the TV forward on its swiveling base from the credenza, I realized there was something behind the TV. It seemed like a tiny zip lock baggy of dried mud. I pondered, “Why would someone place a bag of mud behind the TV?”. It wasn’t long before additional innocence was lost, and I comprehended that it was, in fact, a bag of hashish.
Hash, what is hash? It did take many days for me to figure out precisely what hash is and how you go about smoking it. Over the next few days, I met two young coeds from Tennessee, Amber & Catlin, who were backpacking their way through Europe on $5 a day, an apple, and a loaf of bread. Frankly, I was just glad to meet some people from back home that spoke my language. They joined me for dinner when I offered to take them anywhere they wanted to go; after all, it was time to break in my new expense account, and heck anything would be better than what they would find on $5 a day. At the conclusion of dinner, my two newfound friends and I headed to the local Coffee Shop, where we enjoyed the pleasant conversation and a bag of Black Afghan Hash. The young naïve version of me had no idea how to smoke hash, or what the overall euphoric trip would be like. Here I was trapped in a foreign land, virtually alone, but for one evening, I felt comfortable enough to cut loose, drop my guard and get high with basically complete strangers I had met at the laundromat. Probably not the best decision, but you only live once.
I had experienced being drunk from alcohol, and the euphoria of weed before, but I had never experienced the effects of hashish. I won’t lie; it seemed remarkable until the environmental paranoia kicked in hard. Being out in a foreign land with virtual strangers did nothing to quell the paranoia; there were no familiar comforts to grasp onto during this out-of-body-like experience. They escorted me back to the Victoria, where even in my altered state, I was a gentleman, and invited them to come up for a nightcap. I suppose this had to be a more glamorous place to hang out than the hostel. Amber and Catlin soon realized I felt like a lost puppy and comforted me accordingly.
Sadly, the next day their bus would be leaving at 7 am to head to Switzerland, but for the one night, three young Americans had a night to remember.