It was back around early 1998 when I came to this city as a permanent move. I was escaping from London, being at the end of a love hate relationship with that city which had left me drained and wanting a change. The fact that my working holiday visa was only 2 months from expiring helped a lot in motivating me to get my arse out of there. So without too much procrastinating, I bought myself a one way SleazyJet ticket and hoped to God that I wasn’t making a huge fucking mistake.
There’s a lot the guide books don’t tell you about Amsterdam which they should if they’re really interested in helping you out. Like the fact that the first people you normally get approached by at Central Station with a backpack on are drug dealers looking for a sucker to buy from them. I didn’t know this at the time, so as I was coming out of the front entrance this wasted freak of a guy comes up to me with a big smile on his face, which made me think he was a hostel tout.
“Hey man”, I said all casual like, “know any places I can stay”?
“No man. You wanna buy some shit… coke, ecstasy, hash”?
Something about that didn’t sound right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, maybe because I was expecting a different answer than that, consequently it threw me for a second. In the whole scheme of things, I wasn’t actually looking for drugs so much as a place to stay. Plenty of time to get into the local medicine once I had accommodation sorted out. I waved the guy off and kept walking up the street towards the center of town. Next thing I know this clown is hurling abuse at me at the top of his lungs.
“YOU MUDDAFUCKA… I KILL YOU MAN…”!
