Last year's homework cause I'm a stoner girl.
@missy @rambo
I have difficulties in considering a journey as bad, even if plans failed.
To me, a bad journey is a journey that leaves only bad memories.
Nevertheless, in the category “travels which did not happen as I had imagined it”, I can tell you my first trip to Amsterdam, the vice city.
For my sixteenth birthday, my father took me to Amsterdam. We booked our train tickets in advance. During the trip, I realized that my father had not booked a hotel room. Therefore, we had to borrow a tourist guide to other passengers to find a youth hostel, or any other kind of hotel that would accept a last-minute booking. I forgot to tell you: my dear dad does not speak a damned word of english. This was going to largely complicate our task.
Thus, we found a nice hotel which seemed to suit us, we noted the address and we got there without too many troubles. I think the hotel was named “The Flying Pig”.
I had to make the reservation, although I speak english like a spanish cow.
Given that I was a minor, I filled the booking form in my father’s name and gave his passport to the receptionist.
She gave me back the passport immedeatly, pointing out that it was outdated since more that 10 years.
This is not a joke: 10 years! My father was unrecognizable on the picture.
So here I am, a minor accompanied by my father, in the Marijuana city, without valid identity cards nor a hotel room, and none of us speaks dutch nor english.
Finally, after several minutes of dicussion with the receptionnist, she points us to a hotel at the end of the street, that is not too strict on its customers’ identity.
After walking all along this very long street, we were finally able to find our hotel and to leave our luggage in what was going to be our room.
Surprise! There were at least four bunk beds. Our roommates never spoke to us. I even never saw one of them standing. He was always lying on his bed, on the back, arms and legs ruled out, sunglasses on the eyes, and always with different clothes and accessories. He was completely stoned, for sure. Another of these charming roommates stared at me while I was sleeping; I realized when waking up one morning. So creeps and weirdos.
Apart from these few misadventures, which spiced our stay up more than it ruined it, I left with good memories. It’s Amsterdam, it’s always good memories. & good weed.
