The Trip, pt 2.

“Coffeeshop Baba!” After some minutes spent wracking my brain for the name of the coffeeshop that ‘The Trip, Part 1’ started in, it comes to me in a sudden flash. The first of anything is always exciting and I’m desperate for this to be as good as my first time for Mick, - someone I’ve grown up with since meeting him as an 11 year old. I can feel my blood thicken and quicken in anticipation of the excitement to come.

We zig and zag through small alleyways trying to match our blue dot over the red destination pin on my phone. We achieve this fairly quickly but there’s no sign of Coffeeshop Baba. A quick tap on the coffeeshop name reveals an oversight by me - ‘permanently closed.’ It’s funny how quickly your mind can change given the right set up for justification. One minute, I thought it valuable that we go somewhere tried and true but now that we had no choice, I decided it shouldn’t matter because it’s about the company, right? This optimism took us to the border of the red light district where we found one that didn’t have tacky neon lights and felt more like a regular cafe.

We cautiously share one - a part of me fears that a whole one for me, based on prior experience, might end in death by laughter. Mick shouldn’t have to explain that to Mum.

The fun begins within the confines of my own imagination at first. The first signs seep through my gums as they loosen their grip on my teeth. This creates spaces for extra salivation that carries powerful remnants of the green taste. Then the visuals start being exaggerated as we pass super green yards and gardens. I chuckle in my mind at the apt nature of this. My auditory processing also enhances to beast-like clarity. I feel like a gazelle in the African outback, able to hear anything around me and being able to map exactly how far, how high, at what angle the source of the noise is at without turning my head. I think to myself, ‘I’ve transcended stereo left/right hearing to surround sound.’

We find a park bench to settle on and the interactive fun begins through classic bouts of laughter. Mick’s unconvinced that he’s feeling much but it’s clear to me from the way that he says that, that he’s definitely under the spell. Sure enough, in a matter of minutes he joins me in the two-man chain of girlish giggles, not quite sure what the joke is but revelling in its joy anyway. My brain feels like one of those scenes in movies where a boat is rocked by giant waves and everything inside gets hurled to one side and then to the other - except my head is the vessel and my brain is the content along with all the knowledge and skills it carries. Amongst the disorientation, my bottom slips from the bench, perhaps a couple of centimetres but my reactions are more suited to someone overbalancing off the edge of the Burj Khalifa. What a nutjob!

Our stomachs signal it’s time for some fuel and we stumble across a burger shop. Entering and being seated is scary as hell but it’s the least of our issues. How on earth does this menu work? We both work at trying to figure out the menu by reading more slowly and more carefully. Then the penny drops. Although we’d like to think we can, we can't speak Nederlands. The relief at discovering the second page, all in English, was comforting - until the next hurdle. ‘Burgers’ - yes, hmm ok that sounds good I’ll have one of those please but why does it not say how much it costs? Once again, the penny drops as I realise that ‘Burgers’ is the category and all the things underneath it is the item I can order. Wow, life is hard. I dedicate some time to thinking about the fact that menus categorise different types of things. There’s a metaphor for life in there somewhere. I don’t quite find it this time though.

Burger.

After making it through Struggle St in which we had to figure out how to split the bill (we ordered exactly the same things), we get to Amsterdam Centraal. Nick is topping up his card and all of a sudden I’m pulling up a seat by a lush grand piano. The first chord I play feels magical. But then the more I play, I feel like I’m pushing down keys but no sound is coming out. Instead, I hear piano music coming from elevator speakers up above me in the station. It was an out-of-piano experience that I quickly get bored of.

Apart from ending up 20 kms past where we were meant to get off, we arrive in Leiden with no real worries and feeling pretty fresh.

Not impressed with the unplanned excursion to Den Haag.

We hold ourselves together relatively well even when having to meet new friends of friends and despite the anxiety of ‘what if my friend doesn’t like the fact that we’ve done this’ even though she’s one of the nicest people on earth and would not care at all.

The night is danced merrily away and we end with a bit of a flourish. There’s not much time to catch the next train so we sprint through the street carnival weaving in and out, ducking and diving through human hurdles (I’m sorry) with giant smiles and dumb laughter. Even the motivation from the Pirates of the Caribbean theme tune blaring from one of the stall’s speakers isn’t enough to get us there in time. Actually, we do get there in time but Mick has to top up again so we miss it by a whisker. Damn you, 'efficient Dutch trains' (says no Dutch people apparently, but I have no such complaints). I feel pretty bad for my friend who changes plans and ends up cycling to her parents’ place for the night. But the concern is wiped away with some spontaneous beat boxing and rap jams. Mick and I used to do this sort of thing a lot just stuffing around. It really takes me back and my body swells with warmth at recreating the memories. It has been a good night.

Slaap lekker.

Fun.