-Caveat Lector-
>From http://www.observer.co.uk/travel/story/0,6903,706374,00.html
}}}>Begin
Netherlands
Hasheesh to hasheesh...
The UK is gearing up for high-street cannabis cafes. But what can we expect? In the
name of research, Sean Vaardal hits the 'coffee shops' of Amsterdam
Sean Vaardal
Sunday April 28, 2002
The Observer
Out of Amsterdam's Centraal Station they flood in all directions: culture vultures to
the Museum Quarter; packs of men to the red-light district; and first-time 'pot
tourists'
round in circles like headless chickens.
With about 400 coffee shops to choose from, it's easy to end up in some unknown
dive, not knowing what you're being offered or if it's going to be any good. And as the
UK prepares for the launch of its own 'cannabis cafes', based on the Amsterdam
model, we look at some of the best in the European city best-known for coffee
shops.
At Grey Area (Oude Leliestraat 2), posters and stickers are the only concessions to
interior design. And if you swung a cat in here, it would hit all four walls. Although
it
may never grace the cover of House & Garden , if you want to buy quality marijuana,
put this underground 'hole in the wall' at the top of your list. The friendly American
behind the bar recommends the Grey Mist (€15/£9.20 a gram), a hash so potent it
won second place at last year's Cannabis Cup, the pot world's equivalent of the
Oscars. It's very much an aficionado's shop, and my amateur status is confirmed by
a bout of coughing. It's sometimes called 'the Cheers of coffee shops', because
Woody Harrelson, star of the US comedy, makes it his preferred hang-out when in
town. It doesn't sell food or booze, just soft drinks and fruit juices.
The limited space gets crowded but this makes it the ideal quick-stop venue to start
any voyage to oblivion. The 'colonisation of Mars began in 1945' monologue from the
grunge timelord on the next stool is my cue to leave.
De Rokerij (Lange Leidsedwarsstraat 43) is one of the better coffee shop chains in
the city. The flagship - just off Leidseplein - was redesigned six years ago when the
owners successfully created that 'inside of a sultan's tent' feel.
On the walls, Indian murals are held in mood lighting around a thoughtful seating
plan for communal or private relaxation. Buddhist-type bar music on a top-notch
sound system keeps the ambience flowing, and extractor fans maintain a fresh
atmosphere. Henna tattoo artists and tarot-card readers come in two nights a week
to enhance the ethnic feel.
The pot's pretty good, too; Stardust, Nepalese Cream, AK-47 (about €8/£4.90 a
gram), alcohol and snacks are available, plus the shop's own energy drink.
If De Rokerij is the Taj Mahal, then Abraxas (Jonge Roelensteeg 12-14) is Bilbo
Baggins's house: all wood and spiral staircases leading to upper levels with see-
through glass floors. If you want to email anyone and tell them how stoned you are,
they also have internet access.
Not every coffee shop in Amsterdam sells pot - some just sell coffee. The ones that
do sprang up in the mid- Seventies, when the Dutch government first tried to
separate the hard and soft drug markets. Until last year the drug-selling coffee shops
were only tolerated, but now they are legal.
In 1995, a nuisance policy was introduced to focus on controlling problems
associated with coffee shops. This has reduced their number somewhat. Entry age
was increased from 16 to 18, and premises near schools were closed. Shops require
a permit to trade, stricter than any pub licence, and the police run monthly checks.
Patrons are not allowed to have more than five grams in their possession, and if you
are arrested having eaten cannabis, it is viewed as a category A drug offence
because of its more potent effect.
It's also surprising how few coffee shops have wheelchair access. Only Sheeba
(Warmoesstraat 73) and 'T' Nescafé (Nes 33) have ramps and wide aisles, but
there's no disabled toilet.
Along the Singel Canal, the usual side-effects are occurring: rapid moisture loss to
the mouth, a clicking noise with each swallow. I aim a white foamy dot of spit at the
cobbled street, but it flies upwards. This is all terrible, but not as bad as the aeon
it
takes to recognise the Wittenburgerdwarsstraat on the street sign as the
Wittenburgerdwarsstraat on my map. With relief I find De Dampkring
(Handboogstraat 29), which I passed twice thinking it was a Wheeler's steakhouse.
In fact, inside it's more TGI Fridays - all red and green mosaic lamps and dark
varnished wood. No, actually, it's more like a crowded pub. Damned impaired
faculties. In the corner it smells as if someone's set fire to a Christmas tree. The
piney scent comes from a customer smoking a prop-department spliff of Jack Herer -
a strain of weed named after a chap who did great things with grow lamps.
Behind the dealer's bar are bell jars of green bracts up to the ceiling; 23 different
grasses, 18 hashes and 10 types of pre-rolled joints. You can go 'organic' by
smoking any variety with the 'Fair Smoke' label. This means it's been grown only with
biological nutrients and without the use of chemical pesticides. De Dampkring serves
alcohol and is another connoisseurs' venue, judging by the menu categories which
state the cannabis' effect: from 'clear high' and 'heavy stoned' up to 'psychedelic
high'. A conscientious patron steers me clear of the Amsterdam Moonshine, the
equivalent of ordering a phal in an Indian restaurant. I pick instead one of the house-
rolled Tbizla joints (€5.70/£3.50) - another 'high' with handle bars, and after a few
dozen Cokes my cotton-mouth abates.
You won't find many tourists at Katsu (Eerste van der Helststraat 70), as it's too far
off the main drag. Near the Albert Cuypmarkt, it has a discreet local feel, making it
popular with females, the more thoughtful and older smokers. In fact, one regular is
an 87-year-old who doesn't even smoke; he just comes in with his grandkids. It is
here, having just exhaled a bong hit of Supersage (€7.50/£4.60 a gram), that I
achieve what pot commentator Professor Horsecollar described as 'that perfect false
sense of well-being we all crave'. Blaring out of the speakers, 'Some Like It Hot' by
The Power Station becomes the soundtrack to my euphoria.
Across Sarphatipark is Greenhouse (Oudezijds Voorburgwal 191) - king of the
Cannabis Cup. In the 15-year history of this event, no other coffee shop has won
more titles for its marijuana, with winning names like King Hassan Elite, Shanti Baba
and Shanti's Holy Balls. All 36 trophies are displayed in the entrance. The feeling of
opulence continues as you move into the purple-coloured lounge, all spot-lighting, gilt
frames and the cool indifference of the other smokers. In a shadowy corner I merge
with the world's most comfortable leather sofas and prepare a joint of Big Bang
(€8/£4.90 a gram). Then, as is typical when the moment is perfect, existential pot
psychosis: Am I really a sad writer who's travelled abroad to take drugs on their own?
Why do I hate Guy Ritchie? And, whatever happened to Howard Jones's gimp, Jed?
It's hard work being this high. Like so many other Englanders, I'm only doing to
excess what I don't do at home, and maybe it's just a coincidence, but the last five
people to die by falling into the Amsterdam canals have all been English.
Up early the next morning to sample the delights of Barney's Breakfast Bar
(Haarlemmerstraat 102). Not strictly a coffee shop, but then again the owner isn't
called Barney. I'm not usually a practitioner of the 'wake 'n' bake', but the sound of
Santana at 8am leaves little option. Here they serve an all-day breakfast menu for
meat eaters, vegetarians and vegans, plus crepes, truffles and shakes. I order the
pancakes - bacon and maple syrup - my appetite somewhat dented by having woken
at 3am in a ravenous sweat to eat half the mini-bar. Apart from the food there's
another reason to visit Barney's and that's the Sweet Tooth - voted Cannabis Cup
2001's number one grass for the second year running. Its effects are shocking, like
someone injecting your skull with Botox. The next few hours are spent walking in
rapidly increasing circles, my internal navigation system down.
At Schiphol airport I do a passable impersonation of Dracula checking in for the
easyJet flight back to Luton. I open my bag and, to my horror, it smells like a Rasta's
car. Gathering the various button bags of weed, I put them in an empty cashew nut
jar and chuck them in a skip outside the terminal.
Rusland (Rusland 16) had been my last port of call. It never seems to get busy at this
tucked-away gem set on three levels of dark, creaking wood. Just find a table, and if
the house cat takes a shine it will plonk down next to you and purr like a chainsaw. It
is also the best place to drink tea (42 varieties).
I play backgammon with an architect who's planning a boat trip this summer. Up the
canals to the shipping lanes of the Rhine, then on to Romania. He thinks it'll take
three months, but he's not taking any pot. 'You don't want to be high when an oil
tanker crosses in front of you,' he says.
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2002
End<{{{
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