The smell of Mary-Jane in its purest form penetrates my Gringo nostrils when I walk out of the Amsterdam railway station - nothing new here I guess, happens every time when I return from one of my trips - the Amsterdam main tourist attraction to be found all along the long strech of walking home, coffee shops on the city's Haarlemmerdijk doing a brisk business while I brave the cold and misty streets of my beloved Mokum, my last couple of km. before the comfort of my personal home engulving me, a last bottle of La Mancha red Spanish wine inside my heavy pack awaiting consumption...
Trying to concentrate on whatever amusement my telly will entertain me with while working on that La Mancha Spanish wine, trying to forget that superfatso in the chair next to me on the bus whose Gordiflon body occupied three quarters of my Asiento as well...luckily the driver alowed me to change seats and end up with a Brasilian beauty as overnight bus neighbor...trying to forget the Mosambique blacks chatting all night in Portuguese and hardly willing to stop despite several complaints of fellow travellers...openly discussing the fun of keeping these darned whitties awake untill the I told them Callete or slash it out with me at the next gasoline stop...
Trying to forget the sweaty bodies of a full long drive bus, farts and bodily smells playing havoc on my poor orafatory capablilties....
Yeah, I guess that one Euro Botella de La Mancha red wine was a great investment!!!
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