Amsterdam, Again

It was time for me to depart Egypt. I had an early flight, the first of the day it seemed, one to be shared by Derik and Jackie. We dragged ourselves out of bed, too early for breakfast at the hotel, wrestled our luggage into the shuttle and tried to claw our way to wakefulness on the ride to the airport.

We queued up, passed security and grabbed a morsel of airport breakfast before boarding the flight to Amsterdam. We’d already compared itineraries, discovering that we both had the day to kill before our flights to Toronto and Montreal, respectively, theirs leaving about an hour after mine. We enquired about whether it was possible to sit together for the flight, but were told that the flight was full and that it wouldn’t be possible. We didn’t argue. It was only a four-and-a-half-hour flight.

Once we’d taken our seats, we took note of where we were to one another, theirs about five rows forward of mine. This gave me an ideal seat for what ensued. There was a snag. Derik had bought a Zulu thrusting spear and leather shield while in Khan el Khalili and had not shipped it. Why did he buy a South African spear while in Egypt? I don’t know. He took a fancy to it and had to have it.

“They’re never going to let you board the plane with that thing,” I said, noting how he’d only wrapped newsprint around the blade as “packing” before departing for the airport.

“Sure they will,” he said. He fully expected to board the flight with a two-foot bladed spear. I thought him an idiot for even attempting it. Somehow, he did. How he got past security with it is anyone’s guess but they let him pass. Not so the flight attendant. He had to check the spear, she said. He refused. I thought I was going to see him ejected from the plane. He finally let them take it after about five minutes of rather tense discussion, actually following them to make sure that it remained stowed on the plane and not removed altogether. We made a couple attempts at chatting in the aisle, but were shooed back to our seats by the flight attendants. I settled in to take another stab at Gravity’s Rainbow. The hours ticked by.

My mates asked if there was time to go into the city. None of us wanted to spend the day in the airport. I did some quick math in my head to see if it was feasible. I had eight hours to kill before my flight. I was thinking, thirty minutes into the city, thirty minutes back, and hour and a half to pass customs; that left about five and a half hours in the city, max. I’d rounded up all my times to be on the safe side, promising myself that I’d be back on the train to Schiphol in five hours whether they were with me or not. I thought it doable, but we wouldn’t see much. We locked up our luggage and made for the train.
We bought our tickets, boarded the train and arrived about twenty minutes later, disembarking with the herd, pressed through the urine-soaked underpass and out onto Stationsplein, then Sint Nicklaasbrug, Prins Hendrikkade, and then Damrak. I was getting rather good at this, having been through here a few times already. Although this time I was aware that the clock was ticking. Very aware. My eyes kept a close watch on my watch and whatever clocks happened to drift by. It was 10 am.

Derik declared his desire to visit a cannabis café. I was less inclined, having already experienced the tender scrutiny of customs agents once already, but Jackie thought we should stick together. I deferred to her wishes, still a little smitten with her, despite the understanding that these five or so hours were the last that I’d ever see of her.

“You want to smoke a joint?” I asked. “I know just the place,” taking them directly to the closest one I knew of, The Grasshopper. There was nobody in there. It looked as though it was just opening; not surprising, as de Wallen had never been hopping anytime I’d wandered its warrens. I think the Red Light District is more of a nighttime attraction than a day one.

Derik ordered his joint. And smoked the whole thing. Jackie helped a little, taking a drag or two or three, but most of it ended up in Derik’s lungs. I abstained. Sure, you say, not believing me for an instant. But I did. I really did. Cannabis had been a college thing for the most part, long set aside.
And good thing too. That joint was stronger than anything Derik had ever smoked before. He was so stoned he could barely walk, and every bit of motion and glitter was a distraction that was irresistible. It was like herding a cat, a slow walking, giggling cat. Jackie was in better shape, but she was in no way an adult for the next couple hours, either. I dragged them into a café, ordered a round of coffees and beers, and ran a finger down the menu until deciding what each of us was going to have for lunch. Once they’d sobered up a little, I brought them to the little bakery I’d discovered, the one that specialized in deserts. Jackie was a big fan of deserts, having said more than once that desert should be had every day, so I thought it would please her. It did. But upon completion of an éclair or two, I noticed the time. My point of no return had come and gone.

“I’ve got to get to the train,” I said, ready to leave even if they weren’t.

I suspect the prospect of being left alone in Amsterdam, still somewhat stoned and left to their own devices, sobered them up enough to see the need for haste. We hoofed it back to the station, boarded the train and leapt out at Schiphol station. We collected the bags from the lockers. Once past customs, I looked up at the departures board, searching for my gate. It was the furthest one. Of course it was. Just then, my flight was called. “This is the final boarding call for flight…” I said my goodbyes then, but they insisted on seeing me off. I wanted to run. They did not. I feared that the gate would be closed to boarding when I arrived. It was not. The last few people were at the gate when I arrived. I exhaled the breath that was locked in my chest, my relief palpable.

Derik and I shook hands. “Be good,” I said. He laughed.

I hugged Jackie for a few moments longer than mere acquaintances might. I kissed her on the cheek as I pulled away. “Take care of him,” I said, even though they were just friends, “he needs minding.”
We waved, I backed away and then turned and jogged the last few steps to my gate. The gate attendant peered at my ticket and waved me through.

The time had come. My promise was at hand.

I fished out my final pack of cigarettes and my lighter, dropping them in the bin as I passed.