AK-47 or White widow? Shane asked, grinning as he pointed at a menu as if either one of us had any business dabbling in strong marijuana. We could barely handle cigarettes, let alone smoke anyone of those strains of weed, that sounded more at home on an MI5 terrorist watch list than in rolling papers. We eventually requested the weakest space cake they had and left to take in the rest of De Wallen.
Eight of us were in Holland for the Rotterdam carnival. As part of our package, we had a day trip to Amsterdam scheduled, and my O-my was it going to be a trip (pardon the pun) that none of us will ever forget. Getting high didn’t appeal to Missy, Prince and Helen, so we (Shane, Ricardo, Carl, Jay and I) decided to split our group in two and meet back at the coach at the end of the day.
Now let it be known that De Wallen (where the red light district is situated) is a small enclave of Amsterdam and is probably one of the craziest sections of any city worldwide. With women in windows and weed, the word ‘liberal’ doesn’t do it justice at all. Suppose De Wallen were a bike rolling down a hill, it’d be brake-less, without a seat, stabilisers, or wheels - just uh rickety old frame trundling at full speed into those fiendish red lights below.
Anywho, we had a good laugh throughout the day and were on the way back to the coach. Jay and I were deliberating on how the “weak space cake” was a little too weak. Unsatisfied: we happened upon, and decided to stop off at the most stereotypical edible peddlers I had seen there. So there’s five of us squeezed-up in this weed takeaway shop, plastic inflatable palm trees everywhere, reggae beating over the speakers.
The guys behind the counter wore red, gold and green string vests and had locs. In true British fashion, I began small talk. I assumed they were Jamaican, and with me being of Jamaican heritage, I asked where in Jamaica they were from.
They both answered ‘Barbados’. ‘Oh’, I replied - Now here’s where Carl swears I had doomed our expedition, fore I went on to state - “So you guys aren’t real, Rastas then?” Carl reckons that on account of my faux pas, the brother going to get our order from the cabinet stopped in his tracks and looked back at me in complete disdain before selecting an entirely different batch of space muffins to those requested. Anyway, we paid and left. Carl, Shane and Ricardo had walked up ahead, opened their muffins, and ate them whole.