Amsterdam

I've been meaning to try out Amsterdam since I first saw Pulp Fiction in perhaps 1998, in which John Travolta and Samuel L Jackson discuss Dutch hash bars and the differences of the McDonalds in various European cities. 

This month I finally got to go with a couple of mates.

We flew in on Thursday afternoon and got a weekend tram pass to avoid taxis, which, we were warned, were dear. We stayed in Hotel Blyss, which was dearer than I was hoping for but was still a shithole. My friend's room had a handprint on the wall above the bed from a previous horny occupant, the TV didn't work plus the chair had a big rip in the side of it. She asked to move to a different room, but the one she was shown was even worse so she stuck where she was. My room wasn't much better.

Pretty much the moment I got there, my main camera on my phone stopped working. It intermittently came back to life, but for the most part I had to resort to shooting in selfie mode, holding the phone the other way. I've still not fixed it. Also, GiffGaff didn't seem to give me access to the internet abroad, so I was catching up every time we got onto the hotel's WiFi.

We made our way out to the town's bar area, and to Favela, a Brazilian-themed bar which was launching that night. The pictures disguise this but it was the first of a few bars which were sparsely attended. We didn't end up in the album as the photographer was being weirdly picky. One guy asked him to take his picture and the photographer refused.

Despite it being a fairly standard wooden-fitted rum joint, they still charged 50c to use the toilet.

Most of rest of the weekend we spent sightseeing: the canals, the windmill, the markets. The windmill was surprisingly central: we hired bikes and rode out to it a mile or so from the bike rental. I thought it would be out in the country somewhere, having remembered this old Hitchcock movie.

There's little point going to Amsterdam if you aren't going to try out the legal drugs. I'm allergic to mushrooms so I passed on those, but I still dropped into this cosy weed shop playing old-school Eminem, and shared a joint with a friend. I'm not great at inhaling and coughed my guts up a few times, but I definitely felt the effect. Obviously, I made sure the cycling was out of the way first.

There are more museums than you could get around in a weekend, so we dropped into a tour guide shop and picked a few tickets. The Sex Museum, a small but tall building, was worth the climbing to see the paintings and Aztec dildos. If you like that kind of thing.

The Banksy Museum was also well worth a look around, featuring chunks of wall decorated by the covert graffiti artist, removed from the UK, and various sculptures.

Noodle bar Wok to Walk was one of a few culinary delights the city had to offer. When you place your order you're given this disc. When your order is ready it'll light up and vibrate.

Later that night we dropped into a few bars at one of the squares, where, weirdly, my friend bumped into one of her travelling mates from Devon, who she'd actually met some months ago in Miami. Small world. What I wrote in my notes on my phone at the time: 'Ibiza prices in Magaluf standard bars.' But at least Magaluf's bars had people in them.

I was hoping to get to the iconic Boiler Room, a house music club, but the lineup was all hip hop and drum 'n' bass that weekend, so we passed.

The next day the canal boat tour took us around the city. The local Dutch guide's knowledge had a few holes in it but it was still an informative, interesting excursion. This hotel had various famous guests over the years. Nobody can remember who, though.

Later that night we dropped into Club Air, a hip hop joint playing mostly Dutch music, which made a change. Think of it as 'Dam's answer to Manchester's History club, only without the door policy. People were very casually dressed. We stood out.

The stairs to get in were ridiculously steep, like pretty much every set of stairs in the town. Next to the DJ booth there was a separate stall monitoring electronics with a digital decibel display. Weird. The club took ages to fill but it was still a fun night.

If you want to drink spirits, the bars and clubs, and the liqour stores, are the only places you can get them. You can walk into a weed shop and get high, but you'll find nothing stronger than wine in the supermarkets or corner shops. Also weird.

The next morning we had quick jaunt around the area before flying home. I enjoyed the weekend but there was so much more to do that we couldn't fit in: Boiler Room, the Ice Bar, Bodyworlds, Sky Bar, the Torture Museum- all of it I made a note of for a possible second trip in a year-or-so's time.