Lucky for me – and unlucky for my liver – Queen’s Day fell on a Friday. This meant that even after the real festivities ended, I still had a Saturday night out in one of the most notorious cities in the world: Amsterdam.
My 3 British roomates and I woke up literally dying of hunger – due to the nonstop partying over the past two days and nights, we’d probably stopped to eat a total of three hamburgers between the four of us – over two whole days.
It’s been known to happen. Somehow when you’re having the time of your life, you just don’t stop to think about a silly thing like food. During Carnaval in Brazil, Peder and I survived for days off of Red Bull, protein powder, and street snacks. Insanely unhealthy, I know – but I justify it by saying that I only do it once every couple years, and I’m generally quite a healthy person, watching my diet and exercising obsessively. Queen’s Day was my excuse to undo in a weekend what I worked hard for over the past 3 months 😛
(Besides, I’m already back to doing dips between the hostel beds and curls with my backpack – much to the amusement of my hostel roomates. Life on the road, gotta stay fit somehow! 🙂
Anyway, back to Amsterdam. After our first hearty and healthy meal of the weekend – breakfast at Mc. Donald’s – my party crew and I spent virtually the entire day just recovering in the lounge at the hostel. The weather was a bit gloomy, and after expending all that energy on Queen’s Day I think we all just felt like being lazy. The plan was to spend the afternoon recovering and meet up later that evening for a local pub crawl, whereby for the low low price of 18 Euros we’d get free admission to 6 bars and clubs, a free drink in each, plus unlimited free shots (watered down, of course) while walking from venue to venue. Sounded like a good deal!
But in the end, only myself and Smallville had the energy to make it out – everyone else either just remained sitting on the couch or went out to get high in one of those famous Dutch coffee shops.
The pub crawl was “just okay.” One Israeli girl I met told me that it was her third, and by far the slowest – at its peak there were probably fifty people or so, but she’d been on pub crawls with over 300 – so many they had to split into groups and taper them between the various bars and clubs.
Probably the highlight of the night was a group of guys out to celebrate a bachelor party. They all had huge Borat-style mustaches. I can’t remember where they said they were from, but apparently it’s somewhere where bachelor parties mean giant paste-on pushbroom mustaches. I wonder if it hurts when they take those things off.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it turned out that by far the cutest girl at the pub crawl was one of the staff (someone who’ll probably laugh if she’s reading this, and had better comment if so! 🙂 ). I was pretty much running on autopilot throughout the night, hopping between her, Smallville, and whomever I happened to encounter on my current trip to or from the bar or bathroom. Luckily I must not have been acting like a total doofus because when the pub crawl came to an end, I managed to convince her not to go home and to instead join Smallville and I in continuing the night at another club. We ended up at a surprisingly massive spot with no cover charge (still trying to figure that one out), where we stayed until closing at which point my new friend headed out to meet up with another group, and Smallville had disappeared – presumably to return to the room.
But in typical Justin-style, I had my energy up and was not ready to call it a night just yet – after all, it was still only 4am. So I said hi to anyone and everyone on the street, eventually getting invited to join a group who happened to be heading to a venue right next door. I paid the 10 euro admission and entered.
Event name: Multisexy. A gay club. The first I’d ever been to.
Now this was quite an interesting experience. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it made me uncomfortable, but it was definitely a scene I’d never before seen – especially when it came to the 6-foot-tall cross dressers in leopard print skirts and the countless couples of men making out on the dance floor. But in general everyone was friendly, and when this club started drawing to an end I somehow managed to joined up with yet another group of locals – 2 guys and 2 girls – who invited me to a continuation houseparty. It was already light out by this time, I’d estimate somewhere around 7am.
Yet after only about 10 minutes of walking towards the houseparty, it became clear that our guide seemed to’ve mistaken the address – so it looked like my last night out in Amsterdam had at last come to an end.
I booted up my GPS which guided me safely back to my hostel door.
Gotta love that thing.