I'm sure you'll all be delighted to hear that not only did i manage to drag myself away from the liberal laws of the low country, but i succesfully evaded every one of the police teams and military hit squads arrayed against me. Not a single assassin layed a hand on me, and all of my counterintelligence efforts had the desired results. Ah, the mathematical properties of the empty set...

Well, a fair amount has happened since last I mailed, so i'll start at the beginning and keep going until I get to the end, as i believe a hobbit once said. Just to give you the highlites, the most interesting thing that happened is that I tried hashish for the first time about two hours before leaving amsterdam for britain, discovered that it is much, much, MUCH stronger than marijuana, and had to wield a great deal of mental effort and concentration in order to succesfully travel.

Our story begins last sunday night. I had a ticket to go see David Helfgott, the guy who the movie Shine was based on, and I was very excited about this. I put on the nice shirt that I had brought for such occasions, and made my way to Amsterdam's Concertgebouw. There I was distressed to discover that Mr. Helfgott had somehow managed to break his finger just in time to cancel the concert, fingers being rather important digits of manipulation for pianists. It sounded like getting a refund would be difficult because i had paid cash, not card, and my nomadic existence makes it difficult to chase down the appropriate forms and offices. So while I didn't get to see Mr. Helfgott, at least I have a 35$ piece of paper that says that I could have had he been there. Sigh. I'm not *that* bitter, after all this was a windfall to begin with, but i was quite looking forward to this.

So there I was, in the museum area a fair ways from the city center, with nothing to do. So I wandered around, and found a movie theater. I bought a ticket for Grease, which I had never seen, and sat in a coffeeshop and smoked a quick bowl. After a little while, people near the door started to stream outside, and above their heads I saw fire, apparently on top of a pole. Curious, I wandered out, and saw a juggler perform. He was a Canadian who was pretty funny, and good at entertaining people, although not a particularly amazing juggler. He could do five balls, but not for very long, and he joked that we had better appreciate the trick because "it represented 2 or 3 years of no social life whatsoever". The most notable part of his performance, in my opinion, was Helena.

"Who is Helena?", you wonder. Helena is, quite possibly, the most beautiful person I have ever seen. If you aren't interested in hearing me babble about how gorgeous this chick you have never seen was, skip this paragraph, it will be pure fleshly adoration. I'm not really sure, because I had smoked a couple of bowls, and I didn't get to see her up close very much (the juggler worked inside a large circle of people), but damn, she was fine! The juggler got a couple of volounteers from the audience, first a scandinavian man, older, there with his family, who he made take off his upper clothes. He teased the guy quite a bit, good-naturedly, using him as part of the show. Anyway, after a while he needed another volounteer, so he picked Helena, from amsterdam. She took off her overshirt willingly and flirtingly, and joked about taking off more, flipping up her shirt and showing her stomach. She was wearing a tight shirt that clearly outlined her bra, and her ample chest had the firmness of youth. Wow, i can't believe i said that. Anyway, her pants were tight around her ass, clearly showing the outlines of her underwear, and then went straight down her legs, sort of tubelike. She was a brunette, and about my height, other than that, tough to describe. She didn't look like a supermodel or anything, but wow. I had to capture this on film. After the show ended and people dispersed, I walked up to her and asked if I could take her picture. She seemed a little embarassed, but not much, mostly surprised and complimented. She asked if I wanted to take a picture of her and her friends, and I said "sure, whatever". Then she suggested that her friend take a picture of us, so I got my picture taken with my arm around Helena. It better turn out. Please. [note from later: it did :)] I should have asked her what she was doing or something, I suppose, but I had the movie to go to, and she was with a couple friends, and I was a little stoned and feeling shy, so I let the moment pass. That is the story of Helena.

After that, I went to see Grease. Unlike Mr. Helfgott, neither John Travolta nor Olivia Newton John had the presumption to break anything vital, so I actually got to see the movie. One interesting note was the advertisements beforehand, the first few of which were in english, and all of which were way cooler than most ads in the states. The first one looked like a preview for some movie that was a cross between sneakers, hackers, wargames, the net, and so forth, except with more realistic and accurate technology, it babbled about protecting this and computer that, and turned out to be an ad for IBM's netherlands division. The second one was an ad for the anti shock protection of the sony discman, and the way they demonstrated the capability was to have someone listening to the discman, and then an amorous turtle wanders by, sees the discman, is strongly attracted to it, goes up to it, and humps it. So this turtle is humping the discman, which is getting rocked back and forth, but the music still continues to play smoothly. Hilarious. Anyway, I'm sure you have all seen Grease, so I won't describe it, if not, you should, its sweet, romantic, lighthearted, and funny, an entertaining movie that touches very lightly on some serious issues. Oh, one bit of note, during the cartoony intro to grease, which was quite surreal, there were a few flashes of video which must have been inserted, one saying amsterdam, one with a coffeeshop, and a joint in front of a grease poster. Note that this is a theater for locals, not americans, so this was done as part of amsterdam culture, not to cater to the yanks.

After the movie, I headed back to my room to pack, prepare for my 5AM train then ferry trip to england, and decide whether to smuggle drugs. The impression I had gotten from american travelers is that it isn't a big deal, a lot of people do it, and don't get caught. Still, I was a little worried about it, despite my experience last year, in which I was searched thoroughly, but they did not find the pellet of hash, and did not look in any of the places I would think safe for smuggling. I had picked up some superglue earlier, and was pretty sure that if I used superglue to create an unopenable compartment, I would be safe. I was mostly leery about it because of the size of the possible penalty, even with a small risk. A bad failure mode. [Note: it turns out there was nothing to worry about. Britain has become very relaxed about marijuana, as long as the amount you get caught with is "personal use" size, its just a fine, no big deal. Ah, civilized countries.]

So anyway, the handle of my umbrella screwed open to reveal a perfect compartment (as if it were designed for that purpose? Nah...Seriously, I think its just the way it was constructed. still convenient), and I stashed goodies there and superglued it shut. perfect. I still had some hash that I had considered smuggling, before deciding that weed was good enough and if the worst happened, less illegal, so I decided I would try it, having never smoked hashish before. I figured it would make the journey a little more interesting, if I was going to have to suffer through hours of train rides and a ferry that was probably some leaky little boat, I might as well enjoy it. Oops. It turns out that it is a lot stronger than marijuana, so much so that after smoking a relatively small amount of it, I was suddenly far more stoned than i had ever been in my entire life, at least twice as much. I may smoke often, but its usuall very small amounts, I hardly ever have a lot. To relate things to y'all in a more culturally accepted and legal metaphor, i may often have a glass of wine with dinner, but I hardly ever get drunk, and I had just sucked down half a bottle of everclear. Except that while you can only have so much alcohol before the body just passes out, marijuana has (i believe) no LD50, and thus there are plateau's and plateau's of effects that ascend to infinity. To make things worse, not only was this pure and high quality hash, but rather than crumbling it into a cigarette, and smoking it diluted by tobacco, as is normal, I just tossed it into a pipe and smoked it straight.

So there it was, 2 or 3 AM, I had a train to catch at 5, and I was seriously impaired. Ordinary tasks like catching trains, not getting lost walking a few blocks, and speaking coherently to customs officials suddenly became fascinatingly complex. Not for the first time I realized that the "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" theme, nature, paradigm, idea, whatever, of my trip had became amazingly appropriate. Like Hunter S. Thompson trying to check into the hotel, my task was to do the simple, the trivial, the basic, from behind the rippling transparent curtain that had entrapped me. As I sat writing in my notebook, purple flashes ran over my hand and pen, as if they'd been drawn on in 2D, like in the Dire Straits video "Money For Nothing". The effects continued to increase in strength for an hour or so, and after enjoying it, at about 4AM I decided to start worrying about my train.

I had packed beforehand, figuring that was a task best left to a clear mind. The only thing I had not packed was the drugs, both the umbrella with its hidden contents, the bag of weed left over, the little pipe I had bought, the hashish, and so forth. I thought carefully about the hours that lay ahead, and decided that the wise course would be to cancel the smuggling plans, and get rid of all the drugs. I put everything of that sort into a plastic bag, and hoped I would remember to throw it out on my way to the train station. I was unsure about my level of mental competence, the world seemed a strange place, but my mind seemed to function fairly well. Time was distorted strangely, and my memory was not perfect, but my chains of reasoning seemed, well, reasonable. I was still a little worried, that I wouldn't be able to figure out a train connection (I was scheduled to take 4 different trains, the ferry, and the london underground), that I would be unable to communicate coherently, or that I would somehow give myself away. Still, I was confident in my abilities, and the fact that I would have no contrabrand meant, well, that I couldn't get caught with contrabrand.

The trip was, naturally, long and strange. I threw away the bag with all the drugs on the way to the amsterdam train station. I suppose I could have given it to someone, but I was near the height of the experience and didn't want to interact with anyone. The drugs were cheap, anyway. I managed to navigate the train stations and connections just fine. I contact juggled on moving trains without a single drop. I monitored my internal state, hoping that I would start to come down sometime, stonedness generally lasting for only a few hours. At about 7AM, I got to the ferry station. Walking towards the bathroom, one of the handles on my suitcase gave way. I ended up checking the suitcase through, which the ferry allowed one to do, and had to carry it without using the handles, like a large parcel, for several days before I found a hiking backpack to replace it. The hiking backpack is, by the way, much more comfortable to carry anyway, so perhaps it was for the good.

As we went through dutch customs on the way out, I walked alongside a young man with longish hair. The customs official asked him if he had any drugs. He said "huh?" The official said "Not one last joint for the boat?" He said "no.", and was waved on through. We chatted a little, and it turned out that he was from finland, hitchiking to ireland for his vacation. The ferry turned out to be rather larger than I expected. Rather than being a crowded, smelly little boat, open to the weather, it had several restaraunts and its own casino. Much like a small cruise ship. I found a table and sat down, waiting for my brain chemistry to return to normal. I decided that I rather regretted trying the hash - while it would have been a fun new experience normally, this was a bit much. I prefer doing that sort of thing with less people around.

Fortunately, during the three hours on the boat, things returned much more towards normal. I arrived in england at about 9:40, feeling much better, and prepared to face british customs, which were quite routine. Despite the fact that I was never searched, never even raised any suspicions, and could easily have succeeded in smuggling, I was happy with my decision. It would have been a stupid and unnecessary risk, and it made me feel a lot safer and less worried. I finally made it to the house I was staying at in Brighton, a seaside vacation town on britain's southern coast, at about 3PM. Exhausted, I crashed.

Next time i get a chance to write stuff up: Hear about the world cup, my adventures getting my cell connection working, learn the odd nature of Cambridge's strange college system, and hear the violent way one can have crew races on a river that is only 30 feet wide.

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