I am lucky enough to say that my dad took me to Amsterdam. I was seventeen at the time and a junior in high school. To a seventeen year-old, Amsterdam is known as the party capital of the world, or the Las Vegas a Europe (minus the billionaire casinos). In other words, Amsterdam is known as the place to go if you want to “party, party, party,” with the minimal fear of consequences.
Amsterdam is a city on water in the Netherlands. There, the consumption of marijuana is legal as long as the person consuming it is at least eighteen. The drinking age for beer is sixteen, for liquor is eighteen, and to buy tobacco there, the person has to be at least sixteen. Prostitution is also legal there, which the Red Light District is quite famous for.
Soon after my dad informed me of our trip, I shared my awesome news with my friends. They all reacted the same and as I expected. Devan however, brought up an interesting point. He told me that if I was expecting to smoke pot there, which I was, that I needed to practice smoking it a week prior to my departure. I didn’t consider myself to be a pot smoker. I very rarely smoked it because of its legality conditions in the United States. According to my friends however, if I didn’t practice smoking pot, “The weed there would kick my ass.”I ignored their suggestion though. Instead, I rather liked the idea of my first trip outside of the United States to be a completely new experience for me.
I was very appreciative towards my father for taking me there. “I’m going to make the best of this trip.” I continuously told myself.
I stayed up the entire night before my dad’s and my departure. My intentions of this was so that falling asleep on the firm, uncomfortable airplane chair would come at a greater and faster ease. My plan had worked, and after the two and a half hours at the airport and the eight hour plane ride, I had arrived at Amsterdam’s airport with my father, fully rested too.
After taking a train from the airport...
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