We went to Ireland.
We just felt like getting too much sun in Berlin. We needed to act fast. So we booked flights to visit our acquaintance Valentina in Derry/Londonderry. But as most of you, unknown readers of this site, know, every trip you’ll ever do has to begin in Amsterdam.
Cops and wooden shoes. Amsterdam!
We left happily in the morning at about fuck-this-is-too-early o’clock. After a nice fligt in the luxury class airliner provided by easyjet, we only felt like enclosed cattle in a transporter for about the time of the flight. But luckily we had a very (very!) funny person giving us the safety instructions.
Die Zeit vergeht ja wie im Flug! – The funny steward.
Oh schade, schon gelandet! – The funny steward.
Schiphol is made from estimated 8922376 km of under- and overground tunnels. It takes 1:30 hrs from Berlin to Amsterdam. It takes 2 hrs from the arrival gate to the train station.
We hid our luggage in the luggage hiding cabinets and took the train to the inner city.
The trains were huge. Not this one, though.
More like this one. It’s about the size of an Airbus A380 if it would be the size of an Amsterdam train.
Hah! Signs! My german genes instantly triggered rewarding hormones in my brain-thing. This sign might say:
“Please pick nose!”
“Please sniff your finger two times upstairs!”
“Let’s duel with finger guns upstairs!”
“Airgun suicide cabinet for two on the diagonal to the left.”
As I was unsure, I followed all of these instructions. At once. Just to be sure.
Again, a very clear indication of what to do. Point at the hand sticking to the post with your arm stump.
I know this one. Don’t grope females from the front. Always sneak up from behind.
This grass was impressing. But in hindsight we’ve seen better grass elsewhere.
Young rowdy (sitting).
A coffee shop. I heard they don’t sell coffee but you can inject the Marijohanna inside.
Doro pointing at things.
The red light district.
I heard that somewhere someone is planning to put THC synthesis pathways into ordinary veggies. I like that idea. Until then you can buy what you need on a street market in Amsterdam. We didn’t because I am naturally high, as I already introduced the THC synthesis pathway into my pancreas.
English breakfast in Amsterdam on the way to Northern Ireland. How ironic.
These are postcards. They’re like emails on paper. But slower. And you pay money for sending them. Not like in a flatrate. You pay like every single one separately.
Proof that there was weather.
Finally. The giant’s causeway.
This is pretty much all you need to know about traffic in Amsterdam. There is just too much of traffic. Helmetless people (and women) on scooters and bikes and in cars all running into each other. On high heels. With dogs.
For my friends from down under.
Look how sunny it was! And we even didn’t have an Apple product to shield our eyes from the blinding light!
A lonely violinist in a street playing violin music on his violin.
This is really deep.
THIS IS THE LUNCH WE BOUGHT! It’s a sandwich (good for eating), lemonade (good for drinking) and cups (good for lemonade)!
Mating sandwiches making baby sandwiches.
Best lemonade that we had at this precise moment (but also afterwards).
Someone told me to go there. I did go there. I did not go in there, because time.
This was our day in Amsterdam. We enjoyed the rest of the day by waiting at the bag drop counter, waiting for security, waiting for security again, waiting for boarding, waiting for taking off, waiting for landing, waiting for unboarding, waiting for the luggage, waiting for the bus and then waiting for Valentina to pick us up from the very cold and rainy Derry/Londonderry.
But more on that later.