Do Weed and Hash Smell the Same? Asking for a Friend.

Our last day in Amsterdam was marvelous. It felt good to be on our own with no tour guide and what’s more nobody in our group saying, “My headset’s not working?” (Followed by, “Turn it on.”)

We tried to get tickets to the Van Gogh Museum but they were available by online purchase only. Instead we went to the Banksy exhibit at the Modern Art Museum next door. I am so glad we did.

We jumped on and off the tram to find ourselves in the sweetest neighborhood where we had lunch. I have to say that Amsterdam is special in this way. It has so many moods and attitudes that one merely has to walk to find what suits them.

What suited me was finding a coffee shop. I don’t do drugs and since I have three sons who had their fair share of drug related problems, I don’t generally condone the use of drugs. But this was for research, really.

The Husband reluctantly followed me into the least seedy coffee shop I could find. I approached the counter, ordered “the weakest stuff you sell”. It was an already rolled joint and very large. 5 Euro. I took two puffs and remembered why I don’t smoke then left with this giant doobie (can you guess my age?) in my purse. While there is really nothing else to this story (as the buzz was non-existent) this has afforded me the right to say things like, “I used this purse to carry my weed in Amsterdam” or, “Remember that time I bought weed in Amsterdam?” (Of course I threw away the weed in the hotel trash that evening).

Heading for the airport this morning I worried about the drug dogs, my sore throat and the fact that my right eye was red. I knew I was just being paranoid.

But guess whose bag got searched in the security line, had their umbrella searched, AND was chosen for a “random” search of bags and person before boarding the plane? When we landed my carry-on was searched yet again. You guys, I was carrying my WEED purse!