‘Listen, I don’t want to do any of that cultural stuff,” my dad, John, said, as we planned our trip to Amsterdam, “I just want to get baked.”
I’ll admit I was concerned. My father has a ridiculously high tolerance for THC, following many dedicated decades, but last time I went to Amsterdam, I pulled my first-ever whitey and had to sit reading a burger menu for 45 minutes. But I want to do this trip: we haven’t been abroad together since I was 12, and cannabis helps with the symptoms of his MS. I won’t pretend that’s the only reason we’re going, however. My dad really, really likes to get high.
When he turns up at the Eurostar terminal, he is wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt, black Doc Martens, aviator sunglasses, and a pair of cargo shorts that he declares “extremely practical” but spends the whole holiday rummaging in, looking for his wallet and tobacco. He’s amazed that we can get to the Netherlands in just over four-and-a-half hours, arriving at our hotel in the early afternoon.
I’d worried that the Hoxton, a brand-new London export that opened on Herengracht in central Amsterdam this summer, might be a bit modern for my dad. But the group’s “no rip-off” policy – which includes free Wi-Fi, complimentary international calls, and local bar prices – appeals to the bargain hunter in both of us, and our twin room is clean and bright with a canal view and quirky, historical touches.
We’ve hardly unpacked before dad is itching to get started with a coffee shop map he found on Reddit. Despite a 2011 government proposal that only registered Dutch citizens should be allowed to use coffee shops, it is still legal to sell cannabis to tourists in Amsterdam, and we head straight out to Paradox, a short walk away in the picturesque Jordaan neighbourhood.
I realise that getting high with a parent isn’t everyone’s idea of fun and, to some people, sounds downright weird. But I have smoked with my dad before and enjoyed some great chats (the last an interminable discussion about sandwiches – so the conversational bar wasn’t set too high). These are usually punctuated by periods of relaxed silence: our own daughter-dad bonding time.
Paradox has an arty, locals’ feel and dad buys some Turkish hash and rolls his own joint. I go for the pre-rolled spliffs. The strengths listed vary from “high” to “super high”. I opt for “stoned”, and soon am. We chat amicably about medical cannabis with a couple of retired schoolteachers from Philadelphia (one has hip problems and says that smoking makes the pain bearable) and then, after an hour or two, head for dinner at the Hoxton’s restaurant, Lotti’s.
The macaroni cheese is perfect for anyone with the munchies, and we plough on through a lemon pie and an incredibly rich chocolate mousse, followed by cocktails. My dad waxes lyrical about his drink, The Waters of Chaos, a combination of Bols Old Genever (Dutch gin), overproof rum, green Chartreuse, and lime.
The next day we wake a tad fuzzy-headed, me especially – my father’s orchestral snoring kept me up half the night. He’s keen to hit the coffee shops again, but first we head in search of chocolate. Dad had a Dutch godmother who used to bring him and his siblings traditional chocolate initials, and he wants to have some made for his brothers and sisters. Just round the corner, Tasty Chocolates is happy to help.
Best Friends, our first stop, is definitely a stoners’ coffee shop, judging by the guys in their late teens playing a languid game of chess, a huge bong on the table between them. Dad buys some Blonde Lebanese and some Nepalese Temple Balls, declaring the latter “the Chateauneuf-du-Pape of weed”. “I haven’t smoked this in 30 years,” he tells the man behind the counter, who is delighted by his enthusiasm. The place has a Run DMC soundtrack, and a friendly (but admittedly sluggish) dog.
A couple of hours later, nicely high in a mellow sort of way, we check out the Amsterdam Cheese Company. We try samples of everything and dad buys going on €40-worth of gouda. Then we pop into The Otherside, a gay coffee shop with chandeliers and disco music. It’s Friday evening and the place clearly caters for a more affluent, mixed, after-work crowd. Dad buys Afghan haze and Raspberry haze. He’s building up quite a stash.
After several Dutch beers and some delicious anchovies (surprisingly, these are the best thing when you are high) at Tapas Catala, we head back to the hotel. It’s midnight, and there’s a DJ in the lobby, but we’re exhausted and crash.
We begin the next day on the small terrace at the comfy, welcoming 420 Café with some pre-rolled Moroccan hash before diving into dad’s stash. By the time we head for a beer in the sunshine at Arendsnest, which stocks only Dutch beers, I am very, very stoned. We barely exchange a word for half an hour, but a Dutch sausage and a block of gouda sorts me out. As I head back to the hotel for a nap, dad goes for a smoke at the aptly named Amnesia.
Before taking the train home that night, we share a last joint on a bridge over the atmospherically lit canals, and I can’t help but reflect how much happier dad’s life would be were cannabis legal in the UK. Until then, I’d recommend this itinerary for anyone who wants to smoke in friendly coffee shops without walking far, while avoiding the skunk pits of the Red Light District, most of which have a “teenage boy’s bedroom” vibe.
You could even squeeze in a museum or two. We chose not to. We were too stoned.
• Accommodation was provided by The Hoxton Amsterdam (doubles from €89 with “breakfast bag”, thehoxton.com). Train travel was provided by Eurostar (eurostar.com), which has returns to Amsterdam from London St Pancras from £95
