Written by Gustavo Javier Guaglianone.
The Englishman carried the tourist's backpack with their respective pins and biromes. We had our hands in our pockets. Of course, the face of fascination in the window of the Dutch smart shop was ours. Fungi, natural ecstasy, vegetable cocaine, pure oxygen, false and perfect bottles with meo for analysis; all legal, all with its packaging, all fantastic. Ideal to fill a backpack.
The English approached us telling us that he had returned some mushrooms, that his girlfriend did not feel well, that he gave them away, or rather, left them at half the price. We follow the flow, but at a third of the value of fungi. That was the most elegant way to get rid of English, for a sum that did not affect our menemistic parity of 2000.
Being a tourist month in Amsterdam is rare, paying a hotel month is expensive. Marijuana is too legal and too rich. We stopped at the Lavalle in Amsterdam, in an Irish hostel surrounded by Turkish businesses. Turkish Coffee Shops. Turkish falaffel. Pizza by Turks. Turkish warehouses Turkish Gift Shops. Well Lavalle, neon pedestrian good. We soon create our Amsterdam tradition: breakfast in the coffee shop opposite, pool in the next one, grab the rented bicycles and play in the streets of Amsterdam made to play.
We crossed the English again in the coffee shop opposite. We were having breakfast and talking with those in charge: two Turkish brothers and the Senegalese. All our talks included the odd ones: -Argentino Mafiosi -Shocked more often by the youngest of the Turks. Perhaps it was this shout that attracted the English, who abandoned another of his cheerful tourist sets, to sit at the table with us. He asked only once for mushrooms and our satisfaction response was as false as polite. It seems that the English like that.
No longer did the Englishman work as a tourist with us, nor did we try to run away from him. We watched him talk to the coffee shop Turks and we heard the Turks talk about him. The English had painted the subsoil room of the place. Now he earned some guildens putting together pockets for novice tourists. While arming indistinctly with marijuana or hash, he told us, more so as not to get bored than to inform: -The armed always carry more tobacco than they need. The Turks were too Turkish to nod and preferred to pay for our silence with a coffee - invitation.
The month in Amsterdam not only brought food allowances. That is, from breakfast to the first meal could spend twelve hours, or if you want, five kinds of marijuana with its different rituals. A month in Amsterdam brought more doubts to the people around us than to us. The first three times they see you, you are a tourist. On the fifth, you are one who hung up. At the seventh, you are farting. If you meet the dozen times they see you: Attention. Two Argentines who live in a hotelucho, smoke, have breakfast, play pool, ride a bike and seem very happy, it is equal to: they brought a kilo of merchandise. That was the scheme of thought of the Turks of the coffee shop and of all the small dealers of the illegal Amsterdam who stopped near Lavalle.
-Okay! If they brought a kilo, they can bring another one for me, the lesser Turk thought, adding a good business!
We did not look surprised. We did not face terror. We didn't put any faces. We only think of the shout: Argentino mafiosi, and our silence earned extra respect. We moved a week with that respect while we continued our normal life, which for burns of the Turks and Senegalese, included a terrible desire to take pictures of everything. The development in Amsterdam was not expensive and the result, great. We revealed and showed them the photos of other points of the Eurotour 2000. Objective: to gain their trust. Result: a camera was taken from us after a close-up of Senegalese. From the flash of rookie and successful unconscious traffickers, we become pro cops. Without saying anything, we crossed to the hotel and returned with our instruments: a small guitar with built-in speaker, a cane saxophone, two mini-amplifiers and a programmable battery. We started playing for coffee shop customers. We didn't gain confidence, but the bewilderment returned the camera. The English enjoyed all this. He looked at us, looked at the Turks and froze his Sherlock Holmes. He played with us and introduced us to his friends with whom we never had a wave without him present.
One morning of water with gas and cannabis relaxation, he sat at our table. He put his most English gentleman and offered to do a job with him.
-There is this bank, you know? -it started.