Amsterdam via the Twilight Zone

I dreamt that I’d landed in Amsterdam and somehow fallen down a rabbit hole of sorts, into a squalid, soot covered, Dickensian ghetto teeming with tatterdemalion souls all looking for a bit of food or fight – either would do just dandy.

But hey, this was Amsterdam so there were canals and tall, happy fairy tale-ish homes. The place was filthy, bedraggled and dangerous but QUAINT. Also too, I was on vaca – adventure time!

Somehow I found myself amongst a crew of young-ish folk – in my dreams I’m never the old crone you see before you, so I fit in just fine. They were sprawled about a crowded square – clearly, the street was their home. The group's leader and I were having some grand convo (so, come here often?) when he was called up to battle. He entered the makeshift arena and smoothly metamorphosed into a giant, six foot tall praying mantis.

Huh, interesting. Kinda cool but, gosh, wasn’t sure I was still up for knockin’ boots with him. He was more appealing as a brunette. Ya know?

I’d watched the fight with my back up against a broke-down canal house wall, rucksack at my side. After the fearsome bout, Mantis Boy came to sit with me and share a smoke. Clearly he was into continuing our flirtation but…well, he was still in insect form. Granted, he was a man sized one and he could talk but, but...Look, I'm openminded and game but I was still a bit squicked out. Wouldn't you be? What, what's that...No? Shut up!

Conveniently, he effortlessly, seamlessly transformed back into the attractive, Grunge King, dude I was keen on before the slugfest. Cool! I figured – Yeah, this’ll work a treat. Before we could move the dance of LURV any farther down the line, his mates announced a serious scrimmage that they had to go fight. Off they went.

Merde. Oh well, I could always get back to my real world Amsterdam vaca, right?

I found myself in Stationsplein by the main train terminal but, in DreamWorld, this was the site of an enormous pristine swimming pool. The water was crystal blue, all the swimmers (frolickers, really) were clad in scanty, gleaming white suits. There just could NOT be a greater contrast from the grimy, sordid slum I’d just left.

I needed to cross the pool in order to get over to the neighborhood where my B&B stood. I thought I’ve got to be filthy as all Hell after my visit to DickensVille. I’m so gonna piss people off when I muddy up their brilliant, cerulean water.

Oddly, I didn’t. There was no outcry of get that skank outta here! Nope. It was as though I was invisible. Before I got a chance to congratulate myself on clearing such a high hurdle, I realized that I no longer had my rucksack AND I forgot where my B&B was located. While I usually stay on the Prinsengracht near the Leidseplein, I sensed that things were different this time around.

Great. First things first – I had to get back across the pool, dive back into Squalid City and find my backpack. Oof!

How’d things turn out? Dunno, Coco chose that moment to announce her presence with authority. What’s this all mean? Beats me all to Hell and back. It was a wild and entertaining little nocturanl exploit though.