The denim dress of doped dreams

Greetings from The Netherlands! I’m writing this to you from a town called Hilversum, about 24km outside of Amsterdam, on my bed on Sunday morning with the sound of birdsong and church bells drifting in through the balcony doors on the breeze.

But in the interests of keeping it real, my life of travel this week has also included being rammed into the cheapest seat on an Easy Jet flight to Amsterdam, next to a decidedly dodgy dad and his pimply son, staying the night in a coffin-like room at the top of a six storey hotel with no lift and a death-defyingly narrow winding staircase, where I almost met an untimely end, falling to my doom and perishing beneath the weight of my suitcase.

Why was the dad decidedly dodgy, I hear you ask. Well, as I was practically sitting on his lap, I could see what he was watching on his phone for his in-flight entertainment which made it kind of obvious that he wasn’t visiting Amsterdam for the tulips and most probably for the Red Light district.

Anyway, I’m not sure if it was this slightly unsavoury and death-defying start, but I found Amsterdam a bit of a disappointment and a shock to the system when I arrived. It just felt so touristy and not at all how I remembered it.

The only time I’d been before was about twenty years ago, when I came for a weekend break with one of my American cousins, to visit a friend of mine who’d moved there, primarily for the legalised weed available in the ‘coffee shops’.

It felt quieter when we came - less over-run by stampeding Stag dos - and we had a lot of fun. So I’m going to tell you a little tale from that trip rather than this one, as it’s far more positive, and dare I say, even a tad motivational!

So without further ado, here is the tale of the Denim Dress of Doped Dreams…

Once my cousin and I had arrived in Amsterdam and checked into our hotel, we set off for the main square, to meet my friend who was busking there.

When he’d finished his set we had a little wander along the canal and around the cobbled streets before ending up in a coffee shop, where we partook in a selection of smokeables on the menu. When in Rome etc…

As the two guys chatted away I remember feeling really mellow and really happy to be there. And then, from out of nowhere, I thought how lovely it would be to own a denim dress.

I have no idea where this thought came from but as I pictured myself in a denim dress walking the streets of Amsterdam, the desire grew and grew, until it had morphed from a hazy dream into a hardened compulsion.

I. Had. To. Have. A. Denim. Dress.

I stood up suddenly and felt a bit of a head rush. But that didn’t stop me. Nothing was going to stop me. I had to find that dress.

‘Are you OK?’ my cousin asked, looking up at me.

‘Yes,’ I replied, in a tone of grim determination. ‘I have to go and buy a denim dress.’

I think it’s a measure of just how stoned my cousin and friend were that neither of them batted an eyelid at my announcement.

‘Cool, man,’ my friend replied and they carried on with their smoke.

So, off I set, along the cobbled streets, feeling slightly dazed and confused and yet somehow laser focused on my goal.

I found a clothes store, but no (denim) cigar.

So I tried another and another.

It was only when I was in the fourth store that I started to sober up a little and come to my senses. What the hell was I doing? Why did I want a denim dress? Why had I left the coffee shop?

But I’d started so I felt I had to finish and finally, hiding away on a rack in the back of a shop, I found a denim sundress.

I bought that dress with all the triumphant glee of an athlete winning gold and I somehow found my way back to the coffee shop.

‘I got it!’ I declared arriving back at the table.

The guys looked up at me, slightly confused, like they hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone - let alone on an epic quest around the clothes stores of the city.

‘Cool,’ they chorused before continuing with their chat and I sat down, slightly bewildered at their indifference.

It was only when I woke the next morning and saw the dress in its bag at the end of my bed that I realised the insanity of what I’d done.

It gave us all a real laugh over breakfast and I’ve kept that dress till this day - it even survived the cull when I gave most of my worldly goods away to go travelling! - because every time I look at it it reminds me of fun times and makes me giggle.

I only spent one night in Amsterdam this week, before moving on to Hilversum, where I’ll be for three weeks.

my Hilversum home for the next three weeks

Hilversum is how I remember Amsterdam from twenty years ago being. Peaceful, beautiful, a more authentically Dutch experience (and it’s a lot cheaper than Amsterdam, but only 20 minutes away by train, so I really recommend it).

Yesterday morning when I was making my breakfast I was listening to a podcast featuring Joe Dispensa and he was talking about how to create positive change in your life when you feel stuck in negativity.

‘Remember a time in your life when you achieved something great,’ he said. ‘Think about how you did it. You focused so hard on what you wanted to achieve, and how it would feel to achieve it, you made it almost impossible for you to fail.’

As I listened to his words I remembered my denim dress of dreams and started to laugh all over again.

Yes, I may have been under the influence of a certain ‘plant medicine’ but the principle was the same.

I wanted a denim dress so badly, I pictured how great it would feel to be wearing one as I paraded the streets of Amsterdam(!), I set out on my quest and I didn’t give up until I’d accomplished my mission. I made it almost impossible for me to fail.

I hope this tale has given you a chuckle, and that it inspires you in the pursuit of your own dreams - even if they’re not to own a denim sundress!

Until next week…

Siobhan