Amsterdam or Bust

Gotta miss the 70's

Landing in a freezing cold Luxemburg wearing t-shirts wasn’t what you could call the smartest move ever, but that’s what we did.

Being just 19 y/old globetrotters, we didn’t think of preparations of any kind. We just went with the flow. The flow was easy back to where we came from, Barbados. Everything was laid back and smooth sailing.

It wasn’t on purpose, but all we had were T-shirts because we didn’t need anything else, clothing-wise.

We were living day by day, selling our wares to the German and Canadian tourists, more than enough to pay for our room and board (hefty breakfast) and have enough left over for beers come sunset time.

It was almost perfect living, nothing was missing and we even had hippie girlfriends who loved us probably because they were getting free cute jewelry.

Hard to tell, but likely.

Either that or we were just irresistible Latino hippies without a care in the world. But that’d be even harder to tell.

All that, however, surely must have been attractive to some European girls who were looking for the same thing we did, fun in the sun and lots and lots of excellent music by the local reggae bands.

We were all originally from Italy but raised in Argentina, like millions of other kids those days, including in the US.

We were friends since we could remember, and the friendship was a strong one. There was love and trust between us and we could depend that we’d have each other’s back anytime or anywhere.

The three real-life amigos.

We were traveling together since we met again in Rio and decided to hand-make beautiful silver-plated wire jewelry for sale and head up north to discover new lands and horizons.

We got more than we bargained for.

It’s true the artisanal work we did was rather impressive, and the customers were ecstatic; they could pick the color and even the style. Longer, shorter, double-lined, etc.

Raphael, the oldest, being 19 and a half, was also the smartest of the three. Hugo was always competing with me about who came up with the second-best ideas. Always, and I mean anyways, Raphael was the determining factor and the final judge.

So, our nominated genius, Rafa, as we called him, figured we must use colorful tiny beads for our necklaces, bracelets, or earrings since they formed a brilliant contrast with the silver wire.

He wasn’t wrong. They were so pretty, we had trouble parting with them in the beginning.

The tourists couldn’t have enough of them and we started to take orders; we couldn’t keep up.

Our hands began to look like beginner guitar players with so many calluses, not to mention the metal scratches.

We needed help. Badly.

Any ideas? I think all three of us looked at the girls at the same time.

They were loving enough to cut us a break and glad to do it too.

We thought of them as sweet angels of mercy. Because that’s what they were.

So, we did the “dangerous” labor, while they cut the silver-plated wire and placed the beads (that had a hole in the middle) into each string.

That was our Barbados experience. That was the easy part in comparison to what was to come.

When we finally managed to make enough money for 3 plane tickets — one way — to Luxemburg, all we could think of was getting there. No one, even for a second, thought there could be “complications”. Why should there be?

We weren’t thinking logically, obviously.

We forgot about the winter clothes for Europe (we should have waited), the visas, or traveler's checks, or a return ticket. The last one was a biggie.

Unless you’re a citizen of that country or hold a European passport.

Yep, that was a big problem when we arrived at our destination. We were drunk with excitement — plus the free liquor on board — that we thought cheerfully: “Amsterdam, here we come!”

Not so fast, said the Inspector Clouseau look-alike with a mustache almost reaching from ear to ear. We were stopped at Customs.

“You can’t come into this country” “Unless you can produce the proper documentation, you’ll have to go back.”

He was serious enough, surrounded now by many immigration officials that couldn’t believe the spectacle that was happening right before their eyes.

They were astonished looking at these three freezing hippies in t-shirts, shorts, and sandals, with the longest hair covering their faces. One with a beard (Rafa), no money, and no tickets back.

They should have laughed, but they were too dumbfounded even to do that.

We really might’ve been THE spectacle now that I reimagine the situation and a sorry sight to see.

So, they put us in a cell with our belongings, the backpacks.

We put on every t-shirt we could find and doubled down on the jeans as well.

By the time we were done, we must have looked like extraterrestrials. Skinny hippies and here we are, looking like we were 275 pounds.

After a couple of hours, the cops were really having a good time with us. They spoke German so we had no idea what was so funny, but then again, one look at us and we started laughing too.

“You boys going to the beach?” One of them started.

Another one said, “You hippies wear bathing suits or you do everything naked?”

That resonated well with his colleagues and they all started laughing.

“Hey, you took the wrong plane, boys,” “You wanted to go to Hollywood” “Make a sequel to the three stooges” “Hahahaha!” “A-hahahahaha”, the others mimicked his loud laughter.

At one point they must’ve felt bad, so they gave us hot chocolate. That was the best we ever tasted. We were getting warmer and we were happier, so we laughed with them.

After a while, Inspector Clouseau brought us to the main office.

“As a courtesy to your embassy, we’ll make an exception in this case and will not deport you,” “But you must leave Luxemburg within one hour!” “One hour, gentleman, or you will go to jail”

“Best to try to hitch a ride on a car or truck”

“Good luck!”

And just like that, he threw our hippie asses to the curb.

Hugo said they didn’t want to spend the money to deport us anywhere. He was probably right.

Still, we needed to get out of Dodge fast, because jail wasn’t a way to spend our first night in Europe.

It was already starting to get dark, so we headed to a gas station trying to catch a ride on a truck or something. Most said they weren’t going near the border, much less to Amsterdam.

Then, a nice driver who spoke English pointed to a billboard that said “Drivers needed to bring our rented cars back to their original destinations”.

“Visit Europe on us!” said the sign with a smiling face.

Photo by Nastya Dulhiier on Unsplash

It was a godsend as Rafa had an international license barely still valid, but hey, it’ll work.

The nice driver was cool enough to give us a ride to the agency and after filling up some quick paperwork, they gave us the only vehicle available for a trip to Holland.

A VW van to bring back to, yes! Amsterdam.

A dream couldn’t have been better.

We had money that they gave us for gas; we had money that we saved for the trip; we had a ride to the place we heard so much about, and we were free as a bird to get there.

The wind was picking up and its whistling traveling through the medieval city gave us shivers and red ears and noses.

But none of that mattered when that van’s engine started revving.

Rafa was dying to drive by the station to flip the bird at the cops, but we persuaded him that wasn’t such a great idea.

He didn’t insist.

We locked and loaded, and we hit the road without a map; such was our way.

The mapless hippies are on the move again.