Amsterdam is a drizzling tourists playground for the the stoners, red light rollers, sexaddicts and shoppers.

I took shelter in the Rembrandthuis where i watched them grind and make the pigments on Rembrandts old marble grinder. i made friends with the bloke that was working in the stillactive etching studio with its old wooden press and hand made inks. I stumbled out and found myself walking alleys with the redgleam of the girls on sale, your grocers wife, your collegue, your friends sister. Tragic faces.

I woke the next morning in the squeeky hostel bed, delirious and in the flush of fever, after a restless night. After garlic and codral i hit the Van Gogh museum, which was, in my delirious state, vibrant, warm and soulful for my depleated senses. This last destination in amsterdam was a big pointilist cherryblossom ontop.