Alex Shaw, Author at Artspoon

My eyes opened briskly in the early morning dew, I could feel my legs shaking uncontrollably from the exposure of the night before, nothing a quick walk couldn’t cure. I hadn’t moved yet, I just lay under the tree we had claimed the night before, light shone through the breaks in the leafs above shooting a heavenly beam across the small stream in front of me, this early morning contrast highlighted the cracks running all the way up the bark of the tree, a whole landscape of canyons emerged from something often overlooked by beings who see themselves advanced and detached from a world that exists around them. Just for that moment I felt connected in a way I had never felt before, for that second every irrelevant small detail of my environment felt like the only important thing in the world.

Leon and Caius were still asleep next to me, there was no point waking them, any sleep they could get would be much needed so I decided to roll a cigarette and wait. As I took a deep breath and forced myself up, something felt wrong, my guitar wasn’t where I had left it, my heart sank to my stomach as a mild panic took over, I jumped to my feet gracefully waking Leon as I did. I remember cursing loudly which awoke Caius, both were now sat up looking at me confused and bewildered at what could possibly be going on.

From that moment I cursed that guitar and whomever may have it in their possession, I suppose in a way this was a valuable lesson; firstly I had learnt the importance of keeping my stuff close and if possible physically attached to myself at all times, secondly we had learnt that living in these conditions there was no personal space or safe haven. The one positive thing I could say about losing that guitar was I now had one less thing to carry and Caius still had his meaning we weren’t totally devoid of entertainment.

We spent the day within the town wondering the crammed streets, I remember spending the majority of the afternoon sat down by the canal that runs straight through the red light district, somehow we felt alien to the other tourists around us, we were inhabiting the same world yet at the same time we were seeing completely parallel elements of this. We walked out to the back of the central station to overlook the bay and all the ships coming in, this made me hungry to see what else was out there, this felt like chartered territory, we were here to seek the unknown, not just to trudge through the same tourist spots with the rest of the swarms hunting for the nearest bulldog coffee shop and a glimpse of the infamous and illusive alleys of windows and disorientating lights.

That night we tried to fall asleep under a railway bridge hoping for more cover from the elements, especially with the clouds beginning to tease us with water droplets that would eventually develop into a full rain storm. As we lined up under this desolate and uninviting spot for the night a police car pulled up, we decided it would be best to pretend we were already slumbering but the officers didn’t give us that option and began to honk at their horn repeatedly until they knew we were awake and we couldn’t pretend any more. They claimed ‘you cannot sleep here’, I smiled as politely as I could considering I hadn’t just been told to move from the only shelter within walking distance, when asked where we could sleep, the officer blankly replied ‘not here’, as he got back in his car and waited for us to depart. We ended up outside some swanky looking building called the Nemo building, a natural wind tunnel which seemed popular with a couple of local junkies.

Amsterdam is a beautiful city teaming with life and adventure, but when you are roaming the fringes of this it soon becomes an overwhelming predicament, the kind of place that leaves you on edge at 4 in the morning deprived of sleep wondering if the gang sitting within touching distance are going to make a move and give you trouble or if the police are about to pull up and try and move you on. (This happened twice in one night) The police did not like our presence there at all; we were told this was partially down to the image the city is trying to upkeep. After several running’s with the police and local miscreants it felt like the right time to get moving again, we were striving at this point for somewhere tranquil.

Until next time.

Alex Shaw

There is a sense of excitement in the air; I am sitting in a café flaring with colour from the thick layers of tags and graffiti protruding from every crack and crevasse. I am accompanied by two close friends; each of us occupies a worn and beaten armchair. We were all contemplating the adventure that potentially lay ahead. If I’m honest, at the time, we had no idea what we were searching for on this journey, all we knew was that it needed to happen.

Leon, Caius and I (Alex) had begun our journey a day earlier at Victoria coach station.   We endured a 14 or so hour journey on a bus, with what I can only describe as a sewage malfunction and several strong contenders for world’s most irritating children.  We had arrived in the narrow and secretive streets of Amsterdam. After a short wonder through the first row of maze like streets, following from the Central Station, we found ourselves within the Hill Street Blues, an Amsterdam coffee shop paying homage to the graffiti scene with names written on the wall from pilgrims, travellers and graffiti writers alike from all over the world.

A thick mist filled the stale air, the odd psychedelic flow of smoke rolled out into the room from the copious amount of joints lit around the cramped hovel of a space. Three large hiking bags lay around us strewn with bungee cords, rope and crudely held together. Looking back, I’m amazed that we ever made it a mile down the road without something going wrong.

 On my bag I had attached a battered or ‘well loved’, Dean acoustic guitar I had picked up in a charity shop before we had left London. The frets had rusted, with cracks appearing like a strike of lightning through the varnish on the body and neck.  Caius had also got his hands on an old guitar from a family friend. I was really happy about this, I don’t know what I would have done without music on this trip, I can honestly waste hours tinkering on a guitar.

I sat in the far corner of the room, with my back to the wall, next to the only window, all in all a pretty good spot.  Before long we had begun to speak to a couple of guys sat next to us in similar battered old armchairs.  We soon found out the three were ‘Dam’, veterans from Dublin, with a taste for good hash and foreign beer.  They seemed like outgoing guys who shared their knowledge of ‘coffee shops’, to visit whilst we were in town.

Although we never swapped names, our new friends were helpful in pointing us in the direction of the only affordable accommodation on our chosen budget… a beautiful local park (Vondel Park). I suppose , in a country where it’s perfectly legal to eat a box full of hallucinogenic mushrooms, it’s a good idea to have incredible parks full of strange little hills and exotic flowers surrounded by crooked and twisted giants of trees that loomed over the entire scene.

Whilst attempting to float in the general direction of the park we had picked up a small group of German students who were determined to enter their first trip experience surrounded by the sounds of guitar music, so they joined us for a time. A bluesy guitar riff echoed into the warped landscape with the screeched pitch of a harp ringing in the sunset. Eventually the group decided that their journey must continue into the night and they left us seeking the strange happenings Amsterdam had to offer.

We headed down to a small stream running through the park.  Next to it, an ancient looking tree towered into the sky; we decided this was as good a place as any.  I sat with my back up against the tree between two roots which had twisted and contorted themselves from the ground and rolled a final joint for the evening before unwrapping my blanket, placing my guitar under my feet and trying desperately to fall asleep in the chilling wind in the night sky.  Not long after getting settled I ended up having to take a walk to warm up. My nose led me across the park until I came across a barbeque filled with cooked chicken. After a couple of minutes waiting, taking advantage of the heat from the dregs of the coal and still no sign of another person in sight – I couldn’t resist the temptation and took a piece, I only took the one and whoever cooked it was actually a really good cook, if you are reading this, thank you and sorry, I was hungry.  After my midnight snack I retreated back to the tree in a final attempt to fall asleep for the night.

Who knows what tomorrow is going to bring.

Until next time

Alex Shaw