Guest Post: Don’t Eat the Spacecakes in Amsterdam

Today’s guest post comes from my Harlow travel partner, Ange. When I studied in Harlow in 2007, I travelled with a group of 30. Two of those girls, Ange and Amy, became my partners in crime, because most of the group was lame as hell. The townsfolk literally told us we were the quietest group in the history of the town. These ladies were my stronghold, my crux. I loved them both for being totally laid-back, open and fun. Here, Ange describes what happened to her and Amy when we separated during that fateful day of The Spacecake.

I was in Amsterdam with Candice. She wrote about her classy ass adventure at the Anne Frank Museum. Oh, that Candice sure knows how to scare children. I miss that crazy bitch.

This is the story of what happened to me at the exact time Candice was puking all over Anne’s bedroom.

Let’s start at the beginning. I had been warned about the Space Cakes beforehand, but I brushed off all the warnings. When it comes to pot, I’m no amateur. I had never eaten it (well there was this one time on an airplane, but that’s a whole other story), but I assumed the effects would be similar to inhaling it.

We were two days into our adventure. Beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Aside from all the sexy hookers I also noticed a humongous abundance of queers. Big, small, bear, twink. It was too hot for leather or plaid but my gaydar has been finely tuning itself since I was 16. We were in homo heaven. Our walking tour guide informed us that it was Pride weekend. (I would also like to say that I’m 100% sure I saw Elton John the day before, but my friends totally didn’t believe me. I guess I was high as a kite, but if I’m gonna hallucinate anyone, why the fuck would it be some aging Mary?).

This information may have been disturbing to some people. Well, those people are lame. A city full of gay people doubled my chances of getting laid, and everyone knows gay men know how to party the best. These guys had the canals. WATER PARADE!!!11!!

The parade itself is again, a whole other story for a whole other time. Suffice to say the floats had a re-occurring theme (what’s long and shaped like a boat?). We managed to exit the festivities without incident, and we all felt we deserved a nice big muffin-shaped reward. And yes, the fact that none of us accidentally yelled out something like “I LOVE DYKES TOO!!!” was worth a reward. If you’ve met my friend Amy, you would understand and be proud.

Space cakes can be obtained at any of the pot shops in town. They are just chocolate muffins, and it certainly didn’t taste like I was munching on a wad of pot. We all split one. And nothing happened. I was obviously way too cool for the muffin cake to have any affect on me.

The one thing the cake managed to do was arouse my hunger. We were so busy having a gay old time at the pride parade, we had neglected to have lunch. Candice and two of the other girls decided to go to the Anne Frank Museum while Amy and I went in search of a proper restaurant. I had seen the line up at the museum earlier and was not about to wait for that shit. Also, and perhaps most importantly (Candice, this would have done you good), I did not want to be high as a freaking kite in a museum dedicated to some poor child who spent a good long time hiding out in an attic before she was murdered by Nazis. Talk about a buzz kill.

We were downtown, tons of shops and restaurants. Easy pickings, right? I have no idea how this happened, but Amy and I managed to find ourselves in the only part of town without any restaurants or shops. In fact, the only thing this part of town had going for it was crime and poverty. While it was classier than St. John’s any day, I began to get worried. Twenty minutes went by, and we walked and walked.

I should have realized something was fucked up.

We came upon a pizza joint. Joint is an understatement; it was the most expensive pizza place I have ever visited. I don’t even really like pizza, but Amy and I had somehow wandered into the outskirts of Amsterdam and my legs were getting tired. We took a seat on the front veranda. The waiter came and handed us our menus.

I began to study my menu as if it there was going to be a test on pizzas the next day. Each pie had a list of pros and cons, it was a difficult decision. I looked up to find Amy staring at me quizzically, brow furrowed.

I tried to ask her what she was getting, but my voice would not cooperate with my head. I could see she was having the same problem getting her words out. I looked back down at the menu and up at her again. She looked stunned.

We burst into laughter.

“Dude, I’m so fucked up!”

“Oh my god I know!”

We continued to laugh until the waiter came back and while he tried to take our orders. We continued to laugh while he became more and more agitated at our inability to communicate anything other than giggles.

When the pizza arrived, the laughter died suddenly. How was I supposed to eat this? The task, which at any other time would be basic and second nature, was quite daunting. All the muscles involved with grabbing a slice and directing it towards my mouth, the other muscles required to then chew it. Not to mention the precise motor skills needed to not drop it all over myself.

My growing apprehension began a battle with my hunger. I was really hungry, but here we were in a fancy restaurant. I didn’t want to look like a pig.

I sighed and picked up a fork and knife. Amy looked like she was in the same head space.

I’m really good at pothead poker face. I can be totally fucked up on the inside and no one would be the wiser. Amy did not have such luck. I watched her as she attempted to eat, her face twisted in horror. She was freaking out.

“Angela,” She leaned in towards me, speaking softly.

“What?” I asked, leaning in, my voice a whisper.

“We have to get out of here. We need to go back to the hostel.”

“Okay. Just finish your food. Then we will try to find the hostel.”

Her eyes widened at the prospect of having to find the hostel. So did mine. I had no idea where the fuck we were, and Amy is a smart girl, but also rather ditzy. And in our current state I could see this would be much more challenging than trying to eat fancy pizza. The energy that had fueled my laughter was fading and being replaced by an urge to lie down. I just needed to lie down.

Huge gay dance party

Huge gay dance party

Miraculously, we found our hostel in what felt like ten million years but was really only an hour. The rooms were on the fifth and fourth floors, with no elevator. The boys were on the fourth and the girls were on the fifth. The stairs were steep. By the time we reached the top, Amy and I were beat.

Sadly, Amy and I were in different rooms. Hers had maybe only 20 people, mine had at least 45. All I remember about my room was that it was dark and hot. The drapes were down for those who wanted to sleep.

Amy decided she needed a nap. My body rebelled against my mind and agreed with her. Since I wasn’t in her room I had to go to my own, all by myself (and 44 other Europeans).

I forgot to mention the part where, right outside of our fucking hostel the gays were setting up a stage for a huge gay dance party. My favorite. Just a couple of hours of sleep, I told myself, and I would be dancing up a gay storm. Right outside our hostel.

I was awoken by Candice and our fellow travellers sometime later. It was dark and I could hear the gay dance party through the open window. I could barely move my extremities but I managed to roll out of my top bunk without seriously injuring myself or anyone else.

We went out to the street. There was a stage set up at the end of the lane. I cannot emphasize what a huge GAY DANCE PARTY it was.

But I could not dance, and it broke my heart. I excused myself and returned to the hot dark room where I could hear everyone enjoying the big gay soiree.

I found it difficult to go back to sleep. My body was numb, but my mind was alert. The room was much noisier at night than it had been in the afternoon. People were returning from various big gay dance parties all over Amsterdam. Normally I would have just listened to music until I drifted to sleep. Sadly, however, my discman (and no it wasn’t 1999, I just felt a fondness for it) had run out of batteries.

It was about 3 am when two loud chicks rolled on in. Most of the girls had at least attempted to be quiet, but these broads just didn’t care. I was on the top bunk facing the window so I could not see who had just arrived. But I could hear them. German. Ugh. Spanish may have lulled me to sleep, but German, in my opinion, is one of the nastiest languages ever created. I’m not saying English is any better.

These two girls decided that 3 in the morning in a room full of strangers is the best time to have a heart to heart. It turns out that German whispering is even less attractive than everyday German. My ears were cringing, and I was singing really loudly in my head, but to no avail.

Miraculously, the whispering stopped. I was just in the middle of thanking Jesus for putting an end to my misery when I heard Something Else.

No. It couldn’t be….it was a smacking sound. Maybe they were eating. There was some moaning. Maybe it was really, really yummy? There was German grunting.

The two German chicks were totally banging. Despite my inability to comprehend what they were saying, there are some things which transcend language completely. “Harder” and “faster” come to mind.

I was mortified. I’m pretty sure the whole co-ed dorm style of this hostel was to prevent these sort of shenanigans from happening. Despite my crude outer shell, I’m really something of a prude when it comes to sex. Also, it didn’t sound very sexy.

I heard all of it, I can still hear it today. To try to help overcome the nasty audio I pictured two smoking hot chicks. It helped a little until I finally passed out.

Breakfast the next morning, I told Amy and Candice what happened. They found it hilarious, and we all decided to play a Find the Lesbians game.

Then I saw them. They sat next to us, matching crew cuts and plaid shirts, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings in German. I nearly died.

And the moral of this story is: Don’t eat the space cakes or you’ll miss out on a fabulous gay dance party and instead be an unwilling voyeur to unsexy German lesbian banging.

Note: I actually hurled in the public bathroom…that makes things a little better, right?

Oh, Ange. She has a wealth of stories to tell, just ask her about the fireworks and fingers incident. For the record, I never made it out of bed either, and I can’t believe I didn’t even catch a glimpse of the big gay dance party. Instead, I snored so loudly through my Spacecake-induced coma that I disturbed the entire dorm. True story.

  • http://www.spunkygirlmonologues.com SpunkyGirl

    Oh.my.god. This is hilarious! I have to agree with the German observation. In my experience, they’re usually the ones making massive amounts of noise at night. In my case if was radios and a threesome in a dorm room of only 6 people. haha

  • http://travelingmonkeys.blogspot.com Deanna

    I’m going to admit to being the total dork that I am and say that I just broke out into a slow clap for this story. Well done, ladies…or is that well-baked?

  • http://globetrooper.com Globetrooper Todd

    Freakin hilarious! Now everyone’s looking at me weirdly for laughing at my laptop.

  • http://alittleadrift.com Shannon OD

    Wow. Just wow. I am joining Deanna for the slow clap.

  • maggie

    bahaha. This story made my day! :D

  • http://travelerahoy.wordpress.com Alouise

    Holy hell that was the funniest thing I read all day. I never tried the Spacecakes in Amsterdam, I guess it was probably for the best. I can’t believe this was the result of splitting one.

  • http://yourcookiejar.blogspot.com nashe

    OMGLOL! You got the moral of the story right! Now I feel like teleporting to Amsterdam…

    PS; captcha code is “s WTF”

  • http://www.travel-writers-exchange.com Trisha Miller

    Great story, great moral…….but I’m a little confused as to exactly how being in the midst of a huge gay festival actually doubles your chances of getting laid? Don’t get me wrong, I love a huge gay festival as much as anyone, because you’re right – gay men really know how to throw a fabulous party and have great taste in music and fashion, but if I want to double my chances of getting laid, I would think I’d have better luck down in the Mediterranean, where pretty much all the guys will screw anything that even closely resembles a female.

  • Angela

    I like boys. And I like girls. As it was pride week the city was full of other girls who like girls. Thus, my chances at getting laid, which honestly were pretty high anyways as most guys will stick it anywhere, were higher than normal.

    I’m glad you enjoyed the story. :)

  • http://mehorsecrazy123.livejournal.com grace b

    Ahhhhh this is insane! What FABULOUS travel story.

    And thanks you just brought back many nights of trying to fall asleep while my two German speaking roommates (one was Romanian) talked and talked and then invited their friends around and it was just German all the time.

    By far the WORST was when they were Skyping their German boyfriends at the same time. The only thing worse that whispered German is MUSHY, GAA-GAA IN LOVE German. Yuck.

    Now where can I read Candice’s day of shame? Lol.

  • http://www.thelunaticltd.com Rich Cook

    Awesome! Great description. I’m impressed any of you remembered enough of the adventure to write such a great post.

    I’ll be stopping over in Amsterdam on May 5. Gotta see if I can top your adventure …

  • http://www.HeidiTown.com Heidi

    hehe. Great pot. I mean post.

  • http://nancythegnomette.com Nancy

    Frickin’ hilarious post. Can’t always have your spacecake and eat it too…

  • http://maiden-voyage-travel.com Emily

    This post was a riot…I don’t often laugh out loud when reading something, but it happened. I haven’t been to Amsterdam yet, and this just furthers the stereotype of it in my head….haha!

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    WHAT! Hahahahaha. Wow. People are ballsy.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahaha, I was seriously afraid to post this entry. Well-baked indeed!

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahahaha, I’m glad you enjoy your misfortunes!

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahahaha, I feel like bowing.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    I’d just like to point out I had NO idea about this huge gay dance party until I read Ange’s post. Sad.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    I think I was in worse shape than Ange…and I’m officially going to hell.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahaha, amazing Captcha. DON’T EAT THE CAKES.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Reeeeally? Meditteranean? Time to book next vacation..

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahahahaha, I really need to listen to more German. I think it’s hilarious.

    And that one’s coming! I alluded to it briefly, but now I need the more in-depth version. Ange and I have drastically different takes.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    No no! You will miss all gay dance parties! NO FUN.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Bahahaha, good one!

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    I haven’t touched anything with THC since, for real.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahaha, I know right?! Next time I plan to explore in a more…respectable fashion.

  • http://www.theflyingporkknuckle.blogspot.com Noah Pelletier

    I often debate the hostel/hotel issue. spend less, spend more. liberate some sanity, spend an extra few bucks on drugs. Hmm. But that’s really it, isn’t it. Hostels are smack with human contact you can’t get anywhere else.

  • http://whatsdavedoing.com Dave

    Well, now that I’ve stopped laughing my ass off and had time to comtemplate, I realise that I’ve learned two valuable things from this post.

    1. I will never eat the spacecakes in Amsterdam. The joints the size of my head were bad enough.

    2. I must, must, MUST meet Candice and Ange before I die. If only because there’s a good chance that that day will, in fact, *be* the day that I die.

  • http://ibackpackcanada.com Corbin

    Ah spacecakes… I have yet to make it to Amsterdam, but I had a very similar experience with them in Nimbin, aka Amsterdam of Australia, only instead of vomiting in a historical place and getting lost, I got laid. Not nearly as cool of a story, but just as fun. lol

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Totally, even if I could afford hotels, I think I’d mostly stick to the hostels.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahahaha, good lessons! Don’t worry, our debauchery now only involves alcohol, which I’m sure we can all handle a little better. ;)

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Totally did not get laid, I was in no condition to even talk! Hahaha. Good job.

  • http://whatsdavedoing.com Dave

    Hehe – yeah I must admit that my drug of choice these days is only alcohol too. Totally kills me the next day, of course, but somewhat more socially acceptable than sitting in the corner drooling on myself and talking to the space aliens.

    See you at the bar!

  • http://global-gal.com Heather GG

    While I’ve never eaten the spacecakes in Amsterdam, I did make the mistake of eating an equivalent baked good, this one with M&Ms, in TO. And they were so tasty and I was so hungry at the time that I ate a portion meant for 2 people. That whole night played out entirely in strange, Fellini-esque slow-motion. This post brought back many hilarious memories. Thanks for sharing.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Oh my god, I am so glad I never tried one of those, because I would have eaten 3. Whoever decided to put pot in a delicious dessert deserves a beating.

  • http://girlandcity.com SassyGirl

    This is actually a really good warning for me because I don’t smoke pot, and I’m afraid that if I have too much of it (or any of it?) in Amsterdam, I definitely WILL become incomprehensible and immobile. The thought of being immobilized while people have sex in the same room as me sounds frightening enough for me to think twice before having a space cake.

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Yeah, NOT a good idea if you’re a novice! Although really the other desserts we tried were nothing like that experience. Not sure why that one killed us so badly.

  • http://theresa.undiscoveredcountry.co.za Theresa

    this post is HIGHLARIOUS.
    i spent 2 months working in amsterdam hostel last year and people were always missing their planes, having shroomy freak outs on the kitchen floor and generally being ridiculous. i was very responsible my entire time there :)
    sad about the gay dance party… so much better to be the one having the sex than listening to the sex! ahhhh hostel life :)
    yay for this blog!

  • http://www.candicedoestheworld.com Candice

    Hahaha, thanks! I can’t imagine the scenes you witnessed as a hostel worker, damn. You could dedicate a whole blog to it.

  • http://heylady-blog.blogspot.com/ Hey Lady!

    OH! That s the funniest thing I have read all week! I can relate to the German lesbians banging. When I was in high school I went to a “party” at a hotel with a group of Swedish exchange students. And right after everyone went to sleep some giant overweight woman walks into the light coming in from the window and climbs on top of one of the Swedish dudes. We I hear grunting and moaning along with that telltale slapping noise. I shut my eyes, but sadly could not shut my ears! I feel for your poor friend Ange. It’s traumatizing to be an unwilling “peeping tom”.

  • Angela

    hahaha. This post cracked me up. By the sound of it the space cakes would kill me so thanks for the warning.