I was hung over In the am, by mid-day we strolled out the doors heading for the tram station, stopping at the store for water.The tram we took was supposedly going to get us pretty close to this place I read up on online named Venkel, the reviews said that they made wonderful, locally sourced salads, so I was keen to try it. Although I had picked the right train number, It was going in the opposite direction, and so, before realizing this, we came to the end of the line on the other end of the city. Zane was apt to point out my failing, especially since I had been poring through my map and the transit system grid lines the whole time without once being able to definitively tell us where we were, or where we were going.The large, red hair dyed Italian conductress was not the least bit enthusiastic about her job. As she sat there behind tempered shatterproof glass, absentmindedly handing out the tickets customers requested, she was filing her already ridiculously sharp fake nails, which were much the same color as her dyed hair. When I asked her how to get to where we had intended to go she told us to go back to Bos en lomnerweg. I tried to clarify further and her response was that of unbridled annoyance, "You didn't understand me?! You go back!" She snapped, and that concluded our foray into the conductresses world. Once we figured out where to go, from a much more approachable conductress, they all seem to be women on the trams in Amsterdam, we got off on the outskirts of city center and walked to Venkel. We got the first two items on the menu and were very pleased with our choices. The establishment was run by a woman, and she had two young ladies helping her out. It was peaceful, clean, and very nourishing. Once recharged, we set off into the heart of the city, yet again walking every avenue that drew us in, looking for a Coffee Shop that would suit us. Which in our case meant quite, clean and in possession of a bong. For those of you who think this is an easy list to satisfy, think again, we went into several places and none of them had a bong, were all packed and loud as hell. Eventually though we ended up on the same street we took the night of our arrival in Amsterdam. There was a neat place there that had upstairs and downstairs seating, with a central floor area for eating food they made behind a small kitchen and a place for buying the strains you wanted from the desk in front. It was quite, in that there was no music blasting over us, so we could hear each other, and they had a wall of perfectly clean bongs. Before I knew this for a fact and before we even ordered anything I went in back to ask if they had one, as I had in the other establishments that met the other two requirements, being clean and quiet, and the lady disappeared, came back with a bong, still with a carb, filled it with ice, to cool down the smoke for a more enjoyable experience, and handed it to me. Zane saw this and ordered a gram of something, while I went upstairs and found us a spot at a long dark table placed to the left of a wall surrounded by comfy padded seating build into the wall. We smoked there until we were both twisted, leaving in a haze and coming out somehow worse for wear into the busy streets of Amsterdam. I say worse for wear because somehow Zane's foot was in a lot of pain and my stomach was cramping tight like my fists were during my Sapo (frog poison immunity) experiences in Peru. It was as if I was having a panic attack, in truth I think I was... Marijuana does this to me sometimes, especially when my tolerance is low and Im in unfamiliar circumstances. Within a minutes of really painful cramps I finally got my breathing right and they vanished, just like that. Zane wasn't so lucky, his problem was getting worse. Not wanting to drag him around for a place to eat that suited my diet, which he has insisted on, I chose a place with nice decor and a warm atmosphere nearby. We both had the coconut tomato soup and I ordered veggie spring rolls with a greek salad. We took the bus home and decided on a game of pool in the lobby before bed. Zane was sweeping the floor with me until he missed the 3rd to last ball, then I sunk 5 in a row and missed the 6th. He sunk his next shot but missed the next and I finished with the 8 ball corner pocket shot. Another fun day in the this wild city.