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Vice Blog

Amsterdam - Tourist Drugs

So Amsterdam is the so-called drugs capital of Europe. You can get weed in the 1637,987 coffeeshops that litter the city, there are well-organized delivery services for all kinds of stuff and if you think you might have a bad batch on your hands you can have it tested for purity. No questions asked. The consensus is that if you choose to imbibe, you should be informed and you should have access to drugs that are safe. But all of this doesn't mean that there's no product out there that hasn't been cut with pulverized plastic, hazardous chemicals, detergent or other drugs you didn't pay for. Last year we had a scare with poisoned coke, which had two people killed, a few hospitalized and countless others shitting themselves because all of a sudden nothing was sacred anymore. And then there's the bottom of the barrel: The street dealers. You know their shit is bad. Locals don't go to them, stupid tourists do. And you might be surprised at how many of those still give these freaks patronage. We set out on what should be a simple task: to get an ecstasy-pill and some speed from one of these freaks and find out how bad exactly really bad is…

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The neighbourhood around Dam Square is one of the places where you can find street dealers. Many locals actually avoid this part of town. Hardly a word of Dutch is spoken here. We find our first guy on Varkenssluis bridge, right on the edge of the Red Light District. All street dealers have that obvious, unwashed look, so I flat-out approach him for some ecstasy. He tells me to follow him, shouting something in Surinamese to some other guys who want my action. They back off and we walk into the Red Light Zone. Turns out he's not a dealer, but a runner. "They would've given you bad shit.," he tells me. I try not to laugh. As we continue to walk he hits up few other guys to see if they have any 'ixie'. None of them do. All of it happens out loud, like he's asking for napkins or something. He tells me he used to sell a lot, until he got tired of getting caught all the time. Apparently the police have gotten a good grip on the street drugs situation as of late. Our friend's name is Renny and before we part he tells me to which parts of town I should go. "Around here and in the Warmoesstraat you can get coke and ecstasy. Most of it is heavily cut and sold by addicts, hustlers and guys who are out to rob you. There are also undercover cops out here. The Zeedijk-area is where you'll find the harder stuff. That's where the hardcore sellers and long-time addicts hang out. I want to help you out but I can't stay much longer. Just before you came I had ripped a guy off who wanted some cooked crack. He might still be looking for me." What a sweetheart.

OK, so we're twenty minutes into our odyssey and still no ecstasy or speed to be found. Amsterdam is slipping, yo. I head back to where I parked my bike to meet up with photographer Ben who's been trailing me and Renny like a fucking ninja. On my way there I see this tall, weathered Jamaican and I can't resist the urge to hit him up. Once again he tells me to follow him. We walk all the way back to Dam Square where two Nigerians are sitting leisurely on a bench. Their transaction is so fast that I don't see it actually happen. As I walk towards them cluelessly one of them hisses at me to follow the Jamaican dude. On the same spot where Renny and I parted ways he offers me 3 pills for 20 euro. I tell him I only need one and actually ask him if he's got change for a twenty. We walk to a tiny food store where I break my 20 buying a candy bar and give him 10, right outside the shop. He gives me the pill and I'm off to meet Ben.

Now for the speed. We go to Zeedijk and see some really fucked up zombie looking guys hanging around near a canal. The one I approach actually a bit shy. "It's kinda hard, none of the boys are around today. Lots of cops. Wait a sec." He sends out a particularly sick-looking Indian guy to go get the dealer. Ten minutes later an Antillean shows up and I have to go with him to another guy, who's standing further down the road with his girlfriend. She's a fidgety white girl with scabs all over and a puss bag on her upper-lip. He's even more wired, even though he looks like he actually took a shower today. He wants to sell me a gram for 50 euros. I only have 9. Angrily he passes me on to the Antillean, who in turn gets even more pissed off, but still takes the money and gives me a tiny bundle. I head back to meet Ben, who couldn't manage to take a picture of what happened. We head back to the office tired, having spent one hour and a half and 20 euros on one ecstasy pill, a tiny bit of speed and a Bounty. The kind folks at the Jellinek Institute will test the drugs and as soon as the results are in we'll get back to you.

ARIEN RASMIJN