Let me tell you about Sundays in Europe. There are two scenarios, one practically everything is closed and two if there is anything open it would probably just be open from 11AM to 3PM. Ok, maybe I am exaggerating a little, but this was my experience in Switzerland. Fortunately we happened upon the second scenario but unfortunately the train was due in thirty minutes and the offices would be closed for another four hours or so. There really was only one option left.

My first stint at being a stow away was every bit as exciting as I thought it would be. Sans the hangover it would’ve been even more fantastic. I hid under a complementary blanket provided by the train service at the foot of my fellow travelers. Sandwiched in between their two backpacks I slept soundly from Germany to Holland. Once we reached Amsterdam’s main station I gladly stretched out like an overeager yoga student on the busy platform.

The weather was absolutely miserable that day, it was dark and the cold raindrops sobered us from our hazy arrival almost instantly. Shelter was the number one objective and given my previous history with hostels in Amsterdam (which involved being robbed amongst other things) I was reluctant to relive my experience. Fortunately for me neither were my companions. We decided on a hotel with two beds and a cot for $30 each, it was right across the Grasshopper café.

Marc had never been to a café before, a Dutch café that is, it was almost instantly decided then that we make our way over to the green glowing building. Needless to say the remainder of the evening was hazy at best but ended on a sobering note. I was enjoying what must have been one of the best mugs of hot chocolate I have ever had when right before me I watched an American tourist’s head meet his table with a resounding thud. His girlfriend, sitting right across from him begins to panic. I watch the entire scene unfold before me in what seemed to be a dramatic reenactment of a drug overdose that you are made to watch in high school with the hopes that it would scare you from attempting to imbibe illegal substances.

She starts to scream ‘Help, help, someone call an ambulance please hurry!’ One of the employees, a big man from the UK calmly walks over, tries to tell her to calm down but at the same time her boyfriend’s body begins to convulse, and it looked as if he were having an epileptic attack. The big British man, probably from a small town right across the channel and works in Amsterdam during the weekdays, looks to the bar tender and signals her over. She makes her way from the bar to the scene with the purest nonchalance, a look of unamused recognition crosses her face as she lay eyes on the convulsing body and steadily makes her way back to the bar to retrieve something.

At this point the convulsing man’s girlfriend is three profane words away from hysteria. You could tell that she was absolutely in shock at the calm way the employees of the Grasshopper were handling the situation. I, personally, was impressed at how they were behaving and could only wish that the flight crew on my flight to Manila a few years ago had acted in the same manner when one of the engines had unexpectedly shut down and the plane seemed to go into a thirty second free fall.

The waitress returned to the scene momentarily with a glass of clear fluid greeted with the utmost gratitude ‘Water? He doesn’t need [insert profanity here] water!! He needs an ambulance!’ The waitress said something, reassuring words I believe, I really couldn’t tell above the increasing volume of the American accent. Fed up the waitress throws her hands up and walks away replaced by the large British man who takes a hold of the convulsing American’s head into the crook of his arm and pours the clear fluid into the tourist’s mouth.

Short of an orchestra and opera voices, the scene before me was a masterpiece. In the foreground the American opens his eyes, looks up at his British knight and smiles, the Brit returns the gesture while in the background the hysteric girlfriend continues on and on. Warm sugar water makes everything better.

I shift my eyes over to my companions’ and Matt looks at me in absolute shock as if to say ‘What the hell have you gotten us into?’ and Marc turns to me, his very first experience in a café, eyes watering and in the sincerest and most innocent voice asks me.

‘Is that going to happen to me mate?’

We all made it out of Amsterdam in one piece, the Kiwi’s were off to San Sebastian and I was headed back to Zürich. After the experience at the café we went to a bar, played some pool, checked out the sites and did our best to immerse ourselves in the culture. I didn’t have the opportunity to run into the two Kiwis again but I am sure that whenever they think of Amsterdam they’ll think of the Grasshopper and all the fun we had getting there.