Amsterdam

I always find flying a particularly nerve-wracking experience. I'm not afraid of flying especially, but its the palaver that precedes the actual take-off that sets me on edge. Catching a train is a rather brainless task in comparison, whereas with a plane there is a very real point of no return and I find myself constantly checking I have what I need again and again. Everything is so regimented and just catching the next one isn't really an option if you happen to forget anything. The build up is for so many hours that all there is to do is worry about what can possibly go wrong, when all you really want to do is switch off. Luckily I managed to catch my flight, I didn't forget anything (as far as I know) and now I'm sat in a bar on a cracking summer's night in Amsterdam.

The flight was super quick - just over 45 minutes - and the attendants reached me at the back of the plane with the beverage trolley just before the pilot put out the '10 minutes to land' call. Obviously I had beer, cos its not often you get a free beer, but I had to neck it pretty sharpish.

The train from the airport runs straight into Amsterdam's central station, and I found my hostel a 5 minute walk down the road. I got talking to an Irish couple, Justin and Anna, who were sharing my room and they invited me along for a little evening wander through the centre of town. First we went to a coffeeshop where Justin and Anna smoked something green and pungent while I had a cup of tea - and the sad thing is, I'm not even lying. After that we had a little walk through the red light district, which is quite possibly the most intimidating place I have ever been in my life, and I'm including Brixton on a Saturday night in that. It's both fascinating and baffling how brazen it all is, with window after red-lit window displaying semi-clad women beckoning you inside as if its the most normal thing in the world. I decided to make as little eye contact with them as possible

It suddenly occurred to me that Justin and Anna didn't know anything about me apart from that I was a guy visiting this place all by himself. I suddenly started to profess my innocence to being some kind of weird sex tourist, especially as I realised I'd also told them the story of when I was on the Reeperbahn in Hamburg and had mentioned I was visiting Cologne next, which Anna helpfully informed me has the biggest brothel in Europe. If they weren't convinced that I was a sex tourist before my enthusiastic, overzealous protests, they certainly were after.