In fact, it’s pretty simple—more fun and less louche than I imagined. Here are some do’s and one don’t:

Look for this sign.

• Do just walk in. They’re not private clubs, they’re not secretive, and you don’t need to know a secret handshake or anything. Ordering is as easy as stepping up to the counter, consulting a menu, and placing your order. In my experience, English was always spoken. Prices are reasonable, and all the pot and hash my companion and I smoked was superb—the hash, especially, was very strong. Per the Internet, Amsterdam marijuana is supposed to be way stronger than the stuff we Americans smoke, but I didn’t find this to be the case. It’s very good, but not remarkably better than the best stuff available here. I was not able to distinguish one strain from another, and at least one local suggested that the menus are a bit deceptive. But my lovely companion was able to distinguish each from each, so your mileage may vary.

• Do buy something. It doesn’t have to be pot; this is the most important thing I can pass on to you. Most shops sell a gram as a minimum amount (though they’ll often sell a half gram if you ask) and that’s probably more than you want to smoke at one sitting. So if you buy a gram every time you stop in, you’ll end up with a lot of excess weed at the end of your trip and you’ll be tempted to bring it back with you. Fortunately, most coffeeshops don’t care if you smoke weed that you bring in yourself. They’ll even provide smoking materials if you ask—more on this below. But don’t be a dick and just use the place without recognizing that they are a business; buy something. A lighter makes for a good souvenir. I can recommend the hot chocolate, which is usually made with steamed milk and Nestle’s Quik and is delicious. Coffee, fruit juices, candy bars, and other munchies are also available. Sadly, you can’t get any of Amsterdam’s delicious beer at the same place you get Amsterdam’s strong, tasty marijuana—the licenses are kept separate. Humanity will be truly civilized when this does become possible.

Do ask for a bong

• Do ask for a bong. Most of the residents smoke their dope in the form of large, cone-shaped joints, and that’s why you’re handed a packet of small, stiff pieces of cardboard along with your weed purchase; they’re rolled up and used as filters/mouthpieces at the end of the large joints so you don’t need a roach clip. Watching a local roll a four-inch doobie is a treat but frankly I found them a little intimidating. Instead, my companion and I learned to ask for one of the loaner bongs, which are kept behind the counter (once we were asked for a passport to be held as a deposit, but we were never charged). One will be produced, cleaned, and filled with fresh water. The best bongs had large chambers that held ice. One inhalation fills the ice-filled chamber with thick water-cooled smoke, and a second inhalation pulls that large amount of super-chill smoke deep into your grateful lungs. It’s marvelous.

• Do say hello to others, if it seems appropriate. Apply the same discretion you’d apply in your favorite bar; some people and groups will be doing just fine without the addition of your wonderful tourist self, but others are happy to chat and you’ll meet cool people. We once spent an hour or so chatting with an Egyptian belly dance instructor—conversations like that are the best reason to travel.

I was so baked when this was taken.

• Don’t smoke in the street. It’s illegal, uncommon, and it’s rude. Unlike San Francisco, where I often smell pot in the street, I never once smelled it in Amsterdam. Respect their ways.

Finally, should you smoke pot in Amsterdam? Well, I recommend it. As mentioned above, it’s a great city to be stoned in—there’s a reason it’s pot-friendly. As described above, it’s easy and fun. Also, even if you haven’t smoked marijuana since high school, you’re likely to enjoy the relaxed, non-paranoid atmosphere. And, do you really want to visit Amsterdam and not try the coffeehouses?

A great place to smoke pot.

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Whitewater at the Top of the World: Craig Childs presents the story of the first ever passage of Tibet’s Salween River

Craig Childs is an extreme traveler, NPR commentator, winner of the Galen Rowell Art of Adventure Award, and author of House of Rain: Tracking a Vanished Civilization Across the American Southwest and The Animal Dialogues: Uncommon Encounters in the Wild. In September 2007, Childs joined a 16-person expedition for the first ever descent of the upper Salween River in Tibet. At the time, the Salween was one of the world’s longest, highest, and most remote unexplored rivers, and it promised world class whitewater. After many months of preparation and travel, the expedition arrived in Tibet during record rainfalls, and the Salween was dangerously flooded. Since the river is remote and winds through unknown canyons, embarking was an irrevocable decision to face unknown perils. Childs, a famously compelling speaker, tells the thrilling tale of the Salween expedition with breathtaking images and exclusive video footage.

Fans of Into Thin Air, Touching the Void, and other tales of first-person adventure will want to meet the man of whom the New York Times says, “Childs’s feats of asceticism are nothing if not awe inspiring: he’s a modern-day desert father.”

Thursday, October 15th, 7:00 p.m. at KoKo Cocktails, 1060 Geary Street (at Van Ness), San Francisco

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Think of yourself as a meteorite, zooming through space. Except that from your point of view, you’re not zooming at all; you’re hanging, motionless, with only other meteorites for companions, not even drifting, just endlessly static in a field of stars far denser and more brilliant than atmosphere-bound humans ever experience. Peaceful. Except that every few years, or centuries, or millennia, some damn planet comes crashing through, annihilating you and some hundreds of your brethren.

Meteorite impacts are hard on Earth, to be sure, what with the craters and all… but they’re disastrous for the meteorites.

I know a bar
on Geary Street
where sins confessed
are washed away.

And I confess
that in my youth
I went there, sometimes,
every day.

For the weight
of one day’s sin
was more than I could bear,
so off I’d go
to Geary Street
to find forgiveness there.

Oh how I miss
those days of youth
when I thought I
could be washed clean.
Now my trips to Geary Street
are few and far between.

But a wicked life is slow to pass
so here I am again,
to lift a glass with you
my friends,
and be washed clean again.

And of all the places to confess
right here, my friends, is surely best.

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