My roommate and I decided we would visit our exchange student friend who went to our college, but lived in Spain. We were pretty arrogant in those days and decided to fly in the face of convention and rent an RV to travel to these various venues instead of taking the train. This could have been our biggest mistake as we didn't even get out of Spain to the first show in Trento, Italy, and Rome the next night before we got stopped by customs at the border of Spain and France. 

The French didn't like us very much, but their German Sheppard's sure did. Just to keep with the sheer irony of my entire summer, we missed the first show because we were in jail for hash/e possession. D'OH!!! Oh yeah, that just happened to be on July 4, US independence day! They took our van and our hopes for a good tour, or so we thought. I have to say that French jails have to be better than any here in the US, as I had my own cell and they served me French bread and cheese. 

We went to court, begged forgiveness, and after answering a bunch of fool questions, going to court, and paying a hefty fine, they finally let us go. They even gave us our camper back. Thank god for our trilingual Spanish friend or we really would have be fucked. We still had time to catch the show outside Florence in an ancient commune city that had to be thousands of years old. 

The festival featured Bob Dylan in addition to Santana and Phish playing a piazza the size of your local college quad. This show was incredible, with Trey speaking in Italian to the crowd about his Italian heritage. 2001-Reba to open the set. How many 2001 openers can you name? We met some friends that we would see on the rest of the tour. 

Ok, for the benefit of expediency I'm going to skip the Paris show and London (incredible!!!!) to get right to the meat of the story, our arrival in the holy land, and I ain't talking about Israel. After a car wreck and totally destroying the engine on our RV (separate incidents), we finally arrived in Amsterdam in our newest rental car for what we thought would be a couple of days in paradise with Phish. It turned into a 10 day binge, we just couldn't leave.

Amsterdam had to be the toughest ticket I've seen for any show I've ever attended, except maybe the Oysterhead show in New Orleans. The Melkeg held about 500 people, and if you didn't order your tickets on the continent of Europe, you didn't get tickets. Once again our Spanish friend came to the rescue. We only had will-call, and there was no guarantee we would get our tickets until we got to the gate. The line-up started a good five hours before the gates even opened. We had to get our supplies together as well. 

We had 3 indicas, some Thai and some Moroccan hash (water-based), and some Nepalese hash (oil based)... I think we were prepared for the STONING of a lifetime. This was only the second show of the tour that Phish wasn't playing one set, so expectations were high (no pun intended). As it turned out, Phish would play three sets and didn't not end until 3:30 am. That record would stand until Big Cypress. 

I have never seen a collection of stoned individuals as I experienced on that evening. Keeping with the theme of the evening, even Trey was getting into the act as he took a giant joint from a fan in the front row...  There's something you don't see everyday.  Everyone was just wasted. 

The crowd was too fucked up to dance. The only people even moving to the music were obviously tripping. The band didn't finish a song all night. You look at the set list and you're like, oh my god Mikes into Antelope, are you kidding? They couldn't remember what song they were playing. 

Fishman missed the intro cue to Split so horribly, and they almost stopped playing just to laugh at themselves. They played 3 sets, it was so hot in the balcony that my Spanish friend had to leave after the second set and get some air. I was standing right behind Karoda who was sweating something fierce. It was an incredible experience, but the topper and my favorite part of the story has to be the next day. 

We stumbled back to our hotel about 5 am, and for some reason we all woke up at 9am ready for coffee and bong-hits to rid us of the hang-over. So it's 10 am and we are walking down the street, and who do I see walking by but Trey himself--Still wearing the same blue sleeve-less shirt he was wearing the night before (those of you who know, know this is the shirt he wears when he is ready to rage... see Halloween '95 etc.), clutching a glass of what appeared to be orange juice, with is hair going in every direction. 

Ah Amersterdam! Maybe the US will wisen up. Maybe Someday.