Rotterdam Drunk at the Pico Bar - 8/2/1999

It was during the latter days of the Persian Gulf War. I was sailing as 3^rd Mate on the Cape Alexander, a general cargo ship hauling ammunition for the war effort. We had stopped in Rotterdam for a few days for repairs before heading back to the States. I went ashore one night and found a local watering hole called the Pico Bar. The proprietress, as well as the patrons, spoke English, were very friendly and the juke box was stocked with vintage American Rock 'n Roll. It really felt like home after spending so much time in hot , oppressive and hostile Saudi Arabia. I had a wonderful time and went back to the ship without incident. The next night however, was a different story.

The following afternoon I decided to go back and I asked the 2^nd Mate if he wanted to go along. "Naw", he replied, "I don't have any cash at all". "Not to worry", I said, "the drinks are on me". That was all the persuasion he required. We called a taxi and off we went, back to the Pico Bar. We had a great time. Played darts, listened to good music and shot the shit with the locals. I don't know exactly how many pints of European strength Heineken I had that evening but the number 10 stands out for some reason. I also recall being treated to numerous shots of something the Dutch call Rocket Fuel. That was mistake number two. Later, one of the locals asked me if I wanted to go outside and smoke a bowl of Hashish. I had stopped "getting high" many years prior but at the time my judgment was beyond impaired it seemed like the right thing to do. So we went outside into the cold night air and smoked a bowl of tobacco/hashish mixture.

We then went back into the bar. The second I sat down on the barstool I got a horrible case of the spins and knew I was in trouble. From that moment on, my normal faculties were shutdown and I was operating on Autopilot. I immediately got up and lurched out the back door, my body instinctively looking for an appropriate place to puke. It seemed like I only had to walk a few short paces from the back door of the bar, when I found myself under a low hanging tree, my body on the ground with my face in the dirt. At that point, I had just enough wherewithal to push myself back 6 inches every time I heaved, to avoid getting my face and hair coated with vomit. I still had my pride and vanity! I puked until there was nothing left and then I dry-heaved for what seemed like an eternity. Far off in the distance, as if in a dream, I heard the sound of car doors being opened and closed, I heard people calling my name. To this day, I still don't know how they could not have seen me laying there. I really was, just a few paces from the back door. There must be a patron saint and protector of drunks. Maybe we really do become invisible if we get drunk enough.

I learned later from my shipmate that he had become concerned and a bit embarrassed when I didn't return back inside the bar after lurching out the door. He waited as long as he could, but then had to go back to the ship to stand his watch at midnight. He didn't have cab fare of course, and he didn't have any money to pay for the sizable tab we had run up either. He convinced the proprietress that foul play must be involved and that I might have come to a bad end. The noises I had heard were the sounds of the police, my shipmate and some other patrons scouring the alley for my corpse.

The police were concerned enough to bring the 2^nd Mate back to the ship instead of to jail.

When I could finally stand up, it was 4 hours later. I looked at my watch. It was 2:00am and I was freezing. I brushed myself off and staggered around to the front of the bar, contemplating my next move. I was suddenly startled from my feelings of dread and confusion by shouts from the barmaid. Her figure seemed almost angelic as she beckoned me into the warmth of the bar. Fortunately, she and the police were still inside the bar completing their incident report. What could I say? I simply told them the truth, offered my profoundest apology, paid the bill and gave a generous tip for the trouble I had caused. The police listened to my story with great skepticism but in the end were kind enough to give me a ride back to the ship. I had the "hangover from hell" for the next 3 days. Nowadays, I drink only in moderation.

This is a true story. JP