PART IV: Hostel
It had been a long 24 hours of little sleep, drink, and rugby. We thanked the Tour Gods to finally have arrived at the hostel, playfully known as the “cheapest, the best, the worst”. There was the dumping of bags and shot gunning of bunks, ‘AskDunney’ decided to take a gamble with his life and chose the bunk below prop ‘van Pudding’, whilst ‘van Diva’ decided that 4 hours of beauty sleep was necessary before hitting the town. We settled in for happy hour to watch a football match that apparently was very important. As someone who doesn’t watch a great deal of football, as I understand it after a long time the team with the red shirts got more footballs than the other team which in turn made people sad.

It was at the hostel that Schapen Neuter learnt that the Dutch were a tall people and that he would be required to stand on tip-toes if he wanted to use the urinal this weekend. The Heineken cup followed the football, a far more appropriate viewing for the team, the chanting was starting, and the booze was flowing. Happy hour ended and people felt it was about time that RRRFC left the hostel and unleashed themselves on the Dam. This night there wasn’t a specific plan as to where we should be and therefore 39 clubmen begun to wander the streets looking for booze, women, and anything else that took their fancy. The central square was where we arrived in force and most people bought the most expensive drink they had had in the weekend from the solitary waitress manning the tables.

Wisdom prevailed at this point to say that in order to get into anywhere in Amsterdam, we should probably split up and take the Dam from multiple lines of attack. Obviously it is difficult for me to report on what others got up to, but what I can say that most went in search of an appropriate bar/pub and into the night, in many different directions, yet somehow many found each other again in the Red Light District...

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PART V: Birds, Boats & Booze
The world was blurry and sunlight burned the eyes of many, collectively the group hit up the local Pancake House / Rib Place to eat food and exchange stories of the night before and curse the gods for the pain that beat within our skulls.

Now I must confess that this day I was forced to curl into a ball in my dorm and recover before the next nights festivities. I therefore pass the pen to P&Qs Officer Incassobureau to begin this next verse.

At this point most of the team embarked on a journey equal to anything Frodo Baggins faced to find that elusive prize…a boat for hire in Amsterdam.

The journey to Amsterdam’s central station (where the prize was reported to be) was a long affair, with the team spreading themselves out over a line stretching for hundreds of meters; Wildplassen headed the column with a never wavering belief in his prize. At around 20 minutes into this trek chimes of “are we there yet” and threats “if there is no boat you’ll be going in the canal” started to issue forth from the team. Wildplassen appeared immune to this and invigorated his search for the boat.

Eventually a tour stop was found which would provide a lovely tour of Amsterdam through the canal ways. Unfortunately their large boat was out of action (and apparently none or our team from Marine could fix it...) so two small ones (which could only hold 24 people…a fact important for later) were booked for a private leisurely cruise. We now had two hours to kill until cast off and clearly there was only one obvious option with which to kill this time…Sex Museum!

Words fail to describe the majesty of this place we visited. Save to say it was a collection of photos from days that only the Vets would remember, with the odd piece of ‘Art’ thrown in. A memorable highlight of this place was actually provided by a fellow team member. Seeing a collection of seats, an exclamation of “finally a chance to sit down” followed by Wildplassen sitting on one of these seats, only to be followed by him flying through the air in shock shouting all kinds of curses. It turns out the seemingly obvious seats in the S*x museum had an ulterior motive.

Eventually we made our way out of the museum (Wildplassen hobbled) to grab beer and laze in the large boat (kindly allowed by the tour providers) in glorious sunshine waiting for the boats to arrive. Another team learning curve was that 3 forwards cannot sit on one side of small 12 man boat as discovered by Incassobureau, van Ming and Princess jumping in as soon as they arrived. Eventually 23 members of the team were on their way with the remaining left on the dock…a sad affair indeed.

The boat tour was truly amazing. Some fantastic sites, with facts provided by the tour guides (facts such as all water in Amsterdam canals is fresh water and that 7,000 bikes a year are fished out of the canals) all provided by a travel company who knows how to let a rugby team have fun!!! Drinks were allowed on this moving vehicle (shocking I know). Clearly these drinks were soon going to Princess’s head who allowed the team on board to hear a secret never divulged before…his mating call! Soon the words “Coo-Eee” were being repeated all around Amsterdam and amazingly with a high success rate! Beautiful blonde headed Dutch girls were throwing there under-garments at Princess (although this may have just been advertising in the red light district).

Eventually the boats pulled into the port. A lot of empty beer cans were removed from the boats, and the tour members made their way back in high spirits to the hostel for the up and coming night...

Niet Grappig is back in charge now. Again Rolls-Royce gathered in the Hostel Bar for the pre-drinks warm-up, the agenda tonight was a Pub Crawl, but first was the matter of court. Court was looming and nothing says ‘punishment’ like witnessing Wildplassen discussing with the barman that he would like to purchase 80 pints and a selection of shots from the establishment. Sweat began to trickle down the faces of the guilty, as wide eyed they stared at pint after pint was placed on the table, asking themselves the same question...

“Is that one for me?”

Everyone had been notified that Court began at 1800 and 37 clubman were present, this was when we realised that we were missing two of our own. After some discussion we established that the Guilty were the inseparable pair ‘Salty’ & Waterboy, a small rescue squad of elites was set up in order to track the pair down and messages on all frequencies were sent out.

Court began after a short delay, and ‘Rechter En De Beul’ & Incassobureau opened the court by gathering around them the officers of the tour and gave them each a pint, then one by one asked the question whether they had performed their duties for the club. This was where the “Herd Instinct”1 kicked in and all were punished (and we’re not bitter at all). B-List was the last to finish with the poor guy taking sip after sip struggling to keep it down. Rechter En De Beul & Incassobureau then opened the court for members to bring small claims against their fellows. Yours truly stood up and raised the claim against Wildplassen, Kaak & B-List for their behaviour on the ferry, only to find that the Judge, Jury & Executioner deemed the offence worthy of High Court. Van Parling then stood to bring a case against Niet Grappig for the erroneous claim that he led them the wrong direction the previous night despite having lived in Holland for a number of years, sadly the innocent fall under the hammer as often as the guilty.

Then it came to High Court, Incassobureau brought before him the first offenders, evidence was whipped out from various sources relating to those who had broken one of the first rules of tour, that there was to be no sleeping until we reached Europe, Schapen Neuter, Laughing Cow, Kaak, Alistair Cook, Hoer & Wildplassen were all punished accordingly. After which, the “Ferry Three”, fell beneath the hammer and again we watched B-List struggle through his pint, and we were almost 1 Fredrich Nietzsche – Look it up, you ignoramus.

sympathetic. On a similar vein, Alistair Cook was again called by the court and answered for ‘The Incident’. The Officers of the Court it seemed had been shopping in the day and had acquired a number of items that were intended as additional punishment. An offence against Shuurdeur had occurred before tour and needed settling, it appeared that after recently joining the company that on his first day looking for a friend he had seen Princess and waved to him, but instead of greeting him in-kind, Princess ignored him. For this Princess took his punishment and every 15 minutes was told he must demonstrate his love for Shuurdeur by proposing with a wooden flower until the victim felt assuaged. Wildplassen was again brought to the front, but this time it was in relation to his tour management that he was be served a cold pint of justice, a story came to light that on the day we departed for Amsterdam the young man had received a call from 10 taxi drivers asking where he was as they were ready to take us from the stadium to the Hostel... a day earlier than needed...

It seemed that tonight was when the battle between the Numbers and the Letters was to come to its climactic conclusion. It was called that the Directors were to pick 7 of their finest warriors for the last battle, and it was to be a boat race. Now for those who have been keeping score, the Numbers were a little ahead and it was decided that since this race was to determine the whole contest that they would have two less pints to consume. The Giants of the Numbers lined up against the Titans of Letters (making them seem equal size), and then it began. Early in the game the teams went pint for pint, and all seemed lost for the Letters, however then the numbers reached Shuurdeur, and the Letters were back in the game. Once Shuurdeur finished his pint the teams were neck-and-neck, but sadly the victory went to the Numbers.

It was at this point that the prodigal sons appeared red eyed and dazed, but finally Salty & Waterboy had arrived. Rechter en de Beul & Incassobureau were present to deal out the punishment, it started with a pint each, and then someone suggested a game of spoons... Now when it comes to spoons, we happen to have a Spoons Champion in our team, van Diva stepped up to take on a new challenger to the belt. Credit to Waterboy, he put up a good fight but after round 15 or so, the bruise on the back of his noggin was likely to be permanent, and he may have chipped a tooth. The Spoons-Belt did not exchange hands.

Whilst the club waited before the start time of the Pub Crawl, it seemed that beer pong was on the agenda, a very long table was set up with Snorlax & Wildplassen setting up in competition. From this it was discovered that aim isn’t strong amongst some fellows, and we were forced to bring the tables closer, as we had a pub crawl to catch.

The pub crawl started and we donned the complimentary t-shirts and drank the complimentary drink. Inevitably we dominated the pub crawl, with about 50 guys there happened to be 9 ½ girls. On that note, this tour wasn’t just about rugby, lads, and booze, there was also romance, a (really) small love story between a team mate and a tiny tourist. Koning Bowser locked eyes with his pint-size Peach across the dance floor, and later that night gained the title of Dwarfslayer...

 Game Over indeed...

Clubmen were testing their strength in arm-wrestling (we finally witnessed the epic struggle between Usain Bulk and Chuck Norris) and other feats, stories were exchanged, and more songs sung.

In one bar we came across the Last Leg comedian Alex Brooker on a Stag, some of us made friends, Usain Bulk decided the best thing to do was call Brookers best mate from television Josh Widdicombe an arsehole, this made the mood a little tense...

In total for the pub crawl, there were 6 bars and a club apparently, but many of the lads enjoyed themselves like it was their last night in Amsterdam, and it sadly was.

PART V: There and Back Again
Too early. That is how I would describe the final morning in the hostel, 9am was the time the coach left to make the journey back to Derby, and with us all needing to wake up, shower, breakfast, check out, and walk to the Heineken museum it meant only about 3 or 4 hours sleep from the night before, it was a difficult endeavour. Snorlax and ‘Plaatjes’ were so rushed that I am informed they were forced to share a shower, now although as a rugby team this is common practice, the changing rooms facilities vary in size to what the Hostel provided, meaning they had their own version of R Kelly’s “Bump‘N’Grind”… The continental breakfast was had with many holding their heads in their hands, but all were accounted for and we greeted the same ‘lovely’ couple who had driven us only a few days before.

Many continued the sleep that had been denied and the bus remained largely quiet for the first couple of hours.

The only planned stop before Calais was an odd Belgian Chocolate Factory which appeared to be some wild tourist destination, with coaches galore and shelves upon shelves of chocolate. A very long line for the toilet and hot dog later we left and continued the journey.

On arriving in Calais the bus driver asked the question that we had all made sure our passports were in our hand luggage and subsequently mocked Usain Bulk, Schapen Neuter, AskDunney & Hoer for having to fetch them from the cargo hold. The daytime ferry was an interesting experience for some; bringing back memories of the previous journey and Kaak looked like he was having a Vietnam flashback. RRRFC managed to mark out some territory on the ferry and began to recollect on the events of the tour. Laughing Calf seemed dazed and kept repeating what had been said only 5 seconds before. Incassobuereau decided that the four who had forgotten their passports should only be allowed to communicate with the word ‘Veg’ until the ferry reached port.

Once the coach touched British soil, Kaak felt an incontrollable urge to abandon his team and escape to Kent. The British weather didn’t let us down in demonstrating some pathetic fallacy for the end of
the tour. We stopped before Derby for a bite to eat and Schapen Neuter was forced to complain to BK when they didn’t feel his burger deserved to have meat in it.

When the coach reached the final destination we exited and said our goodbyes. On behalf of the club, we wish the best for Prince, Snorlax & Mouse, whose time in Derby and the club has come to an end and they must now return to their respective Unis. But perhaps when they have finished their studies they might return to the fold or maybe a flying visit?
All there is left to say is a thank you to Wildplassen and the committee in general for organising a great tour, with so many stories only a few could be captured in the report, and a thank you to all the tourists for being such a source of material, sadly all good things must come to an end. But there is always next year...

And that’s all folks!
Niet Grappig
Tour Reporter

Rolls-Royce RFC

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