I’m from California, but I don’t smoke marijuana—dope, grass, mary-jane, pot, ganja—whatever you choose to call it. So, when I hauled my tired body out of bed at 3:30 a.m. to catch a 7:45 flight from SFO to Amsterdam, it wasn’t for the drugs. I was thinking canals, not cannabis; Anne Frank, Van Gogh, and Rijksmuseum, not reefers.