Domesticated again?
Yes, I believe it's true... I went back to the man to take my decree... looks like i'm signed up for a new degree... what wonderful times I live in... all this run around to prove to everybody who I am...
The problem is far far more simple than this... I knew who I was before going head first into the machine... slowly,but surely, I am loosing touch with the 'ME'...
I don't know why I write the way I do... I am currently reading 'Candide' and everything is so happy.... so optimistic...
who could ever hang a sign on you?
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
The Time of the Age....
I came home during a difficult time... things have slowed down... the heavy chatter, the loud pulsating scene of sauntering summer days and nights have completely disappeared.... the sparkle has vanished...
There is no Christmas spirit here, not this year. My street, like many others, is bare... There are no lights, no trees, no revolution taking this city by storm... The voices are dull and distracted, where did they go? Who muted the obnoxious bunch of idiots who ran this town down before I left? Don't get me wrong, the morals and tendencies are still around, but I can barely hear them singing in the streets.
My friends, they seem shattered by the Christmas chill. An abnormal winter weather front has blown snow across my fair island. This is abnormal, even prior to the official start of winter... YOU CAME EARLY THIS YEAR... and they say we'll have a WHITE CHRISTMAS... what a Christmas miracle, but what about the thorn in our side? The wondrous light at the end of the tunnel guides us towards an uncertain devastation; and impoverished future or monotonous prosperity, where we know no pain or suffer no great deal.... sounds bad, yes, but interesting non-the-less....
don't you want to live a hard life? don't you want to feel accomplished when you reach 70.... tell your grand children about what it was like back during the turn of the century.... remember when we lived one day at a time... feasting on hope and sleeping under covers of confusion.... ? laying our heads down on the firm belief that tomorrow we will be alive... or would we truly be living right there and then, at that moment we realize just what life is, or should be?
Oh, God, I want to live.... I seem to be doing nothing but stumbling around looking for something to happen.... I had devoted a portion of my life to history...studying tales from years ago... I want to live through one of those stories... I want to be one of the characters in that chapter in life... and now here we are, seconds away from a collapse... the fall, a decent down to a level of needs...
ALIVE, I say...
I want to feel alive....
There is no Christmas spirit here, not this year. My street, like many others, is bare... There are no lights, no trees, no revolution taking this city by storm... The voices are dull and distracted, where did they go? Who muted the obnoxious bunch of idiots who ran this town down before I left? Don't get me wrong, the morals and tendencies are still around, but I can barely hear them singing in the streets.
My friends, they seem shattered by the Christmas chill. An abnormal winter weather front has blown snow across my fair island. This is abnormal, even prior to the official start of winter... YOU CAME EARLY THIS YEAR... and they say we'll have a WHITE CHRISTMAS... what a Christmas miracle, but what about the thorn in our side? The wondrous light at the end of the tunnel guides us towards an uncertain devastation; and impoverished future or monotonous prosperity, where we know no pain or suffer no great deal.... sounds bad, yes, but interesting non-the-less....
don't you want to live a hard life? don't you want to feel accomplished when you reach 70.... tell your grand children about what it was like back during the turn of the century.... remember when we lived one day at a time... feasting on hope and sleeping under covers of confusion.... ? laying our heads down on the firm belief that tomorrow we will be alive... or would we truly be living right there and then, at that moment we realize just what life is, or should be?
Oh, God, I want to live.... I seem to be doing nothing but stumbling around looking for something to happen.... I had devoted a portion of my life to history...studying tales from years ago... I want to live through one of those stories... I want to be one of the characters in that chapter in life... and now here we are, seconds away from a collapse... the fall, a decent down to a level of needs...
ALIVE, I say...
I want to feel alive....
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
London Gatwick (Reprise)
I am here at the air port..killing time... actually not killing time... me and time have been on good terms the past four months...no... I am just hanging out with time once again.... waiting for my final departure from the old world....
I am glad to close this book... but i already have the itch... it wont sit still.... North America calls... Alaska, Toronto, Montreal, New York City.... Mexico... I cannot sit still... I don't even have the money but I want to hit that road....
I'll wait out the winter... raise the funds and then kick it down south..i know a few people down there... Maybe i'll have a friend on the road....
Look at me... writing this... I have not even got home... I am sittin in an airport, hanging with time... I love my life...
Adios for now....
I am glad to close this book... but i already have the itch... it wont sit still.... North America calls... Alaska, Toronto, Montreal, New York City.... Mexico... I cannot sit still... I don't even have the money but I want to hit that road....
I'll wait out the winter... raise the funds and then kick it down south..i know a few people down there... Maybe i'll have a friend on the road....
Look at me... writing this... I have not even got home... I am sittin in an airport, hanging with time... I love my life...
Adios for now....
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Revitalized
I am not too sure if it is Spain or the fact that I am going home in a matter of weeks...
Or maybe it is the revolutionary feel of Christmas rising within my spirits...
I never imagined Spain to be a cold country... Sadly, I have been proved wrong... but it is fitting... We are a matter of a couple weeks away from Christmas time... The holiday cheer, the Eggnog, family and friends... I cannot wait to see little Owens´face light up with Christmas cheer as he takes his first sip of assorted spirits...
There are Christmas markets all across the grand Spanish squares... Christmas trees have been erected all along the avenues... Even modernist designed trees class against Neo-classical, even Gothic urban landscapes...
And this is only Spain...
I cannot fathom what Paris and London should look like....
There may even be SNOW!!!!
My friend is so envious about the idea of European snow... it is from a different ilk than North American snow.... When we think of European snow, Aushwitz comes to mind, Siberia pops into our heads... Paris and Prague covered in a white blanket...
Vancouver snow is just this.... Horrible drivers observing the aftermath of a simple fenderbender because Joe Chan was put to the ultimate drivers test....
hahahaha... ¨I´ll be home for Christmas¨ as the song goes...
Or maybe it is the revolutionary feel of Christmas rising within my spirits...
I never imagined Spain to be a cold country... Sadly, I have been proved wrong... but it is fitting... We are a matter of a couple weeks away from Christmas time... The holiday cheer, the Eggnog, family and friends... I cannot wait to see little Owens´face light up with Christmas cheer as he takes his first sip of assorted spirits...
There are Christmas markets all across the grand Spanish squares... Christmas trees have been erected all along the avenues... Even modernist designed trees class against Neo-classical, even Gothic urban landscapes...
And this is only Spain...
I cannot fathom what Paris and London should look like....
There may even be SNOW!!!!
My friend is so envious about the idea of European snow... it is from a different ilk than North American snow.... When we think of European snow, Aushwitz comes to mind, Siberia pops into our heads... Paris and Prague covered in a white blanket...
Vancouver snow is just this.... Horrible drivers observing the aftermath of a simple fenderbender because Joe Chan was put to the ultimate drivers test....
hahahaha... ¨I´ll be home for Christmas¨ as the song goes...
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Dear Mr. Hemmingway...
I am in Madrid, writing you a letter that should explain a lot about the 21st century....
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Italia...Roma... Napoli....
I am too jaded... nothing really interests me any more...
I am like captain Barbossa, from Pirates of the Carribean, unable to taste the fruits of life...
Rome was bold, but the greatest thing i saw was Quantum of Solice...
Naples is loud... no one needs to honk their horn that much... and all the cars are scraped and dented... lay off the coffee pizano...
Spain is only a day away...
I am like captain Barbossa, from Pirates of the Carribean, unable to taste the fruits of life...
Rome was bold, but the greatest thing i saw was Quantum of Solice...
Naples is loud... no one needs to honk their horn that much... and all the cars are scraped and dented... lay off the coffee pizano...
Spain is only a day away...
Friday, November 14, 2008
Storm Watch: 2008 or "Venice: The little city that should't be"
Venice... It was good, but in a bad way....
I am here, sitting in a hostel in Florence, dead to the world. My eyes burn with that cool tired sensation. I know if i were to close my little pupils I would probably drift off for 12 hours.
Yesterday was a test of strength and spirit.
To say the least, Venice nearly flooded. And there I was sightseeing like a good little tourist.
Let me put you in the picture, let me show you what I mean... St. Mark's Square was empty. St. Mark's Square was under 6 inches of water, curtiousy of the Grand Canal and the Adriatic Sea.... I was even made a 30 second video of this said phenomenon.
Venice is a city that should not be. It is illogical and not practical. But it's faults are equally matched by antiquity. It is a precious little city, stuck in the middle of a lagoon. It is no wonder that the city was under water for most of November 13th, 2008. Heaps and heaps of rain drove down on shoddy side streets. Lightning flashed every 2 minutes. I actually felt like my life could be in danger. This lightning has to touch down somewhere or on someone. The thunderclaps kept calling my name! I'm sure my number would have been drawn if I were like everyone else with an umbrella....
Along the sea wall there were waves waiting to pull me out to become lost in the lagoon. Boats tore by and waves crashed against buildings. The tide was acceptionally high, due to the full moon...
Folks, we are talking about the perfect storm....
As you can tell, I am still alive. But my camera nearly died... The LCD screen is a little warped and a 50 Euro Note got dyed blue (no one would accept the money until earlier today at the Bologna train station)....
So here I am... Florence, dead tired, thinking about Pisa, pizza, Rome, and home....
I am here, sitting in a hostel in Florence, dead to the world. My eyes burn with that cool tired sensation. I know if i were to close my little pupils I would probably drift off for 12 hours.
Yesterday was a test of strength and spirit.
To say the least, Venice nearly flooded. And there I was sightseeing like a good little tourist.
Let me put you in the picture, let me show you what I mean... St. Mark's Square was empty. St. Mark's Square was under 6 inches of water, curtiousy of the Grand Canal and the Adriatic Sea.... I was even made a 30 second video of this said phenomenon.
Venice is a city that should not be. It is illogical and not practical. But it's faults are equally matched by antiquity. It is a precious little city, stuck in the middle of a lagoon. It is no wonder that the city was under water for most of November 13th, 2008. Heaps and heaps of rain drove down on shoddy side streets. Lightning flashed every 2 minutes. I actually felt like my life could be in danger. This lightning has to touch down somewhere or on someone. The thunderclaps kept calling my name! I'm sure my number would have been drawn if I were like everyone else with an umbrella....
Along the sea wall there were waves waiting to pull me out to become lost in the lagoon. Boats tore by and waves crashed against buildings. The tide was acceptionally high, due to the full moon...
Folks, we are talking about the perfect storm....
As you can tell, I am still alive. But my camera nearly died... The LCD screen is a little warped and a 50 Euro Note got dyed blue (no one would accept the money until earlier today at the Bologna train station)....
So here I am... Florence, dead tired, thinking about Pisa, pizza, Rome, and home....
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
When in Venice....
Ditch the map... kickin it in the river, like in the Blair Witch Project...
Buy a bottle of "Euro wine" (slang for wine costing only a couple Euros)...
and walk....
I have stumbled upon some great places... including an internet cafe that has taken a lot of money from me....
and I am longing to pee... hopefully in that little canal out back of this shoppe...
Adios for now....
Buy a bottle of "Euro wine" (slang for wine costing only a couple Euros)...
and walk....
I have stumbled upon some great places... including an internet cafe that has taken a lot of money from me....
and I am longing to pee... hopefully in that little canal out back of this shoppe...
Adios for now....
Monday, November 3, 2008
Serbian Department of Peace
Interesting thing about Belgrade and the rest of Serbia: everyone is a cop.
And if they are not a cop then they are looking like cops.
The citadel is pretty amazing. It is free, and free for the general public. They have tanks and bombs, and armored vehicles all around the old fortress. Kids can play on old American Sherman tanks or even on a wonderful Panzerkampfawagen.
I feel like I did not have enough time to see the city. I chose to do all of my museum seeing on the Monday, which is the wrong day to do this, because everything is closed. I really wanted to see the Nicola Tesla museum as well as Tito's grave.
But tomorrow I go to Zagreb to pick up some Eurorail tickets. I don't know what to do in Zagreb. Hopefully I'll be out of there by Thursday.
And if they are not a cop then they are looking like cops.
The citadel is pretty amazing. It is free, and free for the general public. They have tanks and bombs, and armored vehicles all around the old fortress. Kids can play on old American Sherman tanks or even on a wonderful Panzerkampfawagen.
I feel like I did not have enough time to see the city. I chose to do all of my museum seeing on the Monday, which is the wrong day to do this, because everything is closed. I really wanted to see the Nicola Tesla museum as well as Tito's grave.
But tomorrow I go to Zagreb to pick up some Eurorail tickets. I don't know what to do in Zagreb. Hopefully I'll be out of there by Thursday.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Am I Low? I don't think so....
I can't tell any more. Things are drifting away again.
Here I am in another hostel, loaded with people, but none of them click. Am I just not participating or are they leaving me out? No, "leaving me out" does not seem like the right thing to say.
Am I being overlooked?
What happened to the old days? Is this what "off season" is all about?
The occastional backpacker in a heard of spring break heathenistic college kids?
Hell, I finished school before I took up the travel(And at this rate I'll take up the drink before they finish their second year.) I don't know how these kids get the funds to make their way across this chaotic continent. Their parents are either loaded, or the kids sell drugs.
Athens had a room full of noisy college girls. They acted like a pack of pre-teen girls in highschool. Their laughing kept most of the travellers up until 1AM.
My nerves are constantly getting dulled with restrain. My mind is getting tired. This tour is almost over, I can feel it. I can see London off in the horizon. The civility. The calm of millions of torrent minds suffering across kilometers of madness. I want to feel the insanity that I felt almost 3 months ago. But this time it will be different.
This time I will be a different person. I know what I can achieve on my own.
I still don't know who I am but I know what I can be.
Who I am will come later on in life. That's more of an India type thing.
Europe develops potential. It tests your communication skills with the fellow backpacker. It tests your patience on idle trains heading nowhere. It tests your ability to spend what you need and take what you can find. It tests the physical and emotional feilds of humanity.
My spirit is still empty. My soul continually gets crushed, each and everyday. It seems as though my soul is a million miles away, back somewhere more familiar.
Maybe my friends sense it. Maybe they know how much I need them right now. Maybe they don't. No one reads this anyways. It's as good as dead. As hollow as my spirit this time around.
Tonight, it occured to me that I am lonely. I am missing a counterpart or a female companion in life. I have not had an actual, relationship wise, girl friend for over 5 years. To put it simply; "It's was the best of times and it was the worst of times".
Depression? I don't think so.
"Loneliness is such a drag....."
Here I am in another hostel, loaded with people, but none of them click. Am I just not participating or are they leaving me out? No, "leaving me out" does not seem like the right thing to say.
Am I being overlooked?
What happened to the old days? Is this what "off season" is all about?
The occastional backpacker in a heard of spring break heathenistic college kids?
Hell, I finished school before I took up the travel(And at this rate I'll take up the drink before they finish their second year.) I don't know how these kids get the funds to make their way across this chaotic continent. Their parents are either loaded, or the kids sell drugs.
Athens had a room full of noisy college girls. They acted like a pack of pre-teen girls in highschool. Their laughing kept most of the travellers up until 1AM.
My nerves are constantly getting dulled with restrain. My mind is getting tired. This tour is almost over, I can feel it. I can see London off in the horizon. The civility. The calm of millions of torrent minds suffering across kilometers of madness. I want to feel the insanity that I felt almost 3 months ago. But this time it will be different.
This time I will be a different person. I know what I can achieve on my own.
I still don't know who I am but I know what I can be.
Who I am will come later on in life. That's more of an India type thing.
Europe develops potential. It tests your communication skills with the fellow backpacker. It tests your patience on idle trains heading nowhere. It tests your ability to spend what you need and take what you can find. It tests the physical and emotional feilds of humanity.
My spirit is still empty. My soul continually gets crushed, each and everyday. It seems as though my soul is a million miles away, back somewhere more familiar.
Maybe my friends sense it. Maybe they know how much I need them right now. Maybe they don't. No one reads this anyways. It's as good as dead. As hollow as my spirit this time around.
Tonight, it occured to me that I am lonely. I am missing a counterpart or a female companion in life. I have not had an actual, relationship wise, girl friend for over 5 years. To put it simply; "It's was the best of times and it was the worst of times".
Depression? I don't think so.
"Loneliness is such a drag....."
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Rags to Ruins: a day in Athens
Athens. I do not know what to think of it anymore.
I did'nt even want to go there but I was walking around Thessaloniki when it hit me:
"When is the next time you will be this close to Athens?"
So, after three hours of poking around the sleepy Macadonian City of Thessaloniki, I decided to hop a train south. Four hours later, I was in Athens.
Best decision to make.
When I saw the site of Zues' Olympian I realized what magic there was to such old ruins. Hadrians arch gave me tingles. The acropolis (though covered in an exoskeleton of scaffolding) blew my mind...
The structure of such architecture! Magnificent!
I don't care if everything has been reconstructed, it has to be! We need these historical centers to remind ourselves that there once was intelligent people in this world.
Socrates, Plato; both dead!
John Locke, Voltaire, Rousseau; All DEAD
Beethoven; DEAD
Nietsche; DEAD
Hemmingway; BLEW HIS BRAIN OUT
What do all these people have in common? Something, I am sure of, but it does not matter. The point of points is that if you tear down history you are just waiting to get fucked all over again.
These ruins speak to you. If someone could build world wonders 2000 years before your birth, why are we still allowing people to wollow in their own shit? Why have we not evolved together? Why have we let race, religion and nationalism define "us and them"?
What happened to effort? Why do we not invest into the construction of neo-classical architecture? Why is it all steel and glass? Who is right who is wrong? Who is left singing the song?
If Paris awoke the writer,
Berlin awoke the soul,
Amsterdam tickled curiosisty,
And Switzerland bound them whole.
Prague was overrated,
Budapest took it's toll,
Bucharest shawn through filth,
I then found Istanbul.
If Vienna awoke the pianist,
and Krakow turned on the charm,
then Athens awoke the thought
that could do no harm....
I did'nt even want to go there but I was walking around Thessaloniki when it hit me:
"When is the next time you will be this close to Athens?"
So, after three hours of poking around the sleepy Macadonian City of Thessaloniki, I decided to hop a train south. Four hours later, I was in Athens.
Best decision to make.
When I saw the site of Zues' Olympian I realized what magic there was to such old ruins. Hadrians arch gave me tingles. The acropolis (though covered in an exoskeleton of scaffolding) blew my mind...
The structure of such architecture! Magnificent!
I don't care if everything has been reconstructed, it has to be! We need these historical centers to remind ourselves that there once was intelligent people in this world.
Socrates, Plato; both dead!
John Locke, Voltaire, Rousseau; All DEAD
Beethoven; DEAD
Nietsche; DEAD
Hemmingway; BLEW HIS BRAIN OUT
What do all these people have in common? Something, I am sure of, but it does not matter. The point of points is that if you tear down history you are just waiting to get fucked all over again.
These ruins speak to you. If someone could build world wonders 2000 years before your birth, why are we still allowing people to wollow in their own shit? Why have we not evolved together? Why have we let race, religion and nationalism define "us and them"?
What happened to effort? Why do we not invest into the construction of neo-classical architecture? Why is it all steel and glass? Who is right who is wrong? Who is left singing the song?
If Paris awoke the writer,
Berlin awoke the soul,
Amsterdam tickled curiosisty,
And Switzerland bound them whole.
Prague was overrated,
Budapest took it's toll,
Bucharest shawn through filth,
I then found Istanbul.
If Vienna awoke the pianist,
and Krakow turned on the charm,
then Athens awoke the thought
that could do no harm....
Monday, October 27, 2008
Dogs and Cats
There are animals roaming around everywhere. Strays, aka community amimals, lounge around all across south eastern Europe.
Dogs in Bucharest and Brasov...
Cats in Istanbul and Athens...
Puppies in ruinous buildings...
Kittens own the Aya Sofya...
It was even raining cats and dogs the day I left Istanbul...
Thessaloniki had nothing going on, just a big white tower on the coast...
Athens is better than I expected...
I can't wait for Rome...
Friends and family are the key...
Dogs in Bucharest and Brasov...
Cats in Istanbul and Athens...
Puppies in ruinous buildings...
Kittens own the Aya Sofya...
It was even raining cats and dogs the day I left Istanbul...
Thessaloniki had nothing going on, just a big white tower on the coast...
Athens is better than I expected...
I can't wait for Rome...
Friends and family are the key...
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Bucharest: The Final Frontier
Ok. Bucharest.
The name strikes fear into the hearts of travellers.
"What's there?" I hear...
"Well, my friends, everything you need to see once in your life.
The sun and the moon!
Sour milk and runny eggs!
Baklava and Funnel Cake!
God and Man walk hand in hand!
Damian sits back and takes his place among the ruins on the streets!
Excavators dig up the past while the people bury their communist past!
HARK, HARK! What is that I see? The Dog! The Gypsy! The bad driver! All rule the street!
"I am in Hell, but blessed in shades of blissful grey!
If this is hell then I would rent an apartment along the phony Champs Elyse....
"There is no side walk! There are only Side Parks...
Cars everywhere, traffic lights are not to be used. Green men mean nothing!
I am an insect, vermon, waiting along the side of the road... Frogger applies to the meak!
"I am the protagonist...
I am the enemy...
"I am loved and hated... Romania hath no heart...
"Let the tourist bleed among a pride of lions, cast to the barren streets, the abandoned apartment complex...
"I am cherished as a champion of the people, a hero to the youth...
I am feared by the elders, tied to the spit and hung out to dry...
"MAKE UP YOUR MIND... ROMANIA, MAKE UP YOUR MIND...
YOU ARE A MESS... YOUR STREETS ARE TORN TO PEICES!!!
"JUST CLOSE SHOP FOR 20 MINUTES... HANG UP THAT "UNDER CONSTRUCTION" SIGN IN YOUR WINDOW... I WOULD NOT CHANGE YOU FOR A SECOND... I LOVE THE ANARCHY... I LOVE THE PAIN!!!
"TOMORROW WILL BE A DIFFERENT DAY!!! I WILL WAKE UP NOT KNOWING WHO YOU ARE, FOR YOUR FACE WILL HAVE CHANGED... YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME... I WILL LOVE YOU TODAY..."
The name strikes fear into the hearts of travellers.
"What's there?" I hear...
"Well, my friends, everything you need to see once in your life.
The sun and the moon!
Sour milk and runny eggs!
Baklava and Funnel Cake!
God and Man walk hand in hand!
Damian sits back and takes his place among the ruins on the streets!
Excavators dig up the past while the people bury their communist past!
HARK, HARK! What is that I see? The Dog! The Gypsy! The bad driver! All rule the street!
"I am in Hell, but blessed in shades of blissful grey!
If this is hell then I would rent an apartment along the phony Champs Elyse....
"There is no side walk! There are only Side Parks...
Cars everywhere, traffic lights are not to be used. Green men mean nothing!
I am an insect, vermon, waiting along the side of the road... Frogger applies to the meak!
"I am the protagonist...
I am the enemy...
"I am loved and hated... Romania hath no heart...
"Let the tourist bleed among a pride of lions, cast to the barren streets, the abandoned apartment complex...
"I am cherished as a champion of the people, a hero to the youth...
I am feared by the elders, tied to the spit and hung out to dry...
"MAKE UP YOUR MIND... ROMANIA, MAKE UP YOUR MIND...
YOU ARE A MESS... YOUR STREETS ARE TORN TO PEICES!!!
"JUST CLOSE SHOP FOR 20 MINUTES... HANG UP THAT "UNDER CONSTRUCTION" SIGN IN YOUR WINDOW... I WOULD NOT CHANGE YOU FOR A SECOND... I LOVE THE ANARCHY... I LOVE THE PAIN!!!
"TOMORROW WILL BE A DIFFERENT DAY!!! I WILL WAKE UP NOT KNOWING WHO YOU ARE, FOR YOUR FACE WILL HAVE CHANGED... YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME... I WILL LOVE YOU TODAY..."
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Fanta and the damage done....
Romania is a funny, funny place...
It has that 1970 vibe, you know the kind, with smoking in restaurants, bars, the post office... Everything is falling apart and dying, much worse than Budapest...
There is the wonderful Borat style horse and buggy mode of transporation along the rural roads... Gypsy colonies border the rail way... Transient dogs rule the streets and howl in the night... This is Brasov, Transylvania...
I took an 11 hour train ride from Budapest to Brasov. It was dark when I arrived, complete with a full moon behind a film of autumn haze. The dogs were running amuck with bloated bellies and a listles look in their eyes, barking, BARKING, at the moon.
I was in my typical dress, tee shirt and shorts, with a 50lb bag on my back. This is my costume. I am the tourist. I stick out horribly. Europeans do not wear shorts at night, or even during the day.
Europeans are in a league of their own and I have a story to go along with this open ended observation...
They are insane. No logic, no ability to see the right in the wrong. These people, Eastern Europeans, live to scam the tourist out of an honest dollar. It's in their blood, it's how they are made to think. How to fuck the idiot. I guess it is the same in North America but the one doing the fucking is more of a snake hiding in the grass. No, the Eastern European, the Romanian, the Gypsy is a house of cards, a powder keg, a line of dominos... They are just waiting for the tourist to move the wind, strike the match or push the erect black and white monolith just to watch the production that ensues...
I wanted a Fanta orange drink the bus stop.. I opened the door and a sucktioned cupped shelf fell off of the door window. The cans hit the ground with a horrible thud... 6 full aluminum cans of energy dirnks fell all over the road... two of them exploded... this Romanian woman came out screaming in her dialect.. I just wanted a Fanta... I said i was sorry but the sucktion cups gave way under the weight of their own full cans... I tried telling her this rational logic but she kept screaming... So i left for a new booth to get a fanta...
She followed me and took my toque right off my head and marched back to her both..I was astonished... I got this toque for free but yet it was the a solid piece of Canadian Identity... it was a part of me... it was a badge of Canadian honour... and she took it... right off my head.... I acted like i didnt care but then I went back to her booth... an old man opened his wallet and showed me some ID...i think he wanted me to think he was a cop.. I told him "this means nothing to me"
Then the sh*thit the fan.. people were surrounding me... ugly people... a Romanian gang mentality... I asked for my toque back but this Vender kept yelling at me in her high pitched dialect.. I tried to leave, thinking that my toque was lost, cut my losses, give up the ghost and leave it alone... but this short fat romanian woman was not letting me leave..she spoke up... I was in a den of wolves hungry for revenge on the foreigner... The fat lady made some obscure sign with her finger pointing to her cheek... the old phony cop grabbed my arm... they wanted blood... and I wanted out...
I started my own offensive.. I got vocal..i started to swear. and I told them that this was a dirty trick... I pulled out my wallet..i was defeated.. I handed over 6 Lei, the price of an energy drink... close to 3 CND dollars... but she was screaming about a second drink, one which I had not noticed, that was broken... I protested Even more... but I caved in and gave them 12 Lie...
When It ended you could tell who had won... all these Romanian spectators... ganging up on a tourist.. who wanted a fanta orange drink...
I got my toque back... put it on my head, and turned to leave... but i got in the last word, along with a final laugh from all those English tourists who sat back and watched my martyrdom... I started to walk away...
"Are you happy you god damned Gypsies! You can all keep sucking on Dracula's ****"
Sure it was crude, but after 5 minutes of adrenalined passion it was the only thing I could think of in the moment... but, like I said..It generated a good chuckle from those who watched me die...
The moral of the Story is, Everyone is a Gypsy... they will bleed you for what you've got... they will take your money, and wound your pride and slip into the dark, cold Carpanthian Mountains...
I want to go back there today and see her again to get my revenge...
It has that 1970 vibe, you know the kind, with smoking in restaurants, bars, the post office... Everything is falling apart and dying, much worse than Budapest...
There is the wonderful Borat style horse and buggy mode of transporation along the rural roads... Gypsy colonies border the rail way... Transient dogs rule the streets and howl in the night... This is Brasov, Transylvania...
I took an 11 hour train ride from Budapest to Brasov. It was dark when I arrived, complete with a full moon behind a film of autumn haze. The dogs were running amuck with bloated bellies and a listles look in their eyes, barking, BARKING, at the moon.
I was in my typical dress, tee shirt and shorts, with a 50lb bag on my back. This is my costume. I am the tourist. I stick out horribly. Europeans do not wear shorts at night, or even during the day.
Europeans are in a league of their own and I have a story to go along with this open ended observation...
They are insane. No logic, no ability to see the right in the wrong. These people, Eastern Europeans, live to scam the tourist out of an honest dollar. It's in their blood, it's how they are made to think. How to fuck the idiot. I guess it is the same in North America but the one doing the fucking is more of a snake hiding in the grass. No, the Eastern European, the Romanian, the Gypsy is a house of cards, a powder keg, a line of dominos... They are just waiting for the tourist to move the wind, strike the match or push the erect black and white monolith just to watch the production that ensues...
I wanted a Fanta orange drink the bus stop.. I opened the door and a sucktioned cupped shelf fell off of the door window. The cans hit the ground with a horrible thud... 6 full aluminum cans of energy dirnks fell all over the road... two of them exploded... this Romanian woman came out screaming in her dialect.. I just wanted a Fanta... I said i was sorry but the sucktion cups gave way under the weight of their own full cans... I tried telling her this rational logic but she kept screaming... So i left for a new booth to get a fanta...
She followed me and took my toque right off my head and marched back to her both..I was astonished... I got this toque for free but yet it was the a solid piece of Canadian Identity... it was a part of me... it was a badge of Canadian honour... and she took it... right off my head.... I acted like i didnt care but then I went back to her booth... an old man opened his wallet and showed me some ID...i think he wanted me to think he was a cop.. I told him "this means nothing to me"
Then the sh*thit the fan.. people were surrounding me... ugly people... a Romanian gang mentality... I asked for my toque back but this Vender kept yelling at me in her high pitched dialect.. I tried to leave, thinking that my toque was lost, cut my losses, give up the ghost and leave it alone... but this short fat romanian woman was not letting me leave..she spoke up... I was in a den of wolves hungry for revenge on the foreigner... The fat lady made some obscure sign with her finger pointing to her cheek... the old phony cop grabbed my arm... they wanted blood... and I wanted out...
I started my own offensive.. I got vocal..i started to swear. and I told them that this was a dirty trick... I pulled out my wallet..i was defeated.. I handed over 6 Lei, the price of an energy drink... close to 3 CND dollars... but she was screaming about a second drink, one which I had not noticed, that was broken... I protested Even more... but I caved in and gave them 12 Lie...
When It ended you could tell who had won... all these Romanian spectators... ganging up on a tourist.. who wanted a fanta orange drink...
I got my toque back... put it on my head, and turned to leave... but i got in the last word, along with a final laugh from all those English tourists who sat back and watched my martyrdom... I started to walk away...
"Are you happy you god damned Gypsies! You can all keep sucking on Dracula's ****"
Sure it was crude, but after 5 minutes of adrenalined passion it was the only thing I could think of in the moment... but, like I said..It generated a good chuckle from those who watched me die...
The moral of the Story is, Everyone is a Gypsy... they will bleed you for what you've got... they will take your money, and wound your pride and slip into the dark, cold Carpanthian Mountains...
I want to go back there today and see her again to get my revenge...
Monday, October 13, 2008
... and the sun sets on Budapest
The city is full of disfunctional people. They are decaying with the paint and plaster on each city block. I feel so perfect when I cross Chain Bridge with the jingle-jangle of loose change in my pocket. To my left, I pass a broken man, gymped from birth? maybe destroyed over time. He is begging for money without using words. I wouldn't understand him anyways.
He is nothing and I am everything but, yet, I lend him nothing.
Is this horrible?
Back home it is Thanks Giving (My parents told me, so it must be true). I have missed the annual family festivities. The turkey, the mashed potatoes, the conversations and free beer.
After picking up my new debit cards from the Embassy, I picked up my own supplies to cook up my own Thanksgiving dinner. Things are different this year. Things are always changing but yet they stay the same.
Tomorrow I leave for Brasov. Home of myth and lore. I leave at 7:45am and I am expected to arrive at 8pm. It is going to be a long day stuck in one seat but at least I am out of this corrosive metropolis.
Good bye Danube... I'm sure we'll meet again some where down the road....
He is nothing and I am everything but, yet, I lend him nothing.
Is this horrible?
Back home it is Thanks Giving (My parents told me, so it must be true). I have missed the annual family festivities. The turkey, the mashed potatoes, the conversations and free beer.
After picking up my new debit cards from the Embassy, I picked up my own supplies to cook up my own Thanksgiving dinner. Things are different this year. Things are always changing but yet they stay the same.
Tomorrow I leave for Brasov. Home of myth and lore. I leave at 7:45am and I am expected to arrive at 8pm. It is going to be a long day stuck in one seat but at least I am out of this corrosive metropolis.
Good bye Danube... I'm sure we'll meet again some where down the road....
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Hungary and Baroque
Okay.
I lost my wallet in Budapest. I actually do not like to say that I lost my wallet because that suggests that it is totally my fault. So I tell everyone that my wallet has vanished. This is more fitting because it opens the possiblity that my wallet had been stolen by one of those horrid gypsy types.
I actually like the gypsies. They stick out like a sore, brown, horribly dressed thumb.
Anyways, I was walking around Buda castle when I decided to grab something to eat. A nice stale cinibon from the local foodshop atop castle hill. I continued my little tourist sightsee journey around the hill, photographing this and that. After an hour and a half, I walked down to Mammut Shopping complex.
*I am currently looking on the market for a new memory card for my camera. Turns out 12 gbs is not enough for my e-photo album.*
When I came to Europe`s version of Futureshop I noticed that a certain buldge in my pants was missing. Where could it have gone? Somewhere between Buda Castle and Mammut Shopping center. Frantically I raced around town asking shop clerks with no sense of English. I swore at nothing and everything.
My ID, my SIN card, my debit cards... all gone.
My supply line was cut. There I was, in central Hungary, alone and broke.
It was the most amazing sensation. For months, now, I have been roaming Europe, carefree. And suddenly, in the matter of seconds, I could not even get across town on public transit. I had less than $5 CND in my pocket. I had 4 Polish dollars, and 65 Hungarian Forints.
To put it lightly, I was up shit creek...
But now I had a purpose. Now I had a special task to achieve during my days here in Budapest. I had to rebuild my empire. Bridge the gap to establish ties to my supply line.
The next day, as I walked to my embassy, a song came on my head phones. The Newpornographers really touched me. Their words spoke true in the early morning light. Something that hardly happens but when it does, it lasts for an eternity and all else seem to be non existant.
Like you are the only person alive that can hear the true meaning.
But at the same time you really amount to nothing...
I was under the radar...
I was too far down the rabit hole... out of my element... I was alone and I had to find myself again.
`A new Empire in rags`
This flooded my little brain with emotion. It is a rollar coaster here in Europe.
`It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....`
I finally phoned home the following day. 24 hours later I had access to some money wired to me through Western Union. Godbless the 21st century. Here I thought I might finally be free for the first time in my life. Liberated from the helping hand of man. Without money, identification, and a passport, you are nothing. You are a ghost to the world. You mean nothing, and you achieve nothing for the greater good of man. But you are free.
Freedom, my friends, is independence. It is being nothing to the rest of man. It is highest state of Being but the lowest level of productivity.
And to think I was nearly sleeping on Freedom`s doorsteps....
Adiós, from Budapest
ps. I hope you get my witty little title....
I lost my wallet in Budapest. I actually do not like to say that I lost my wallet because that suggests that it is totally my fault. So I tell everyone that my wallet has vanished. This is more fitting because it opens the possiblity that my wallet had been stolen by one of those horrid gypsy types.
I actually like the gypsies. They stick out like a sore, brown, horribly dressed thumb.
Anyways, I was walking around Buda castle when I decided to grab something to eat. A nice stale cinibon from the local foodshop atop castle hill. I continued my little tourist sightsee journey around the hill, photographing this and that. After an hour and a half, I walked down to Mammut Shopping complex.
*I am currently looking on the market for a new memory card for my camera. Turns out 12 gbs is not enough for my e-photo album.*
When I came to Europe`s version of Futureshop I noticed that a certain buldge in my pants was missing. Where could it have gone? Somewhere between Buda Castle and Mammut Shopping center. Frantically I raced around town asking shop clerks with no sense of English. I swore at nothing and everything.
My ID, my SIN card, my debit cards... all gone.
My supply line was cut. There I was, in central Hungary, alone and broke.
It was the most amazing sensation. For months, now, I have been roaming Europe, carefree. And suddenly, in the matter of seconds, I could not even get across town on public transit. I had less than $5 CND in my pocket. I had 4 Polish dollars, and 65 Hungarian Forints.
To put it lightly, I was up shit creek...
But now I had a purpose. Now I had a special task to achieve during my days here in Budapest. I had to rebuild my empire. Bridge the gap to establish ties to my supply line.
The next day, as I walked to my embassy, a song came on my head phones. The Newpornographers really touched me. Their words spoke true in the early morning light. Something that hardly happens but when it does, it lasts for an eternity and all else seem to be non existant.
Like you are the only person alive that can hear the true meaning.
But at the same time you really amount to nothing...
I was under the radar...
I was too far down the rabit hole... out of my element... I was alone and I had to find myself again.
`A new Empire in rags`
This flooded my little brain with emotion. It is a rollar coaster here in Europe.
`It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....`
I finally phoned home the following day. 24 hours later I had access to some money wired to me through Western Union. Godbless the 21st century. Here I thought I might finally be free for the first time in my life. Liberated from the helping hand of man. Without money, identification, and a passport, you are nothing. You are a ghost to the world. You mean nothing, and you achieve nothing for the greater good of man. But you are free.
Freedom, my friends, is independence. It is being nothing to the rest of man. It is highest state of Being but the lowest level of productivity.
And to think I was nearly sleeping on Freedom`s doorsteps....
Adiós, from Budapest
ps. I hope you get my witty little title....
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Prahaha, the jokes on you....
Prague was a let down. It really was not what I had wanted in a city. I know, it's a tough act to follow Berlin, but it was just another city. It was like Tacoma with cobble stone, or a Seattle with spires.
Europe is not funny anymore!
Before coming east I would walk down the street and become a participant in some rare festival. Free beer, free food, happy faces all around.
Now here I am, behind the Iron Curtain, getting looks kicked in my direction.
I am no longer a participant in a festival. I am no longer getting laughs for free. I am paying for it mentally and physically. I'm getting older just by being in the here and now.
I am embracing my seclusion but begging for company. I am dreaming of a life somewhere I am not. I am drinking poisons to rediscover everything I already knew. I am no longer living in Disneyland, I am standing around watching history continuously shit kick the meek.
I am the associated with the authors of this historical text. I am a Canadian associated with North America, associated with America, associtated with the devil, soon to be condemned to another shift of power.
Hell, it already began a long, long time ago. Soon enough, the forgotten authors will be historically shit kicked by a new renissance.
The rules have changed with the faces, and the hair colour, and the eyes, and the mentality. I am slowly drifting towards the outskirts of my safety.
I see deception in the eyes.
Theift is a child's game, revenge is for the young men, spite is for the golden aged.
Anyone can steal. Anyone can kill. People will do anything when you believe you have been cheated your whole life.
Hemmingway once wrote "the world is a fine place, worth the fighting for."
I see it differently. The world is a horrible place when fought for.
But then again, I have never had to fight for anything my whole life through. What would I know?
Krakow sticks out amongst the shit in Poland. It's nice and tidy. The city center is clean and under constant protection by roaming police vans.
The country side is vile and unkempt. Vacant buildings still stand along the railroad. Piles of brikes and piping are scattered over old industrial sectors. This is not God's Country. This country has been forgotten and left to rot. But Krakow is peaceful.
An oasis amongst the wastelands? I don't know, it's hard to forget their tainted past.....
Europe is not funny anymore!
Before coming east I would walk down the street and become a participant in some rare festival. Free beer, free food, happy faces all around.
Now here I am, behind the Iron Curtain, getting looks kicked in my direction.
I am no longer a participant in a festival. I am no longer getting laughs for free. I am paying for it mentally and physically. I'm getting older just by being in the here and now.
I am embracing my seclusion but begging for company. I am dreaming of a life somewhere I am not. I am drinking poisons to rediscover everything I already knew. I am no longer living in Disneyland, I am standing around watching history continuously shit kick the meek.
I am the associated with the authors of this historical text. I am a Canadian associated with North America, associated with America, associtated with the devil, soon to be condemned to another shift of power.
Hell, it already began a long, long time ago. Soon enough, the forgotten authors will be historically shit kicked by a new renissance.
The rules have changed with the faces, and the hair colour, and the eyes, and the mentality. I am slowly drifting towards the outskirts of my safety.
I see deception in the eyes.
Theift is a child's game, revenge is for the young men, spite is for the golden aged.
Anyone can steal. Anyone can kill. People will do anything when you believe you have been cheated your whole life.
Hemmingway once wrote "the world is a fine place, worth the fighting for."
I see it differently. The world is a horrible place when fought for.
But then again, I have never had to fight for anything my whole life through. What would I know?
Krakow sticks out amongst the shit in Poland. It's nice and tidy. The city center is clean and under constant protection by roaming police vans.
The country side is vile and unkempt. Vacant buildings still stand along the railroad. Piles of brikes and piping are scattered over old industrial sectors. This is not God's Country. This country has been forgotten and left to rot. But Krakow is peaceful.
An oasis amongst the wastelands? I don't know, it's hard to forget their tainted past.....
Monday, September 29, 2008
Czech this out...
Ok... I'm here in Prague... things are fine and dandy but something burns in my soul... I need hockey!
A good healthy dose of hockey.
But what can a poor boy do when he is thousands of miles away from Canada?
He could always attend the NHL home-opener here in Prague.
Yes, the New York Rangers will take on the Tampa Bay Lightning Friday and Saturday night. Tickets are just $250 Canadian (4000 Czh Krones)...
It's a good chunk of money, especially since I do not know how much money I have spent so far on this adventure.
It's all or nothing... We'll see how it goes...
Adios from Prague
A good healthy dose of hockey.
But what can a poor boy do when he is thousands of miles away from Canada?
He could always attend the NHL home-opener here in Prague.
Yes, the New York Rangers will take on the Tampa Bay Lightning Friday and Saturday night. Tickets are just $250 Canadian (4000 Czh Krones)...
It's a good chunk of money, especially since I do not know how much money I have spent so far on this adventure.
It's all or nothing... We'll see how it goes...
Adios from Prague
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
'Berlin is ugly, but sexy'
After walking back and forth across the old division of Berlin, I have come to a conclusion.....
East Berlin is better than west Berlin.
If you like manky streets, decorated with spray paint, then east Berlin is for you.
Go take a walk down to the East Side Gallery....
Go see the Eternal Soviet Memorial...
Checkpoint Charlie offers a good laugh...
But most of all go see the art work on every street corner. It may even be covering up old bullet holes from the Battle of Berlin....
Berlin invites you to piss under old S-bahn bridges or behind a bush in Tiergarten. If you have the nerve then you could even piss on the old remaining wall....
That's my take on east Berlin...
Adios from behind the Iron Curtain....
East Berlin is better than west Berlin.
If you like manky streets, decorated with spray paint, then east Berlin is for you.
Go take a walk down to the East Side Gallery....
Go see the Eternal Soviet Memorial...
Checkpoint Charlie offers a good laugh...
But most of all go see the art work on every street corner. It may even be covering up old bullet holes from the Battle of Berlin....
Berlin invites you to piss under old S-bahn bridges or behind a bush in Tiergarten. If you have the nerve then you could even piss on the old remaining wall....
That's my take on east Berlin...
Adios from behind the Iron Curtain....
Monday, September 22, 2008
Oktoberfest and Berlin
So far Germany has been a spectacular country. Every city has its little festival that manages to happen right when I arrive.
Oktoberfest was a mess. The girls are so beautiful and the guys dress to impress in their Bavarian traditional clothes. I don't know if it was the best time I've had thus far, but it was a riot.
I became friends with 3 wonderful Bavarian guys. Two of them were dressed up in their Oktoberfest gear and we talked about the natural beauty of Vancouver and Germany. They really want to go to Vancouver for snowboarding. I told them that everything they've heard is true. There are beavers, moose, and bears. Trees, lakes and mountains. Beer and parties.
And so we continued to drink our €8,30 beers.
I didn't have anything to eat that morning. I was in a hurried rush to make my way over to the beer tents. It turns out my body cannot handle 2litres of Bavarian beer on an empty stomach.
Nope. I had to expell some of that beer the same way it went in.
I nearly puked on my new Bavarian friends. Somehow I managed to spay a jet stream of beer out into the side walk.
So I told my friends that I had to take a walk and puke out more.
Out into the main straße I went but more steaming puke forced its way out of my stomach. It was a golden rocket spraying amongst a crowd of thousands.
But I didn't care. I needed to leave Munich anyways.
I said goodbye to my friends and headed to Berlin.
Berlin is ugly. This, inturn, makes Berlin beautiful. There is too much history here. You often forget what you are suppost to look at.
I was on the 'third Reich' walking tour and we were headed towards the ruins of the SS head office on Zimmer Straße and the Berlin Wall came out of nowhere. This starts a conflict for the tour. How can I keep the Soviet history seperated from Nazi history?
This city is too much for this history student.
I even got to see 60 year old bullet holes. Buildings that were part of the battle of Berlin. Amazing......
Adios from Berlin
Oktoberfest was a mess. The girls are so beautiful and the guys dress to impress in their Bavarian traditional clothes. I don't know if it was the best time I've had thus far, but it was a riot.
I became friends with 3 wonderful Bavarian guys. Two of them were dressed up in their Oktoberfest gear and we talked about the natural beauty of Vancouver and Germany. They really want to go to Vancouver for snowboarding. I told them that everything they've heard is true. There are beavers, moose, and bears. Trees, lakes and mountains. Beer and parties.
And so we continued to drink our €8,30 beers.
I didn't have anything to eat that morning. I was in a hurried rush to make my way over to the beer tents. It turns out my body cannot handle 2litres of Bavarian beer on an empty stomach.
Nope. I had to expell some of that beer the same way it went in.
I nearly puked on my new Bavarian friends. Somehow I managed to spay a jet stream of beer out into the side walk.
So I told my friends that I had to take a walk and puke out more.
Out into the main straße I went but more steaming puke forced its way out of my stomach. It was a golden rocket spraying amongst a crowd of thousands.
But I didn't care. I needed to leave Munich anyways.
I said goodbye to my friends and headed to Berlin.
Berlin is ugly. This, inturn, makes Berlin beautiful. There is too much history here. You often forget what you are suppost to look at.
I was on the 'third Reich' walking tour and we were headed towards the ruins of the SS head office on Zimmer Straße and the Berlin Wall came out of nowhere. This starts a conflict for the tour. How can I keep the Soviet history seperated from Nazi history?
This city is too much for this history student.
I even got to see 60 year old bullet holes. Buildings that were part of the battle of Berlin. Amazing......
Adios from Berlin
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Shut your Von Trapp!!!
Here I am in Salzberg. I watched 'The Sound of Music' today. It redeemed this sleepy little city. Here I was just going around town looking at nothing. Then, suddenly, it means something once you watch that movie.
But here we go. A test in physical and mental strength. I am going to Munich tomorrow. I want to see, feel and drink Oktoberfest. But the kicker, I will not have a place to stay on Friday night or Saturday night. I might have to work my magic or just suffer two nights sleeping outside. Either way, if I drink at Oktoberfest then I get a new badge to sew onto my backpack. If I don't see Oktoberfest then I'll be moving on to a new city without a hang over.
The next week will be interesting to say the least.
So far Vienna has been the most memorable stay. The hostel crowd was just right. A good collection of international people bound to travelling around Europe. The last night in Vienna proved to be quite the show. I ran out and picked up 48 cans (two flats) of half litre beer. The total price was just under €20. That is roughly $30 Canadian dollars. You can only buy 12 cans of beer for roughly $24 CND back home.
We stayed up all night writing a communal story. I was given the high honour to write the ending and present the whole work infront of our little communal authorship of 15 plus hostelliers. We laughed and cried from laughing. We drank odd mixes. We caused a scene, man we burnt that place down. And then we took it to the streets. A Viennese victory in my books.
Adios from Salzberg.
See you at Oktoberfest.
But here we go. A test in physical and mental strength. I am going to Munich tomorrow. I want to see, feel and drink Oktoberfest. But the kicker, I will not have a place to stay on Friday night or Saturday night. I might have to work my magic or just suffer two nights sleeping outside. Either way, if I drink at Oktoberfest then I get a new badge to sew onto my backpack. If I don't see Oktoberfest then I'll be moving on to a new city without a hang over.
The next week will be interesting to say the least.
So far Vienna has been the most memorable stay. The hostel crowd was just right. A good collection of international people bound to travelling around Europe. The last night in Vienna proved to be quite the show. I ran out and picked up 48 cans (two flats) of half litre beer. The total price was just under €20. That is roughly $30 Canadian dollars. You can only buy 12 cans of beer for roughly $24 CND back home.
We stayed up all night writing a communal story. I was given the high honour to write the ending and present the whole work infront of our little communal authorship of 15 plus hostelliers. We laughed and cried from laughing. We drank odd mixes. We caused a scene, man we burnt that place down. And then we took it to the streets. A Viennese victory in my books.
Adios from Salzberg.
See you at Oktoberfest.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Letter to the Editor: Journey Update
Hi everybody.
The last update came from Amsterdam (or Campsterdam and Amsterdamp as I started to call it).
Things were a bit soggy up there so I decided to travel south to dig up some sun. But I wasn't going to skip over all of the tidbits inbetween.
From Amsterdam I hopped over to Deventer to claim my rightful position upon their throne. They were not having any of it, so I set up my tent across the river, along the west bank of the Ijssel. Once again, like clockwork, it rained but I didn't let a little drizzle get me down. I got out of the tent and enjoyed a midnight walk around town. The only place that was bustling at 2~3 am (Sunday night/Monday morning) was Deventer's tiny red light district. It made me laugh to know that even "smallsville" Netherlands has their own prostitute district.
I pulled out of town the next day. 24 hours in Deventer was enough.
So I pulled up my roots and headed into the land of historic misadventures, Germany. I didn't know where I was headed so I made the decision to enter Cologne/Köln (the latter being the German spelling. I enjoy writing the Köln because European keyboards give you the ability to write with their funny accents and über-dots (However, the z and y keys have been swapped, which becomes frustrating when i want to type, tzpe or yebra or reallz funnz))
Köln was beautiful and not as confusing as some of the other cities I've seen. When leaving the central train station you are instantly greeted with the sight of Germany's largest cathedral. "The Dom" they call it. Situated along the Rhine, the Dom is like a giant burnt cinder, collecting dust for the past 500 plus years. An impressive feat of construction and architecture that started way back in the 1200s and was finally finished in the mid 19th century.
The rest of the city was alright. There were some enjoyable walks along the Rhine, both in Köln and Bonn.
While in Bonn I saw Beethoven's house of birth and the Museum of Democratic West Germany. Back in the day, when there was this thing called the "Cold War", Bonn just happened to be the capital of a country devoted to a maintaining a "western" democratic front. While walking around their museum I realized that German history is chalked with flip flopping ideologies and depressing feuds with their neighbours. And the real kicker is that I haven't even reached the control room in Berlin.
Next stop was Heidelberg. I was hiking up this one mountain across the river from the old ruins of the Heidelberg castle, when I stumbled across a plaque featuring an drawing of the landscape. I recognized this crude map from one of my history books dedicated to teaching the religious reformation of Europe. I loved it. I was able to put a name to a face and a face to a name.
Later that night I walked past the old church and heard beauty calling from behind thick stone walls. I entered God's sanctuary and paid €1 to catch the last 15 minutes of an organ concert. It was brilliant beyond belief. The air vibrates with sound and your soul is washed in some unknown holy beauty all while basking in the stained glass glow.
But this is not enough to settle my bones in one place. No. I have to keep travelling.
I activated my Eurorail pass and requested to go to Bern, Switzerland, but the final destination of the train said Interlaken. This was where I expected to end up a little later down the road. So I cut Bern out of the picture. As I passed along the sleepy Swiss capital I told myself "some other time".
I was headed to the "adventure capital of Switzerland", possibly even the world. Interlaken is a perfect cross between two British Columbian hotspots: Penticton and Whistler. The town is situated between two beautiful margarita coloured lakes and all around are grand mountains. The town is infested with Australians and other thrill seekers. I was just happy to get back to the mountains and trees. Good weather as well. I managed to do a wonderful hike up to the peak of Harder Klum. The Swiss will put a chalet at the top of every mountain if they could, and they usually do.
At the moment I am just south of Interlaken in the small, small, small village of Gimmelwald (or as I like to call it; Heaven).
I can just sit and do nothing in this small alpine village and it still feels like something. My hostel is on the cliff across from the impressive Jungfrau mountain range. Every photo belongs on a postcard.
Today will be dedicated to hiking and finding food. The closest store is a 20 minute walk up hill to Mürren or a 3 minute gondola ride. I haven't paid for public transportation since I was camping 20 minutes outside of Amsterdam's city centrum. As long as I've got two legs I will continue to take the long road.
So, its time for me to head up hill for breakfast....
Adios from Switzerland,
Matthew J. Van Deventer
The last update came from Amsterdam (or Campsterdam and Amsterdamp as I started to call it).
Things were a bit soggy up there so I decided to travel south to dig up some sun. But I wasn't going to skip over all of the tidbits inbetween.
From Amsterdam I hopped over to Deventer to claim my rightful position upon their throne. They were not having any of it, so I set up my tent across the river, along the west bank of the Ijssel. Once again, like clockwork, it rained but I didn't let a little drizzle get me down. I got out of the tent and enjoyed a midnight walk around town. The only place that was bustling at 2~3 am (Sunday night/Monday morning) was Deventer's tiny red light district. It made me laugh to know that even "smallsville" Netherlands has their own prostitute district.
I pulled out of town the next day. 24 hours in Deventer was enough.
So I pulled up my roots and headed into the land of historic misadventures, Germany. I didn't know where I was headed so I made the decision to enter Cologne/Köln (the latter being the German spelling. I enjoy writing the Köln because European keyboards give you the ability to write with their funny accents and über-dots (However, the z and y keys have been swapped, which becomes frustrating when i want to type, tzpe or yebra or reallz funnz))
Köln was beautiful and not as confusing as some of the other cities I've seen. When leaving the central train station you are instantly greeted with the sight of Germany's largest cathedral. "The Dom" they call it. Situated along the Rhine, the Dom is like a giant burnt cinder, collecting dust for the past 500 plus years. An impressive feat of construction and architecture that started way back in the 1200s and was finally finished in the mid 19th century.
The rest of the city was alright. There were some enjoyable walks along the Rhine, both in Köln and Bonn.
While in Bonn I saw Beethoven's house of birth and the Museum of Democratic West Germany. Back in the day, when there was this thing called the "Cold War", Bonn just happened to be the capital of a country devoted to a maintaining a "western" democratic front. While walking around their museum I realized that German history is chalked with flip flopping ideologies and depressing feuds with their neighbours. And the real kicker is that I haven't even reached the control room in Berlin.
Next stop was Heidelberg. I was hiking up this one mountain across the river from the old ruins of the Heidelberg castle, when I stumbled across a plaque featuring an drawing of the landscape. I recognized this crude map from one of my history books dedicated to teaching the religious reformation of Europe. I loved it. I was able to put a name to a face and a face to a name.
Later that night I walked past the old church and heard beauty calling from behind thick stone walls. I entered God's sanctuary and paid €1 to catch the last 15 minutes of an organ concert. It was brilliant beyond belief. The air vibrates with sound and your soul is washed in some unknown holy beauty all while basking in the stained glass glow.
But this is not enough to settle my bones in one place. No. I have to keep travelling.
I activated my Eurorail pass and requested to go to Bern, Switzerland, but the final destination of the train said Interlaken. This was where I expected to end up a little later down the road. So I cut Bern out of the picture. As I passed along the sleepy Swiss capital I told myself "some other time".
I was headed to the "adventure capital of Switzerland", possibly even the world. Interlaken is a perfect cross between two British Columbian hotspots: Penticton and Whistler. The town is situated between two beautiful margarita coloured lakes and all around are grand mountains. The town is infested with Australians and other thrill seekers. I was just happy to get back to the mountains and trees. Good weather as well. I managed to do a wonderful hike up to the peak of Harder Klum. The Swiss will put a chalet at the top of every mountain if they could, and they usually do.
At the moment I am just south of Interlaken in the small, small, small village of Gimmelwald (or as I like to call it; Heaven).
I can just sit and do nothing in this small alpine village and it still feels like something. My hostel is on the cliff across from the impressive Jungfrau mountain range. Every photo belongs on a postcard.
Today will be dedicated to hiking and finding food. The closest store is a 20 minute walk up hill to Mürren or a 3 minute gondola ride. I haven't paid for public transportation since I was camping 20 minutes outside of Amsterdam's city centrum. As long as I've got two legs I will continue to take the long road.
So, its time for me to head up hill for breakfast....
Adios from Switzerland,
Matthew J. Van Deventer
Monday, September 1, 2008
I missed the wave down south...
Like a band of cowboys blazing across the horizon...
British kids invaded my hostel's night club. 150 British kids to be exact. They rode into town in teams trying to make it across Europe in a week.
I wanted to hitch a ride. I wanted to join the wave to Italy and Croatia.
I miss the road and the North American mentality to rape this world of fossil fuels.
Oh boy. I set my alarm for 6 am and I set out toward the direction of where I was told to go.
No Dice.
The directions were faulty. I walked to Interlaken Ost train station and looked at the large accomodation board, frantically searching for "Mannor" something.... M-m-m-mannor...
Mannor... Mannor... ah yes there it was, "Mannor Farm"... on the other side of town... at least a 30 minute walk, maybe an hour if my backpack slows me down.
Screw it. I left my Ipod charger at the hostel. I'm not in any position to be handing over $50 Canadian to obtain a new Icharger with European converters.
The two prongs that keep this party going... Almost impossible to find an outlet though...
These European's are so good at conserving energy... And all they have to do is hide their power outlets... Ingenious....
Maybe I'll head to Spain and watch a bull fight. Hemmingway has got me caught on this idea but nobody shares this passion to watch the slaughter of an irate animal. But for the time being I'll soak up the Canadian atmosphere here in Interlaken.
It's the perfect cross between Penticton and Whistler. The water looks delicious. Perfect in it's own brilliance. I want to take a straw, cut up some lime and start drinking right from the rivers and lakes... Like an all you can drink tropical buffet.
Heaven?
Maybe....
British kids invaded my hostel's night club. 150 British kids to be exact. They rode into town in teams trying to make it across Europe in a week.
I wanted to hitch a ride. I wanted to join the wave to Italy and Croatia.
I miss the road and the North American mentality to rape this world of fossil fuels.
Oh boy. I set my alarm for 6 am and I set out toward the direction of where I was told to go.
No Dice.
The directions were faulty. I walked to Interlaken Ost train station and looked at the large accomodation board, frantically searching for "Mannor" something.... M-m-m-mannor...
Mannor... Mannor... ah yes there it was, "Mannor Farm"... on the other side of town... at least a 30 minute walk, maybe an hour if my backpack slows me down.
Screw it. I left my Ipod charger at the hostel. I'm not in any position to be handing over $50 Canadian to obtain a new Icharger with European converters.
The two prongs that keep this party going... Almost impossible to find an outlet though...
These European's are so good at conserving energy... And all they have to do is hide their power outlets... Ingenious....
Maybe I'll head to Spain and watch a bull fight. Hemmingway has got me caught on this idea but nobody shares this passion to watch the slaughter of an irate animal. But for the time being I'll soak up the Canadian atmosphere here in Interlaken.
It's the perfect cross between Penticton and Whistler. The water looks delicious. Perfect in it's own brilliance. I want to take a straw, cut up some lime and start drinking right from the rivers and lakes... Like an all you can drink tropical buffet.
Heaven?
Maybe....
Monday, August 25, 2008
Deventer to Köln
Deventer was fun. By fun, I mean alright.
I arrived at 11 am and made my way into the city center. It was dead. It was a Sunday. It makes me sad to see a city abandoned on nice sunny days. It's a total waste of space.
Where were all these people? At church? At home with their families?
No... They were all crammed into the city square drinking coffee and beer while watching a bocchi ball tournament. There was spread across the square in front of the old Weigh building. People were having a great time just throwing little coloured balls closest to an even smaller silver sphere. Observers sat at near by cafes enjoying lunch or a cool beer after their game. I walked by and enjoyed the collective spirit.
The early morning antics got me into a merry mood. I thought i would try my hand at the old camping game again. Why not, the sun was high and the clouds were few and far between.
To make a long story short, it rained down on me again.
I only got two hours of sleep, but I did enjoy a wonderful 1am walk around Deventer. I even stumbled upon Deventer's own Red Light District. It's situated along a road just across from the base of their notable bridge and it was busy at 1:30 in the morning.
After my little walk around I tried to get some sleep back at camp. I only achieved marginal success with sleep here and there. But this was not enough. At 6 am I started on another walk. This time I found a nice little windmill that is used as a lumber mill on the other side of the same bridge. I took numerous panoramic shots of the town and surrounding country side.
But ultimately I was disgusted with the weather. It was none stop rain day after day, so it was time to leave the Netherlands.
At 11 am I hopped a train with a ticket to Köln.
I knew nothing of this West German city but I became introduced to it's beauty upon leaving the train station.
A wonderful structure stands in plain sight. 'The Dom' they call it.
Germany's largest cathedral. And there I was at the foot of this colossal church, blown away.
I later ate dinner on the steps leading up to the Dom. Every few minutes I would twist my neck 90 degrees to make sure that this most excellent stone structure had not dissapeared. How could it? Thousdands upon thousands of tonnes dissapearing over my shoulder without a sound. Impossible.
And Beer is so cheap here. In the supermarkets large bottles of beer cost anywhere from €0.60 - € 0.80. I bought six different brands of beer for under € 6.00. And the scary thing is that beer is only going to get cheaper the further south east I travel.
I arrived at 11 am and made my way into the city center. It was dead. It was a Sunday. It makes me sad to see a city abandoned on nice sunny days. It's a total waste of space.
Where were all these people? At church? At home with their families?
No... They were all crammed into the city square drinking coffee and beer while watching a bocchi ball tournament. There was spread across the square in front of the old Weigh building. People were having a great time just throwing little coloured balls closest to an even smaller silver sphere. Observers sat at near by cafes enjoying lunch or a cool beer after their game. I walked by and enjoyed the collective spirit.
The early morning antics got me into a merry mood. I thought i would try my hand at the old camping game again. Why not, the sun was high and the clouds were few and far between.
To make a long story short, it rained down on me again.
I only got two hours of sleep, but I did enjoy a wonderful 1am walk around Deventer. I even stumbled upon Deventer's own Red Light District. It's situated along a road just across from the base of their notable bridge and it was busy at 1:30 in the morning.
After my little walk around I tried to get some sleep back at camp. I only achieved marginal success with sleep here and there. But this was not enough. At 6 am I started on another walk. This time I found a nice little windmill that is used as a lumber mill on the other side of the same bridge. I took numerous panoramic shots of the town and surrounding country side.
But ultimately I was disgusted with the weather. It was none stop rain day after day, so it was time to leave the Netherlands.
At 11 am I hopped a train with a ticket to Köln.
I knew nothing of this West German city but I became introduced to it's beauty upon leaving the train station.
A wonderful structure stands in plain sight. 'The Dom' they call it.
Germany's largest cathedral. And there I was at the foot of this colossal church, blown away.
I later ate dinner on the steps leading up to the Dom. Every few minutes I would twist my neck 90 degrees to make sure that this most excellent stone structure had not dissapeared. How could it? Thousdands upon thousands of tonnes dissapearing over my shoulder without a sound. Impossible.
And Beer is so cheap here. In the supermarkets large bottles of beer cost anywhere from €0.60 - € 0.80. I bought six different brands of beer for under € 6.00. And the scary thing is that beer is only going to get cheaper the further south east I travel.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Address to the Nation: Update Amsterdam
This is an e-mail sent back home. People seemed to love it. I enjoyed it too.
Hello everybody...
I've been away for only two weeks... i can't believe that... it seems like a month... and the last 3 days have seemed like years...
I'm in Amsterdam... I'm currently in the Amsterdam library using their free internet... now i know where to go to get internet.... Donde es el bibliotheca?
I do not know what to think of the city... sure its nice and unique... and yes all the buildings lean and slant... sure the canals are filled with bikes and cars (an average of 50 cars a year fall into the canals)... but it has not stopped raining ... If i wanted this type of weather i would have stayed home but I'm sure it's just wonderful in Vancouver right now...
The weather has been horrible where ever I've travelled... Paris and Brussels were nice and sunny but it has not been very warm at all... London was a little windy with slight showers here and there but Amsterdam is getting dumped on... and the really funny thing about this horrible weather... I'm currently camping 20 minutes outside of Centraal Station...
The first night was a mess... I was a captain aboard a sinking ship... My Trail Appliance towel became a bucket to bail water from the leaking walls... Socks became corks... jackets became sleeping bags... t-shirts were pillows... and beer became sleeping pills... Before i left Brussels I had checked the weather via the internet and Amsterdam showed Sun all week... When i arrived 4 hours later the weather looked fine... there was no change in the sky when i arrived at Gaaspercamp, so I arranged to stay 4 nights in the campgrounds... The weather started to shift about an hour after i set up my tent... but that was ok... i positioned my little fort below a nice overhanging tree to minimize the amount of freefalling rain... This should have taken care of at least one night... 3 hours later the rain began to fall... thwacking the top of my nylon tent I was a little worried but I wouldn't let a little rain steal away the €42,00 I paid for 4 nights worth of camping...
And so the flood began....
That first night was horrible... but now I'm laughing at it because the next day i reinforced my tent... it's now a fortress of clear plastic garbage bags... I even bought a winter toque, that reads ''Amsterdam", to keep my head warm at night... The second and third night have been much more enjoyable... and by enjoyable i mean rather shitty, just better than the first night... Less leaks, less of a mess... a little more warm....
Anyways, tonight is my last night at Gaasperlas Camping... (Gaasperlas is the name of the lake, the name of the camp site is Gaaspercamp) I'm going to try and get a bed at the Flying Pig Hostel in downtown Amsterdam... where all the kids have piercing, dirty dreadlocks and ugly facial hair... The downtown district is not very nice... everyone is a tourist visiting for Amsterdam's notorious decriminalized commodities... I don't blame them... it's one of the things that makes Amsterdam so interesting, but it attracts a large diverse crowd... I think I'll leave for Deventer on Sunday... and then I will either B-line it for Berlin or head south for some sun... I shouldn't be putting myself through such horrid weather... a beach in Spain sounds really nice right now... Anyways... I'm going to try and salvage what I can of this soggy day in Amsterdam...
Adios Amigos
Matthew J. Van Deventer
Hello everybody...
I've been away for only two weeks... i can't believe that... it seems like a month... and the last 3 days have seemed like years...
I'm in Amsterdam... I'm currently in the Amsterdam library using their free internet... now i know where to go to get internet.... Donde es el bibliotheca?
I do not know what to think of the city... sure its nice and unique... and yes all the buildings lean and slant... sure the canals are filled with bikes and cars (an average of 50 cars a year fall into the canals)... but it has not stopped raining ... If i wanted this type of weather i would have stayed home but I'm sure it's just wonderful in Vancouver right now...
The weather has been horrible where ever I've travelled... Paris and Brussels were nice and sunny but it has not been very warm at all... London was a little windy with slight showers here and there but Amsterdam is getting dumped on... and the really funny thing about this horrible weather... I'm currently camping 20 minutes outside of Centraal Station...
The first night was a mess... I was a captain aboard a sinking ship... My Trail Appliance towel became a bucket to bail water from the leaking walls... Socks became corks... jackets became sleeping bags... t-shirts were pillows... and beer became sleeping pills... Before i left Brussels I had checked the weather via the internet and Amsterdam showed Sun all week... When i arrived 4 hours later the weather looked fine... there was no change in the sky when i arrived at Gaaspercamp, so I arranged to stay 4 nights in the campgrounds... The weather started to shift about an hour after i set up my tent... but that was ok... i positioned my little fort below a nice overhanging tree to minimize the amount of freefalling rain... This should have taken care of at least one night... 3 hours later the rain began to fall... thwacking the top of my nylon tent I was a little worried but I wouldn't let a little rain steal away the €42,00 I paid for 4 nights worth of camping...
And so the flood began....
That first night was horrible... but now I'm laughing at it because the next day i reinforced my tent... it's now a fortress of clear plastic garbage bags... I even bought a winter toque, that reads ''Amsterdam", to keep my head warm at night... The second and third night have been much more enjoyable... and by enjoyable i mean rather shitty, just better than the first night... Less leaks, less of a mess... a little more warm....
Anyways, tonight is my last night at Gaasperlas Camping... (Gaasperlas is the name of the lake, the name of the camp site is Gaaspercamp) I'm going to try and get a bed at the Flying Pig Hostel in downtown Amsterdam... where all the kids have piercing, dirty dreadlocks and ugly facial hair... The downtown district is not very nice... everyone is a tourist visiting for Amsterdam's notorious decriminalized commodities... I don't blame them... it's one of the things that makes Amsterdam so interesting, but it attracts a large diverse crowd... I think I'll leave for Deventer on Sunday... and then I will either B-line it for Berlin or head south for some sun... I shouldn't be putting myself through such horrid weather... a beach in Spain sounds really nice right now... Anyways... I'm going to try and salvage what I can of this soggy day in Amsterdam...
Adios Amigos
Matthew J. Van Deventer
The Travelling Library's Night Out
It's strange. I don't know how I did it but I managed to read all six of the books I brought with me. They were supposed to last me four months but things have changed. I am going to need more books.
Soon my rucksack will be filled with books instead of clothes. I'll go from town to town, city to city, collecting new and used books storing them in my bag of wonders. I'll grow a beard and with my ruby red cheeks I'll look like a literary Saint Nick. I'll hand out novels to the kids of Dresden. I'll provide pamphlets to Croats. I'll drop dictionaries from the roof tops of Deventer. People will see me riding the rails across Europe and they'll wave. I'll smile, tip my hat, give a wink and bellow out a grand "Oh, Oh, Oh!" to avoid any copy rite infringements.
They'll write songs about me. Stories will be passed on every year around this time.
"Remember the year that mad man came and gave us his second hand books?"
I wish someone could have been there for me. A mythological librarian on who has access to countless books stored up in his backpack of stories.
I guess all these kids could just go to the library, but there's no fun in that. None at all. I want to see the kids smile and grow up properly.
I wonder what Stuart is reading these days? He always picks the best novels. They always contain a great message deep down between the lines. Literature of the '50s and '60s always seem to give me the most satisfaction. The counter culture movement really hits the Bohemian deep within my soul.
But now I am here in Europe living the Boho dream. I am connected to the beat of the city. The pulse of the people, the energy that fuels the endless array of lights, they are a part of me. Light rays pass through my little eyes and I process it all through that large mass of circuits in my head. It's a real trip when you think of it.
Life seems so simple but someone somewhere around the world has developed another ideal standard that throws all your learned logic out the window. I cannot fathom the degree of intolerance that leads to someone unloading several hundred rounds of bullets into a school house or blowing up a subway station during rush hour. Just baffles me.
The idea of intolerance has spawned from the city of tolerance.
Amsterdam changes every hour that I am awake. The Red Light District is no longer just for sailors. At night people funnel into the notorious quarter just to get a peek at the nearly naked sex workers. It's fantastic and radiant. The lights sting and hum in the night air. Reflections in the canal create distorted mirrors of midnight mischief, sex shows and pleasure toys. The women in the window are no different from waitress'. They are service industry workers, winking and licking their lips for a tip. It's wild.
Eye contact is an embarrassment on it's own. These women can tell who is willing to lay the money down and those who are just window shopping. Streets turn to side streets. Side streets turn into alleys. Allys to walk ways barely wide enough for two way foot traffic. The Red Light District is a catacombs of legal lust and sin. Just wild!
Back at the hostel I was greeted with '80s party music. People were huddled around the in-house bar fumbling for drinks. The commons room was flooded with bright party wigs and clothes from this year's American Apparel catalog. Every smile and every laugh, soon to be broadcast world wide via Facebook and Myspace. The all mighty power of the Internet.
The party screams "look how much fun I am having in Europe! Look at all my new friends!"
This is not Europe. This is just another night in North America. Crank the stereo and shovel back the beer, black out and then do it again.
I learned my lesson the night before. I went down to Leidseplein to explore Amsterdam's club life. It was no different than the clubs back home. Same music, same lights, same girls. I loved it. I called it quits around 1 or 2 in the morning but the club crawlers kept going. After leaving the club started to walk back to the hostel but I didn't know that I was walking in the wrong direction. I had no map nor phone. I just kept walking until all the old brick buildings started to look less crooked and more contemporary. There was no one for miles. No cars. No trams.
You tend to realize the concept of loneliness while walking the miscellaneous streets of Amsterdam at 4 am. I am a long way from home.
Luckily a group of youngsters, like myself, were passing by and recognized my vacant concept of direction. They were able to contact a taxi which took me back into the city at a fee of 15 Euro. But these little follies amount to experience and experience tends to generate excellent stories.
Last night's lesson: Always bring the map or find a girl you can go home with...
Soon my rucksack will be filled with books instead of clothes. I'll go from town to town, city to city, collecting new and used books storing them in my bag of wonders. I'll grow a beard and with my ruby red cheeks I'll look like a literary Saint Nick. I'll hand out novels to the kids of Dresden. I'll provide pamphlets to Croats. I'll drop dictionaries from the roof tops of Deventer. People will see me riding the rails across Europe and they'll wave. I'll smile, tip my hat, give a wink and bellow out a grand "Oh, Oh, Oh!" to avoid any copy rite infringements.
They'll write songs about me. Stories will be passed on every year around this time.
"Remember the year that mad man came and gave us his second hand books?"
I wish someone could have been there for me. A mythological librarian on who has access to countless books stored up in his backpack of stories.
I guess all these kids could just go to the library, but there's no fun in that. None at all. I want to see the kids smile and grow up properly.
I wonder what Stuart is reading these days? He always picks the best novels. They always contain a great message deep down between the lines. Literature of the '50s and '60s always seem to give me the most satisfaction. The counter culture movement really hits the Bohemian deep within my soul.
But now I am here in Europe living the Boho dream. I am connected to the beat of the city. The pulse of the people, the energy that fuels the endless array of lights, they are a part of me. Light rays pass through my little eyes and I process it all through that large mass of circuits in my head. It's a real trip when you think of it.
Life seems so simple but someone somewhere around the world has developed another ideal standard that throws all your learned logic out the window. I cannot fathom the degree of intolerance that leads to someone unloading several hundred rounds of bullets into a school house or blowing up a subway station during rush hour. Just baffles me.
The idea of intolerance has spawned from the city of tolerance.
Amsterdam changes every hour that I am awake. The Red Light District is no longer just for sailors. At night people funnel into the notorious quarter just to get a peek at the nearly naked sex workers. It's fantastic and radiant. The lights sting and hum in the night air. Reflections in the canal create distorted mirrors of midnight mischief, sex shows and pleasure toys. The women in the window are no different from waitress'. They are service industry workers, winking and licking their lips for a tip. It's wild.
Eye contact is an embarrassment on it's own. These women can tell who is willing to lay the money down and those who are just window shopping. Streets turn to side streets. Side streets turn into alleys. Allys to walk ways barely wide enough for two way foot traffic. The Red Light District is a catacombs of legal lust and sin. Just wild!
Back at the hostel I was greeted with '80s party music. People were huddled around the in-house bar fumbling for drinks. The commons room was flooded with bright party wigs and clothes from this year's American Apparel catalog. Every smile and every laugh, soon to be broadcast world wide via Facebook and Myspace. The all mighty power of the Internet.
The party screams "look how much fun I am having in Europe! Look at all my new friends!"
This is not Europe. This is just another night in North America. Crank the stereo and shovel back the beer, black out and then do it again.
I learned my lesson the night before. I went down to Leidseplein to explore Amsterdam's club life. It was no different than the clubs back home. Same music, same lights, same girls. I loved it. I called it quits around 1 or 2 in the morning but the club crawlers kept going. After leaving the club started to walk back to the hostel but I didn't know that I was walking in the wrong direction. I had no map nor phone. I just kept walking until all the old brick buildings started to look less crooked and more contemporary. There was no one for miles. No cars. No trams.
You tend to realize the concept of loneliness while walking the miscellaneous streets of Amsterdam at 4 am. I am a long way from home.
Luckily a group of youngsters, like myself, were passing by and recognized my vacant concept of direction. They were able to contact a taxi which took me back into the city at a fee of 15 Euro. But these little follies amount to experience and experience tends to generate excellent stories.
Last night's lesson: Always bring the map or find a girl you can go home with...
I AMsterdam... Who are you?
I don't know what to tell you about this place. There are no secrets here, only excuses to relieve the firm grip on reality.
And I'm clutching mine.
The people who come to Amsterdam are farm from beautiful. The tourist runs the city but this city will run you down. I'm not sure if these people know what they are doing but they flock to the city with backpacks filled with time and empty ambition. They stroll in with their dreadlocks and dollar sized earrings that expose gaping holes in floppy earlobes. They flood Centraal Station and pour into the streets. They seep their way to Dam Square. They loiter with guitars, hooked on hidden drumbeats only heard in their warping minds. They dress to impress their own style parading to the world a fashion of grunge meets goth meets Indie underground dance party.
I won't let myself fall in with the tourist crowd. I don't even pass the dress code at the door. Maybe one day I could turn my back on humble clothing and devote my attention to the traveller's chic black tastes.
But this would take years to complete the transformation from "collage boy casual" to the uniform of the Damists. I would need to stock pile weeks and months of facial hair and then carefully select what unique figure i could create.
A lightning bolt? Racing Stripes? Eurotails? Quite frankly, I do not have the time to grow a beard and it makes me itch.
I would need piercings galore. One through my lip, another along the bridge of my nose, and four more scattered through out the Netherlands of my body. But this would fear into my simple little life. Suddenly walking becomes a hazard. These little metallic knobs become landmines, accidents waiting to happen. What would happen if the hidden piercings were to get tangled in fishing wire or snagged in my clothes resulting in the severing or tearing certain unmentionable members.
As for tatoos. One is not enough. I would have to be littered with meaningful images like the virgin Mary, my son, or a jumping Japanese fish.
Enough said...
But those are just the Dam tourists. The Dutch are lovely people. Tall as you would never believe, with blond hair and light blue eyes. And here I am in peasants clothing and a head of hair that has not been this long for roughly 14 months.
I don't stand out but I'm not a part of their jigsaw...
People don't make eye contact in the big cities. London and Paris were too wrapped up in their own history that they keep rolling along. The sun sets and the neon lights wake up the tired lives. People pour out of the Underground or Metro and flood the streets but not like the Dam tourist. No, these folk have lives. They are managing their life (something the Dammers will learned to do five, maybe ten years down the line).
The city streets criss-cross canals and endless rows of crooked houses. Everything leans. This city is like a demented version of Disney's Toon Town and with the right kind of drugs you can recreate the cosmic colours of the magic kingdom.
The Dutch whizz by on bicycles built for getting from A to B. They do not notice the cracks in the streets or the people walking down the designated bicycle lanes. They are stoic faces speeding across bridges, talking on their mobile phones, reaching for their briefcase or purse, adjusting a bra, all while pedalling their soviet designed bicycles. You can tell that a factory has pumped out millions of these utility bicylces.
Amsterdam is a bike cemetery and the canals are their graves.
This is an evident problem around the city. They have managed to find solutions. Large ditch diggers operated by a long flat boat reach in and scoop up any solid debris. Giant mechanical arms pull out bicycles and pieces of cars everyday. It is a sight to see my friends.
Everything is a sight to see. This whole continent screams "look at me!" But when we turn to look all we see is some guy slumped in a chair smoking on a cigarette asking "Why me?"
An older man told us off the other day. He had been drinking for days and sleeping on the very same bench where he was sitting. His blond hair was aged and the stubble on his face declared that he had given up on his public appearance. The empty Heineken cans added to the decor of the cobbled stoned street. He hated his life and condition but he could not transgress his thoughts to turn his life around.
For him it was too late. The only thing he had left in the world was his ability to interact with his surroundings. And so he chose to interact with our tour group. The man sputtered something in Dutch. A cry that could have gone unheard. He spoke again, this time more direct. With anger and disgust he sputtered out more words, this time understandable to the majority of the group.
"Go home," he cried in broken English. "Go back to your airplane, back home. You ruin this city. You are not welcome here."
The man was thoroughly disgusted with all of us standing in front of the roadside statue. All he saw was 30 tourists (not the Dam tourist) making a mess of his country, inhaling on all the vices Amsterdam has to offer. This was an interaction between two polar opposites; the "haves" vs. the "have nots."
At the digression of our tour leader, the 'haves' released a communal 'boo' in retaliation for the man's drunken intolerance. I kept quite. I could relate to what the man was saying but I was not condoning his verbal attack. Our public shaming managed to break his morale but you could tell that his spirit had been broken years prior...
It was a scene that became epic in my life, even though I had nothing to do with it. I was there watching in a city built around tolerance and social freedoms.
The Golden Age of the Netherlands is so far gone but for some reason it's still pressing in my mind.
And I'm clutching mine.
The people who come to Amsterdam are farm from beautiful. The tourist runs the city but this city will run you down. I'm not sure if these people know what they are doing but they flock to the city with backpacks filled with time and empty ambition. They stroll in with their dreadlocks and dollar sized earrings that expose gaping holes in floppy earlobes. They flood Centraal Station and pour into the streets. They seep their way to Dam Square. They loiter with guitars, hooked on hidden drumbeats only heard in their warping minds. They dress to impress their own style parading to the world a fashion of grunge meets goth meets Indie underground dance party.
I won't let myself fall in with the tourist crowd. I don't even pass the dress code at the door. Maybe one day I could turn my back on humble clothing and devote my attention to the traveller's chic black tastes.
But this would take years to complete the transformation from "collage boy casual" to the uniform of the Damists. I would need to stock pile weeks and months of facial hair and then carefully select what unique figure i could create.
A lightning bolt? Racing Stripes? Eurotails? Quite frankly, I do not have the time to grow a beard and it makes me itch.
I would need piercings galore. One through my lip, another along the bridge of my nose, and four more scattered through out the Netherlands of my body. But this would fear into my simple little life. Suddenly walking becomes a hazard. These little metallic knobs become landmines, accidents waiting to happen. What would happen if the hidden piercings were to get tangled in fishing wire or snagged in my clothes resulting in the severing or tearing certain unmentionable members.
As for tatoos. One is not enough. I would have to be littered with meaningful images like the virgin Mary, my son, or a jumping Japanese fish.
Enough said...
But those are just the Dam tourists. The Dutch are lovely people. Tall as you would never believe, with blond hair and light blue eyes. And here I am in peasants clothing and a head of hair that has not been this long for roughly 14 months.
I don't stand out but I'm not a part of their jigsaw...
People don't make eye contact in the big cities. London and Paris were too wrapped up in their own history that they keep rolling along. The sun sets and the neon lights wake up the tired lives. People pour out of the Underground or Metro and flood the streets but not like the Dam tourist. No, these folk have lives. They are managing their life (something the Dammers will learned to do five, maybe ten years down the line).
The city streets criss-cross canals and endless rows of crooked houses. Everything leans. This city is like a demented version of Disney's Toon Town and with the right kind of drugs you can recreate the cosmic colours of the magic kingdom.
The Dutch whizz by on bicycles built for getting from A to B. They do not notice the cracks in the streets or the people walking down the designated bicycle lanes. They are stoic faces speeding across bridges, talking on their mobile phones, reaching for their briefcase or purse, adjusting a bra, all while pedalling their soviet designed bicycles. You can tell that a factory has pumped out millions of these utility bicylces.
Amsterdam is a bike cemetery and the canals are their graves.
This is an evident problem around the city. They have managed to find solutions. Large ditch diggers operated by a long flat boat reach in and scoop up any solid debris. Giant mechanical arms pull out bicycles and pieces of cars everyday. It is a sight to see my friends.
Everything is a sight to see. This whole continent screams "look at me!" But when we turn to look all we see is some guy slumped in a chair smoking on a cigarette asking "Why me?"
An older man told us off the other day. He had been drinking for days and sleeping on the very same bench where he was sitting. His blond hair was aged and the stubble on his face declared that he had given up on his public appearance. The empty Heineken cans added to the decor of the cobbled stoned street. He hated his life and condition but he could not transgress his thoughts to turn his life around.
For him it was too late. The only thing he had left in the world was his ability to interact with his surroundings. And so he chose to interact with our tour group. The man sputtered something in Dutch. A cry that could have gone unheard. He spoke again, this time more direct. With anger and disgust he sputtered out more words, this time understandable to the majority of the group.
"Go home," he cried in broken English. "Go back to your airplane, back home. You ruin this city. You are not welcome here."
The man was thoroughly disgusted with all of us standing in front of the roadside statue. All he saw was 30 tourists (not the Dam tourist) making a mess of his country, inhaling on all the vices Amsterdam has to offer. This was an interaction between two polar opposites; the "haves" vs. the "have nots."
At the digression of our tour leader, the 'haves' released a communal 'boo' in retaliation for the man's drunken intolerance. I kept quite. I could relate to what the man was saying but I was not condoning his verbal attack. Our public shaming managed to break his morale but you could tell that his spirit had been broken years prior...
It was a scene that became epic in my life, even though I had nothing to do with it. I was there watching in a city built around tolerance and social freedoms.
The Golden Age of the Netherlands is so far gone but for some reason it's still pressing in my mind.
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