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...