back again

helloooo

To begin with, I should clear up some confusion with my last post. Apparently I forgot to mention exactly why my British Youth Culture class went to Brighton…. During the late 1950’s/through the 60’s here in the UK, there was a youth fad/cult/movement called “Mod”. Basically, this was the culture that the Beatles, the Who, etc. came out of with the mod hair cuts, the mo-peds, the fancy suits and a strange combination of northern soul, reggae, and rock and roll. Brighton, as the summer hang-out and band jump off point for most of southern England’s youth, was subject to a lot of mod happenings, including a big show-down between a gang of Mods and a gang of “Rockers”. This showdown made big news in its day, with police, rock throwing, and all sorts of general mayhem (people were arrested for “obscene language”). The whole ordeal made its way into a movie, now a cult classic here in the UK, called Quadrophenia (sp?), filmed to a greater extent in Brighton. We had to watch this for our class and spent 2 weeks talking about the Mods and their impact on British Youth Culture and British music. Brighton also has a lot of musical history – Pink Floyd did their first ever showing of “The Wall” here, the Who and the Beatles played famous gigs, and the infamous Norman Cook (aka Fatboy Slim) lives just down the beach.

Im going back to Brighton on the 30th to do my own sightseeing and shopping. There are some wonderful record stores, an amazing organic/hemp clothing store, and some lovely vegetarian restaraunts that I want to check out. That, and its only 16 pounds round trip. Lovely!

Next on the agenda: Theater. Last week I saw a West End production of Macbeth with Patrick Stewart in the lead. Now, Im not the biggest fan of classic revivals, especially Shakespeare. I enjoy talking about his work in class and respect it for its shear genious and virtuosity, but performed, all the 500 years between then and now shine out in full glory. The dialog is impossible to fully comprehend, the monologues are long and the jokes dated. The only purpose of staging a Shakespeare play is to reinterpret the visual aspect – something this performance did quite well. It took place in Stalin-era Russia, compelte with political assasinations, furry hats, camoflage, and concrete walls. The witches were three nurses, evil and cunning as ever, who lurked on the edges of each scene, serving dinner here, waiting on Lady Macbeth there. Creeeeeepy. Their scenes were by far the most facinating, due in no small part to the projections of blood and TV static on the stage, lighting effects, and lots of mortuary-esque imagery. Patrick Stewart was, in my opinion (which I recieved some flack for in class), boring and awkward. A few of his monologues were riveting, but for the most part, he stood out like a sore thumb with his bald head and pained delivery next to an incredibly sexy, intense Lady Macbeth and the creepy, slimy Porter. The play as a whole? Not worth seeing unless you have IES pay for 90% of your ticket. I almost fell asleep in some places because Shakespeare tends to drag out scenes that give information, instead of giving it and getting on with things (does that make sense?). I dont know… Mixed feelings on this one. Yesterday in class, discussing it made me feel a little more compassionate, but I still say that Shakespeare has reached the end of its modern rope. Give it a rest, let someone else have the limelight for a while.

This week, the last play of the semester (!!), we saw a rather poor production at a tiny theatre called The Bush (near Shepard’s Bush tube stop). The play was called “The Dysfunktionalz” or something like that. It followed the trials and tribulations of a washed-up punk band after they reunite in order to sign a contract with an American credit card company for one of their songs to be used in an advertisement. Obviously, this goes against the whole punk-ethos of the late 70s/early 80s – ie anti-establishment/anarchy. The script here was terrible in places, OK for the majority. The actors did an amazing job with what they were given to work with, and more or less sold the show. It felt a bit campy in places, like the Rocky Horror show but not intentional. The main actor looked like a smaller Johnny Rotten and acted like it too, which was fun to witness in a theatre that held less than 50 people. A lot of the dialog had to do with British views of American capitalism and i think that about half the audience was from the US so things went over pretty funny and successfully. Hearing the British bash the States so freely is a bit disconcerting, but I cant argue with anything that was said. In a way it was refreshing to realize that the things we joke about back home are actually rather important issues that the rest of the world is legitimately concerned with. Everyone should get out and break the US bubble some time in their life.

This past weekend =’d Majorca, Spain with three friends, two from UPS (Stephanie and Lauren) and another from my program here at IES (Brandon). Like all of my trips outside the UK so far, this one didnt go without a major hitch, but overall was worth it. Majorca is GORGEOUS. The biggest island in the Baeleric archipeligo, Majorca has everything you’d ever need: mountains, flat agricultural land, a big city (Palma – 300,000), a handful of smaller cities (10-30,000), lots of tourism, and some of the most amazing beaches, peninsulas, and coves I have ever seen. At times it felt like a movie set or something not quite real. November is the start of the ‘off-season’ and might have had something to do with the otherworldy nature of this place. I can only imagine what Palma looks like during the summer, as about 60% of the shops/restaraunts/attractions are closed or down-sized during the winter. It felt a little bit like a retirement home for main-land Spanish folks. Not alot of people our age wandering around.

Our hostel was about 45 mintues away from Palma by bus, along the beach-strip of tourist attractions that reminded me a lot of Cancun with a European flair. Lots of British and German pubs, diners, and clubs in the area which was a little annoying as we came to Majorca to see Spain, not Germany/UK…. But we didnt stay in that area too much, only at night. The hostel was really nice for the 14 E we paid a night – i was more a budget hotel with a bar and computers downstairs than a hostel in my opinion. The first night there, we just wandered down the beach and ate at a touristy Italian restaraunt. The next day we took the bus into Palma and then another bus to a little ocean-side town called Port de Soler. More wandering ensued and we ended up eating at a Chinese restaraunt for lunch because we had wandered too far away from the open tourist areas and had no other choice. It was quality Chinese food though and nobody was complaining. Afterwards we hiked up to a lighthouse on one side of the bay and then all around the wildlife refuge that covered most of the peninsula behind the light house. This was a lot of fun and reminded me of when I was younger, clambering around rocks and through the grass with a bunch of friends. We caught the bus back to Palma around dinner time and did some night-time (the sun sets here around 5:30) sightseeing of the city, including a massive Gothic-revival Cathedral and battlements on the hillside looking across the Port de Palma. We ate at a more or less authentic Baeleric restaurant that night, more or less I say because nothing in Palma’s downtown is ever <i>too</i> authentic. I had salmon in a pepper-cream sauce. Deliscious! The second day, we rented a car. This is a little difficult when you are under 23 in Majorca, but we managed to find a guy that would rent to someone 22 years of age (thank you Brandon) on the boardwalk by our hostel. And hence, I spent the rest of the day re-learning how to drive manual in a little Pugeot something or other. Despite a few nerve racking moments on roundabouts and in the mountains, I did pretty well for having not driven a stick in over 2 years. I guess its a little bit like riding a bike, you never completely forget how. We drove from Palma NE to another little port town called “Port de Formentar” where we embarked farther north, up the Peninsula de Formentar. This area is absolutely stunning. Sheer granite/basalt cliffs that dissapear into crystal blue ocean crashing white 500 feet below you. Clear skies, 70 degree weather, little grows of cypress and pine trees, ah…… it was heaven. At the tip of the peninsula is a lighthouse with a little cafe where we spent an hour or so eating cake and taking in the incredible views of the sea and back towards the Port de Formentar. On our way home we drove along the NW coast through the mountains – a rather harrowing adventure in the dark with a manual car and no real idea where you are going. The pay off was watching the sun set behind said mountains and finally arriving in Soler to a lovely cafe-dinner of lasanga and ice cream. Mmmm…. On our last day, well half-day, we took the bus into Palma and wandered some more. I had the famous Majorcan pastry called Ensaimada at a cafe near the bus depot – something Id been craving all weekend (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ensa%C3%AFmada). As usual, I find out a week later that these things are make with pork lard (traditionally). I really hope mine had vege-shortening. At least it tasted like vege-shortening….. Ill just keep telling myself that. On the bus ride to the airport we were lucky enough to sit down next to a professional Spanish guitar player who gave us a little 30 minute show (classic guitar is out of this world) and his business card (http://home.datacomm.ch/rezamusic/index.html). It was really peaceful riding to the airport listening to his music while the sun was setting on our last day there. Too bad this sense of satisfaction was only temporary.

We flew out of Palma and had to transfer at Zurich, Switzerland. Now, for any of you traveling through this airport, be warned! It is the most non-user-friendly airport I have ever been in. They make you go through a full metal detector security check point every time you enter a new terminal. Its ridiculous! We had a full 2 hours at this place before our flight left, so we made our way down to gate A3 and waited. And waited. And waited. Somehow we had the boarding time confused with the departure time and since they never once called our flight number or our names and we were sitting just around the corner from the gate (aka couldnt see the gate) we ended up missing our flight. Yep, word to the wise! NEVER miss a non-transferable flight (ie budget flights). After arguing with the Swiss air receptionist lady, we come to the conclusion that the only way to get back to the UK is to wait till the next morning at 7 AM, buy a one-way for 130 dollars, and suck it up. I cant tell you how stupid we felt, stupid and tired and hungry and utterly disenchanted from our weekend in paradise. But, having no other choice, we booked the flight, got some expensive airport dinner, and did a lot of SuDoKu. Im not even going to start on what sleeping was like that night. Lets just say my back is still sore.

So in the end, Ive realized that no matter if you travel alone, or with three other people, something is always bound to go wrong. You just have to suck it up, smile, and go on with life. Too bad that costs 130 bucks each time…. Why cant I have ONE mishap free travel experience!!?? I better have some major good karma built up by this time. Something grand is bound to happen sooner or later, right? Sigh………..

Tonight its off to The Synergy Project. Check it out here: http://www.thesynergyproject.org/    I love me some hippies! Needless to say, there is some serious dancing/stress relief in order tonight. Rave on.

boogalooooooo

Its Sunday night and I am sufficiently bored enough to write on here….. If any of you have been trying to get a hold of me on Skype or by email, I have probably been a little out of the loop lately – apparently you cant share your iTunes library over the network in this building and if you dare, they take away your internet for a weekend. Oops…. I wish they would have made clearer just exactly what they meant by “no file sharing.” But alls well now, they gave me a little slap on the wrist talk and if I do it again, I get fined. Stupid IES.
The last time I was on here, I neglected to mention the play I had seen that week. We had to pick the play ourselves and I chose the most interesting of the choices my teacher wrote up on the board for us – Being Norwegian by David Grieg. It was performed in this crazy venue called “The Shunt Vaults,” situated underneath the London Bridge tube station in the catacomb-like vaults that fill space between train tunnels. The entrance to this theater is a little door across from the main entrance to London Bridge station. It looks like a secret “members only” club, or some sort of black market shop. Once inside, you walk a good 100 yards or so through unused vault space, lit by very dim lights that reminded me of torches, into the Shunt Vaults Lounge, a bar/music venue to the same aesthetic as the rest of the vault-space – medieval gothic meets new-age sheik. My play was in a room about 35 feet long by 15 feet wide and performed entirely on a little couch in the center of the room. We, the audience, sat around the couch on little chairs – I was about 10 feet from the couch. The play was part of a series called “A Play, A Pie, A Pint” and, as per the name, you got just that. As you walk in, you get to chose from two different catered, organic vegetable/meat pies and a collection of alcoholic drinks, after which you sit down and consume your meal while watching an hour long play. It was a bit intense, the eating and drinking of 30 or so people in such a small space, and the actors were sweating (as were we, but not quite as much) profusely during most of the piece. Being Norwegian was about how we deal with emotional problems and followed an hour in the lives of a man and woman you have just met and are awkwardly getting to know each other in a cramped little flat (the space really gave us a sense that we were right there in the apartment with them). Apparently Norwegians have a rather pessimistic, but healthy outlook on life – accepting the darkness that everyone deals with as an inevitable and ultimately helpful part of our lives. Quoted from the program, “We Norwegians think people who are happy are perhaps just a little bit above themselves, don’t you?” This is a bit tongue-in-cheek, but thinking of my own Norwegian relations, it rings true, more or less. The dark, cold northern Minnesota landscape does similar things to a person as the Norwegian arctic. All in all, it was a very good night out – the actors had both won a variety of Best Actor(ress) awards in Britain and might have well have been real people (aka not actors) sitting on the couch for all I could discern. Plus I got a tasty sweet potato pie and a glass of wine for a total cost of $10 that IES is paying us back for. Life is good.
This week was full of newness. For my British Women Novelists class, we went to an exhibition of the famous 19th century painter Milais’ work at the Tate Britain. Despite getting ridiculously lost on my way there and arriving 30 minutes late, I really enjoyed the exhibition, especially since IES paid for everyone to get a hand held audio tour device dealy thing and all we had to do was sit in the middle of the room and listen and look. Milais was an amazing painter and I found myself recognizing a lot of the work on display. We just finished reading Lady Audley’s Secret, which I guess was written about the same time as Milais painted and relates to his subject matter. Who knows. I thought the gallery was cool either way.
On Friday my British Youth Culture class went on a field trip to Brighton, a beach town about an hour by train south of England. This was a lot of fun, as the teacher (a man in his early 30s, bachelor, with a passion for music, fashion, and socialization) accompanied and showed us around, as well as taking off his teaching hat and showing us a little of his real personality. Very cool. He works for the BBC as a sort of freelance documentary maker, as well as a number of other odd jobs, dresses like a Marks and Spencer’s model, and cracks the most amazingly random, often dirty, jokes. All the girls in this class have a weird crush on him… I find the whole situation rather annoying at times, but unlike some teachers I have had, his is no feeble attempt to be cool for the kids, its really the way he is outside of class. We ate at this fish and chips place on the ocean-front and we learned all about his family and his decisions to become a teacher. The tour of the city was less than satisfactory as he had just been to the Sex Pistols opening reunion tour the night before in Brixton and had lost most of his voice. It was windy and cold too, which didn’t help. They left us alone around 3 PM and a bunch of us stayed around till after dark. I got a lovely hemp sweater-jacket type thing, went on a kiddy slide on the pier (sorta like the Santa Monica pier, with rides and such), ate 5 giant mini-donuts (yeah I know, contraindication, but it’s the only way I can describe them), and listened to some records in various record shops. Brighton reminds me off a rockier Nor-Cal beach town, complete with a long paved board walk, lots of hippy-beach town stores, clubs, and a big, brightly lit pier. I really want to come back during the summer when its hot and there are mobs of people running around. A whole slew of famous clubs are situated right on the water, like the front door to the venue opens onto the beach. I can only imagine….. No camera yet, so no pictures. Im sorry!!
Last night I went to a psy-breaks party with this guy Ian (from UPS as well, but a year below me). We both have quite a bit in common with music production stuff and had a great time dancing to some amazing dubstep and grime. This was the first party that I have felt completely at home here – lots of dreads, home cooked food, glitchy, bassy, broken music, real dancers, and people doing poi – and I stayed until just about 6 AM when it closed. It was also the first party at which I have had any real conversation with local Londoners, a group of three guys, friends at university. Overall it wasn’t the most intense party, or the best music, I have heard here, but the overall vibe of the place and all the elements combined made this a really positive night out. Im excited for this Spring now that I have someone to bounce music prod. ideas off as well.
This weekend I am planning on either going to Paris or Majorca/Minorca/Ibiza. Ian said hat he was thinking of going to Paris where he has a free place to stay this weekend and wanted me to join him. Originally I had imagined going to Edinburgh this weekend, but I figured it was a bit short notice for the Bramleys to ask their hospitality. Instead I plan on the ol nostalgia tour for the last weekend I am here, before finals begin. If Paris does not work out, and Ill know by tomorrow, its off to the sunny South-of-Spain Mediterranean to see the birthplace of rave culture without a slew of summertime crowds. Either way things should get interesting this weekend. J J

The Amsterdam review – finally!

Its been over a week now since I left for Amsterdam, five days since I returned, and I guess Ive finally calmed down enough to write a little bit about it. This week has been full of midterm excitement, projects and papers and all that wonderful school stuff, plus another couple amazing parties this weekend and Guy Fawkes day. Ooof! London never lets up… Time to revisit:

I left on Thursday morning – hopped a night bus at 5:15 AM to Liverpool station, then a train to Harwich Port. I dont remember a lot of this journey, as I attempted to sleep for most of it, but what I do remember isnt too important. Lots of green, some sheep, a few cities – England in other words. At the port a large number of us “foot passengers” were corralled onto buses and taxied into gianormous ferry. Since I hadnt paid for a room and wasnt a truck driver, I spent most of the sea-going leg of my journey balled up on a booth seat in the “Food City” cafe area. Awesome. I slept decently though, probably a good half of the 7 hour boat ride, bought a news paper and did some Sudoku, ate a lot of food, and braved the insanely cold, windy observation deck a few times. Ferry’s are thoroughly uninteresting, but it got me there on time, was cheap, and infinitely more comfortable than a plane or a train. Once in Holland, the “Hoek of Holland” port, I ditched the boat and took another train to Amsterdam, not without the usual confusion as to which train I was supposed to take, when it was coming, etc… etc… This was my first time in a country that doesnt speak English since Cancun (yeah, doesnt really count I know) in 11th grade. It was a little overwhelming at first, but you learn to stop worrying about what people are saying around you, what all the advertisements mean, and so on… And, you learn very quickly what certain words imply.”Nay” = no. “Straat” = street. Euro = slightly more forgiving than the pound, but not much.

I arrived in Amsterdam thoroughly hungry, tired, and foggy from so much time in transit. Central Station, the epicenter of activity in Amsterdam city, was a mess of people hurrying this way and that with bags and luggages and yelling and children crying and bumping into and people sleeping and people eating and talking in a million different languages. A lot like London actually, except people were taller, better looking, less fat and not quite as white. It was cold too, and dark as I arrived around 7PM. My hostel was about a 5 minute walk from the station, just off this big street that I still cant pronounce, but phonetically (to me at least) sounded like “Noorsvoorgb Neeooistraat” or something… Dutch is a weird language – like Welsh and German had a lovechild. The hostel was called “Hotel Cosmos” and like most of Amsterdam was quirky, but very friendly. Housed in a typical Amsterdam townhouse, complete with insanely steep stairs, a tiny little reception room, and a kitty cat, Hotel Cosmos was just about perfect for the amount of money I spent each night for a bed. I slept in a room with 11 other people, bunk beds, and thanks to the miracle invention of wax ear plugs, had absolutely no issue falling/staying asleep. There was even a complementary breakfast each morning with Cappacuino, juice, and toast. Lovely. They made me pay in cash though (annoying, but understandable considering their clients) and I spent a good hour that evening trying to find the cash machine the man at reception gave me directions to. This was my rather abrupt introduction to Amsterdam streets – they dont make any sense. Some streets barely exist, maybe 20 feet long, some are glorified alley-ways, some change names halfway, and then switch back once they cross a canal. I though London was confusing, but Amsterdam took it to another level. Not being able to pronounce any of their names helped a lot too…..

That first night I ate dinner at an Indian restaraunt down the street. Good food, though I ordered too much and ate it all…. Afterwards, since it was still too early to sleep, I decided to experience a little bit of the Amsterdam every college student talks about – aka Coffee Shops. There was a nice looking place with a glass-enclosed street seating area a block from my hostel called “The Grasshopper” that I decided to venture into. The verdict on Coffee Shops? Weird. Like most of Amsterdam. For one, not many actual Amsterdamers patron these places. Two, most of the people who do patron these places are very inexperienced smokers. Three, you can smoke marijuana while reading the NY Times and sipping a latte. Four, the quality and strength of herb in these places is 10x stronger and better than the majority of what sells on the street in America or Britain. All of these things combine and collide in Coffee Shops to lend a sort of nervous, paranoid, schizophrenic-stoned ambiance. I saw so many people smoke way too much of way too strong stuff, and proceed to have a very bad time and make themselves more worried and anxious than they needed to be (aka not at all – its legal!). Marijuana is a psychedelic, it affects the way your mind perceives reality, and I think most of the tourists that smoke in the Dam do it under the impression that its going to make them silly and eat lots of chocolate. NOPE! The reason its illegal is because, unlike alcohol that distills and amplifies the ego, a psychedlic substance dillutes and manipulates the ego. Most of our consumer-capitalist brethren from suburban binary worlds are not OK with such an experience, and when suddenly in the middle of a foreign country surrounded by rather disgruntled Duth people (Damers have a less than positive view of the weed-tourism that goes on in their city), they tend to have a scary and unsettling experience. I wont spend too much time detailing this side of my experiences, but suffice to say that everything people said about Coffee Shops was more or less true. Expensive, yep. Quality, amazing. Ambiance, devoid. Verdict? Its legal simply because money can be made and tourists can be duped. Deliscious!

The first full day in the Dam I spent at the Artis Zoo complex (aquarium, zoo, planetarium, and earth science museum). This was enjoyable, but cold and more or less like every other Zoo Ive been to, if not one of the worst in terms of upkeep and space given to animal environments. It is the oldest Zoo in the Netherlands and some of the cages look like they havent been renovated since its inception. Highlights: a pretty amazing reptile collection (complete with a huge, 6-7 foot long Boa that swallowed a rabbit, live and whole, while a gaggle of small children and I watched in horror), a goofy exhibit of fish that live in Amsterdam canals, pelicans that ate bass-sized fish in one giant gulp (these things were as tall as me when rearing up), lots of monkeys, and strange gerbil-looking animals with really long hair that live in trees. I missed the last planetarium showing by 5 minutes, but wasnt too dissapointed as it was all in Dutch. I had had enough of pretty visuals by that point. In the evening, I ate some cheap falafal from a little stand near Central Station and ended up back at the hostel to regain strength and figure out where a certain Club 11 was on my map…..

Hostels in Amsterdam are just as strange as the city itself. For instance, when I got back that evening, my bunk-mate (Ben from Edmonton, Canada) and his “girlfriend” Katarina he met on a train to Berlin two weeks ago, were just coming up on an 1/8th each of lovely, legal, psychedelic mushrooms. In the bedroom. Woopee! I spent a good while trying to create conversation with them as they giggled and stared at a poster of Van Gogh on the wall, learning in the process that Ben was at the end of a year long, $50,000, backpacking excursion by himself throughout Europe. Where did he get 50-grand to spend on himself for a year? Apparently selling crack, and Im not kidding. The words out of his mouth – “I dropped out of highschool to be a gansta. I never did it, but I sure sold a helluva lot of it.” Lovely. He was a nice enough guy though, not very smart, but nice. Him and Katarina ended up joining me that evening at Club 11 for Modeselektor’s release party for the new album “Happy Birthday!” This was the highlight of my time in Amsterdam. Everything came together in one beautiful, exciting night, and if my camera wasnt at the bottom of a pond in Vondelpark, you too could see what I was lucky enough to stumble upon that night. Club 11 is on the top floor (11th floor) of a brand new office complex, ultra modern, all glass, behind Central Station overlooking the water and the entire city. From floor to ceiling glass windows surrounded each floor and from the dance floor, you could see out on all sides across Amsterdam at night, a surreal and exhilerating feeling. The entrance was in the back of the building, via a little maintanence doorway. Everything, from the cement walls outside, to the corridors inside and the elevator shaft, was covered in some of the most amazing, beautiful, grafitti art I have ever seen. The Netherlands are full of grafitti art, and not just the lame tagging/name writing that goes on all over the world in cities. This was full on spray-painted, urban, art. The elevator was manned by a goofy local with a boombox blasting techno and we all crowded into the elevator with a sense of awe and exclusiveness – nobody checked our bags, everyone was smiling, ready to dance and just as mystified as we were. At the top, the elevator disengaged, we stepped out, and into one of the best clubs I have ever been in. The sound was crystal and just loud enough – the bass gutteral, the mids heartbreakingly clear, the highs crisp and tight. The space was huge and the ceiling lofty, surrounded by comfy couches and split in half by a curtain. One side was a bar-area with wooden picnic-style tables, the other a dancefloor with raised platforms here and there to give depth to the crowd and allow people in the back to see. Modeselektor ripped that place to shreads. I had only heard things about him in the past, never really given much thought to seeking any of his music out or anything. I am now convinced that he is the European Bassnectar – his music and DJing technique is just as tight and innovative with a similar emphasis on really gut-wrenching low frequency sounds, hip-hop and dubstep beats, and crowd control. When we almost had had too much, bam! he’d break it down into something utterly gorgeous and half-tempo, only to build it back up again in a few minutes into another relentless assault of squelching, wobbling basslines and glitched out funk. Haha… Im sure that makes so much sense to y’all. Go find out for yourself, or at least buy Happy Birthday/everything else this guy has produced. Its all golden. I returned home by myself to the hostel around 5:30 AM, having lost Ben from Edmonten to another 2/8s of mushrooms (he apparently found his way back to the hostel around noon that day…) and Katarina earlier that night to sleepiness, happy and elated as I traversed the open water beneath street lights and the neon modernism of Amsterdam behind Central Station. I had this amazing video of a lone swan swimming across the glass-like canal water near the Concert Hall – it all seemed so other-worldly that night, like I had stepped into a sort of deja-vu universe at the end of time. The bed felt amazing and I slept something close to 11 hours that morning.

Saturday was a bit of a lost day – I got up at 2:30 pm and rushed around in the hopes of seeing the botanical gardens before they closed. Like usual, I ended up completely lost, hungry, and dejected in some random area of Amsterdam because the Trams are pointless and apparently there was construction in the street outside Hortus Botanicus. Go figure. Instead I walked for an hour or so until I was outside the Dam Centrum to a vegetarian restaraunt called The Golden Temple. GO HERE IF YOU EAT ANYWHERE IN AMSTERAM. By far the coolest restaraunt Ive ever eaten at. I walked in the front door and the worlds most friendly hostess showed me upstairs where the entire eating floor was covered in pillows and sheep skins with low tables and instruments and books and magazines, all lit by a million little votif candles. I had a red-fruit (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Fruit) and ginger juice-drink with a middle-eastern sampler platter. It was 100% deliscious. I spent 2 hours here by myself reading about Buddhism (something I had never done before, oddly enough) and soaking up the ridiculously calm, happy ambiance around me. If you have some time, look into Buddhist meditation. It’s a really interesting practice that everyone, especially in todays world of constant mental stimulation and input, would benifit from. I ended up buying a book, “Meditation: Now or Never” by Steve Hogan, on the subject that is really good and I would recommend to anyone interested in learning more about their mind and the way we perceive wants, desires, and our everyday existence. So yeah, thanks Golden Temple! That night I went to another club, this time to see a DJ called Agoria. Sadly, he couldnt make it from wherever he was in Germany, and a rather unknown (to me at least) guy whose name I dont remember, was booked instead. The night was OK, better than many Ive had out, but nowhere near the night before. Lots and lots of tech-house and electro, which can get a little boring after while and attracts a lot of people on ecstasy, who can get a little annoying after a while. At least water was free from the tap – always a plus!

Sunday I was much more productive, having convinced myself that I was going to make the most of my time in a foreign country whether I was lonely or not. SO, first came Hortus Botanicus, one of the oldest (if not THE oldest) botanical gardens in Europe. Like most things in Amsterdam, Hortus is rather small (or maybe Im just used to America where everything is so BIG) but stock full of every plant you’ve ever heard of. I saw Europe’s oldest and largest Cycad, an ancient tree-like plant in the fern family, an utterly amazing collection of cactus, including a gianormous Peyote collection that must have been growing since the 1960s (L. Williamsii is a very slow growing cactus), two brilliant, multi-tiered, enclosed tropical gardens complete with banana trees, mist, and lots of mimosa vines, a bunch of neat, old trees I had never heard of, and a lovely butterfly garden with rare tropical herbs and sages. I had breakfast here as well, which I would recommend to anyone in heartbeat. Sort of expensive, but well worth it – everything organic, rich, and freshly made. I had a peice of chocolate cake that absolutely melted in my mouth. Mmmm…. Following the gardens, I decided to walk over to Vondelpark, which was a lot longer of a walk than I had anticipated. Like usual, I lost myself in the middle of who knows where, but a really nice lady showed me the way and I made it to the park with about an hours worth of daylight left. Hungry and a bit tired, I stopped in a little park cafe and had an apple-tart and some capiuccino while watching dogs and little children play on the grass and young people kiss and act all lovey at the tables around me. Needless to say, I was feeling a little bit loney at this point. Lonely, but more or less content. Not for long! Next I went for a walk through the park, saw some cool graffitti on a bandstand, and a tree that had grown almost horizontal, half in and half out of the water by the side of a duck pond. Sweet! I thought. It would be great fun to climb out into the middle of the tree and sit. And so I did, but it was rather boring and cold and so I got up about 2 minutes later and….Ploink! My awesome 350 dollar camera plus 1 gig memory card with 3 days worth of picture and video from Amsterdam fell from my pocket and into the murky depths of the pond below. I started for a second, not believing what had just happened, then shoved my arm down into the water to try and rescue it, but it was deep and the camera was heavy. I think I might have yelled something/alot of things profane at this point and made lots of dejected, pained faces. Next I took off my now soaking wet coat, rolled up my sleeves, and stuck my arm back in the water up to my shoulder. Still no bottom. Cold, wet, and about as depressed as Ive been on this adventure, I walked out of the tree and decided that enough was enough and that I was ready to go home. Trying hard not to cry or yell at any of the pleasent, sunset wanderers around me, I made my way out of the cursed Vondelpark, onto a tram, and back to the hostel where I passed out from depressed exhaustion for a good 2 hours.

That night I had planned on eating at another vegetarian restaraunt, seeing the Sex Museum and a jazz show. My spirits were so low that I ended up doing only one of these, oddly enough the Sex Museum, and eating at a really terrible “Thai” place in the super-touristy bar area of Amsterdam called Leidesplein or something close to that. The Sex Museum was quirky and small, but only 3 Euro and took up a good 2 hours of my night. It was full of old pornography, from little porcelain sculptures dating back to Greek and Roman times, to the first porn film and dirty ancient Chinese calligraphy and water colors. There were lots of gimmicky dioramas and seemingly pointless displays about sex through the ages, as well as the usual overabundance of penises (sticking out of walls, painted on the floors, carved from wood, water fountains, entrance pillars, you name it) that seems to facinate all and any space devoted to the marketing of sex. Hurrah for the phallocentric west!

The jazz club didnt happen, because I was ready to go home (aka London) and though fun and interesting, the Sex Museum failed to rally my spirits enough to spend another night wandering the bitterly cold streets of Amsterdam to hear music that I had no idea whether it would be good or not. So yeah, to sleep I went and on the way home, repeated the 12 hour journey with Jane Eyre in hand (bought at the “American Bookstore” in the Dam) and a pit in my stomach where love for my camera once resided. I ended up reading 250 pages of said book (yeah, boooooooring, I know) and arriving in London around 11 PM. I slept like a rock.

Other things about Amsterdam: the Red Light District is apparently hidden someplace, really well. I couldnt find it, though I only looked half-heartedly for it on my last morning there. Saw a few “ladies in the windows” though, which brought back some weird deja vu from when we stayed near the RLD when I was 9. Definitely understood what “men pay to hug and kiss them” a bit better these days. Not too sure where I stand on legal prostitution. Its definitely better than illegal prostitution (they have their own union in Amsterdam), but I wonder how many of those women feel really empowered by their job/have a lot of say in what they do. I guess Ill have to do some research to really know. Other things: Smart Shops are freakin’ cool (Im not too sure what that article was talking about Mom, you can still buy mushrooms legally in Amsterdam) and Amsterdam record stores are really friendly, helpful, and full of techno and trance. No breaks to be seen, anywhere. Some D&B. No breaks. Just think how hard some fatty West Coast sounds would explode on a blank slate like that!? Food for future thought. Dont eat at “Thai” restaurants that smell like stale cigarettes and give you a complementary basket of puffed egg-whites and fake sweet and sour sauce. Gross! Maoz falafal is cheap and tasty and you can put as much toppings on as you like. Being in a country where smoking cigs is allowed in clubs makes you really really appreciate the funky smell of sweat, fog machine, and incense back home.

This past weekend I saw my all-time favorite British breaks artists, The Plump DJs, along with the super talented A Skillz (check out his remix of Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds/Strawberry Fields called “Strawberry Jam” – Bassnectar and Krafty Kuts have been giving it a lot of play this year), Rennie Pilgrim, and a whole slew of other peeps off the Fingerlickin’ Records label. It was their 10 year anniversary, so DJs were pulling out all the stops – playing tracks from waaaay back when (when the Plumps dropped “When the Funk Hits the Fan”….lets just say I wasnt the only person jumping around like a complete maniac) and really showing off their stuff.

Saturday night was Guy Fawkes “holliday,” aka Burn the Catholics Day. Its Britain’s excuse (much like Bastille day in France and our 4th of July) to burn copious amounts of wood, light lots of fireworks, and get plastered before dark. Awesome! In reality, its celebrating the attempted destruction of Parliment by a group of put-upon catholics tired of oppression. Nowadays we understand that this was more likely put together by the British government itself to create anti-Catholic fervour and burn lots of preists at the stake. That said, I doubt whether too many people understand the implications behind Guy Fawkes day too well – for 99% of London it was an excuse to see fireworks (imagine 100,000 people all crammed into a city park watching a half-hour long show timed to Prince, Bittersweet Symphony, and other popular songs, eating greasy food and generally being noisy and drunk in the near-dark) and bum rush every pub for miles around Battersea Park (directly across the Thames from my Res Hall). The fireworks were really cool though, and well worth the crowds, the wait, and the terrible “toffee apple” I was stupid enough to buy. We in America at least understand that if you are going to make junk-food/carnival food, it had better give up its goods fast and sweet/greasy or else people loose interest and dont buy any more. A “toffee apple” is the exact opposite. Take a perfectly good apple, dip it in sugar flavored glass, and call it a treat. By the time you actually chip enough of the dammed sugar-shield away (along with peices of your teeth), the oh-so-healthy surprise underneath is almost unappetizing. Almost, that is, for anything tastes good when you’ve spent an hour trying to eat it. STUPID. I cant believe they sell ANY of these things, except to duped American tourists expecting the mouthwatering flavor of caramel and granny smith running down their throats and faces and sticking to their mouths and teeth and……. Mmmm. Stupid toffee apple. After the celebration in the park, I regrouped and headed down to Elephant & Castle (they pick the weirdest names for Tube stops here) for a warehouse party put on by Super Furry Animals, apparently an indie-rock band with a penchant for acid house and the means to secure a large warehouse space, a Funktion One sound system, and really cheap drinks (though I did not indulge in the latter). I hadnt danced really hard to acid house in, forever really, and last night was a welcome respite from all the breaks shows Ive been attending lately. The crowd as typically London-hipster gross though, and I think they over packed the venue because by 1 AM you could barely move in the outside smoking area or the main room. Andrew Weatherall headlined, and dissapointed – much as Brad said he did a couple years back in Seattle. The guy before him was quite good, and Im sure if I had the energy to stay for Eddie Richards special old-skool set (acid house from the original days circa 1991/2) at 5 AM (!!) it would have been good as well. The insane soundsystem in each room was well worth any money I spent though – Funktion One makes some dang good speakerz. The sub boxes in the main room were all lined up next to this stage for dancers. If you were standing on the stage and big, growling bassline dropped, your feet almost moved without you having to do anything. Alpine Musician’s Friend Earplugs for the win!! I ended up leaving around 5 as it were, my muscles still sore from the night before and nobody to hang out with…. Ah the beauty of a 4 day weekend. Woke up today around 2 PM, went and did my stretching/yoga-esque routine in the sun at Battersea, and completed a bunch of lingering homework.

Wowza that was a long one. Ill make sure and update a little more frequently in the future. I hate trying to grapple thoughts and images from a week ago into the present and onto the page. Its a bit like studying for a test a week in advance. Not a good idea – the night before is much more practical.

till next time