My body has served as a reservoir of energy and curiosity from which I have generously deducted for the past two months. Each experience subtracted some of that liquid exuberance and replaced it with a diamond memory. As the tank fell to its bottom level and I scraped the jewel-laced dregs in these last few weeks, I have finally come up dry. The account has been overdrawn.
One Shitload of Beer
Just a few minutes ago Rich and I were trying to reckon the number of beers that we drank last night. They serve beers at Oktoberfest in one liter glasses and there is no smaller size. We estimate that each liter contained about three bottles of beer. And then multiplied by the number of those glasses we drank we came to the conclusion that we drank One Shitload of Beer. That is a unit of the English measuring system, I believe.
The Town That Was Saved By Poverty
Rich and I are currently finishing up our only full day in Rothenburg, on way to Oktoberfest in Munich. This destination was chosen thanks to Rick Steves’s write-up and has not disappointed. But it is a sleepy village that only happens to be near more exciting locations. As such, I am hoping that is serves as a springboard to the pinacle of the second half of my trip: Munich. But I am getting ahead of myself.
Amsterdam Fog
Rich and I have been guests in the wonderful city of Amsterdam for nearly two days now. The people here are without peer in their worldliness, English comprehension, effeciency, and friendliness. The only bad thing I can say about this city is that the weather hasn’t been entirely accommodating. There has been miasma hanging overhead due to fall weather but the haze indoors is even worse. But that is another story.
European Hurricane
In the last week I’ve seen more cities, climates, countrysides and hotels than any other time in my life. I’ve been working to sync up my free-formed schedule before Rich’s arrival with the post-Rich structured one; and this has required a frantic pace at some times. I feel like my circular spinning around northern France and the low countries may have generated a climactic swirl of its own.
Bon Jour, Frenchie!
I’ve made some modifications to my look. What do you think?
I Am Jack’s Burning Rage
I love the title of this topic. I intended it as a double entendre. That is, first my traveller’s encounters for the past six weeks had stoked a fire of hate for the Parisians within that could melt the Eiffel Tower. Second, because of many of the gypsie scams/thefts that I was expecting to deal with in this city I was entirely prepared to deliver a Fight Club, Angel Face style beatdown to the first gypsie that laid a hand on me. And then when I starting describing the title with a haughty French word like “entendre” I felt that this journal’s written masturbation had hit its climax. But I digress.
European Hate
With all the hippie-based, sanitized, everyone-gets-the-reacharound kind of lovefest that has been dominating American culture for the last few decades people never get to talk about the cultures they hate. Europeans demonstrate none of the same reluctance. As such, I’ve picked up some real pearls as they fell from the mouths of my hosts and comrades. So, in this short note I’m going to talk about good old fasioned hate. European-style.
Various Pictures
I finally found a computer that both has image editing software on it and can save in JPG. Wow. So, here are a few shots from the last few weeks.
Last Night In Berlin
I left Berlin this morning with the first use of my eight-day Eurail select pass. I was sad to see its hustle and bustle dissolve out my high-speed train’s window. That city was quite good to me. But I’ve only got eight days until Rich shows up which should mean two more cities or possibly three, if they suck. But I’ve got to relate two tales of the city I just departed.