Amster-freakin'-dam!

Oh, Amsterdam...what a city. A city of bikes and buds, of history, hookers and homosexuals, of Anne Frank and ass spank, of museums and marijuana (and a marijuana museum, as a matter of fact). The contrast and variety is striking. In one day, you can take a leisurely stroll through the canal-split streets, smoke some high-grade herb, visit the Van Gogh museum, browse the ladies of the Red Light District and more. It is the most culturally diverse place I've ever seen and I haven't heard so many different languages spoken in one place since I was in Times Square on New Year's Eve. (Dutch, English, German, Spanish, French, Chinese, and some African dialects, to name few.)

The music is as wide ranging as the languages spoken and I had the pleasure to hear a street musician covering Raconteurs songs, a rastafarian playing the digeridoo like I'd only previously heard in movies set in Australia, a middle-aged white guy walking down the street playing a bongo drum and an Irishman, decked out in traditional formal wear (including kilt) playing the bagpipes.

The city seems to accept automobiles only out of necessity and it is obvious that the streets were designed for pedestrians and bikes almost exclusively. And bikes there were! I've never seen so many bikes in my life. Europe in generally is far more bike-friendly than any place I've seen in the States, but Amsterdam takes the spacecake. And the bikes were as varied and interesting as the people who ride them. Many were covered in flowers (undoubtedly from the giant flower markets that Holland is known for) and there were lots of custom and lowrider bikes as well.

That leads me to another noticable element of Amsterdam: detail. When I got to Spain I noticed how much more care and thought went into common, everday things, and in Amsterdam, that quality was magnified 10 fold. There seemed to be no building, or shop, or sign, or object that wasn't custom-made or given some kind of embellishment that set it apart and made it unique. This stands in glaring contrast to what I was familiar with in the States where the mass-produced Wal-Mart culture has depleted any sense of individuality or style. Is seems that people everywhere need stuff, things. But when people in Amsterdam need this stuff, they either make it themselves or get it from a place which makes them with well...love. This gives the stuff a immeasurable amount of value and makes it special in a way it couldn't otherwise have been.

The nightlife is wild and one can see people from all over the world teetering down the streets under the influence of all sorts of substances and more than once I was propositioned by less than trustworthy looking folks who asked if I would be interested in partaking in stuff a bit harder than weed, although I admit I couldn't always decipher what they were offering me.

Here's a bunch of pics from that part of the trip. I'll post some more soon from Belgium.

Bus ride through Holland, or the Netherlands if you prefer.


Will I ever visit a country where there isn't a goddamn McDonalds?

More bikes than I'd ever seen in my life. If you can't tell, those three rows in the background are completely filled with bikes.


Bonita in the Redlight District. Half-naked prostitutes hang out on the other side of the windows.


When in Amsterdam...do as the Amsterdamians do. By the way, I don't think they're called Amsterdamians.

There are tons of canals in Amsterdam, like freaking tons.

Swans and a porn theatre. Nice.

Are the cows upside-down or is everything else?

Dampkring, ganja seeds and grow supplies.

A few of the many "coffeeshops." Revel in the sight of folks smoking pot in broad daylight on a public street!

I bought a spliff of Northern Lights #5 x Haze here.





The Anne Frank House. I didn't get a chance to go in, there was a line a few hundred people long.

Awesome employment of skulls in architecture.



Part of the "Homomonument," in case you can't read the sign. There's a huge gay and lesbian scene in the 'Dam.

Cheese!

Self-explanitory.

Note the driver in the middle fiddling with his Ipod. Rustic, no?

One of the huge flower markets selling Holland's famous tulips...and herb seeds.



After a while, the insanity starts to rub off on you.


Live sex shows in the Red Light District.

Public pay toilet, interestingly enough next to a broken toilet someone left in the street.




Goodbye Amsterdam! I'll miss you...if I can remember you...

The issue of space.

One of the first things an American will notice upon arriving in Spain is the difference in which personal space is taken, given and appreciated. Americans from large cities may not find it so different, as I assume each person's space bubble is a bit smaller in NYC than in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, but I'm from the sticks, where you're given a wide berth in basically any situation where you're near other people, and you're likely not to be touched by anyone unless you ask for it. Once you get to el planeta aceituna (the olive planet, a.k.a. Spain) however, your bubble pops and your left as tangible and approachable as any other object. If you are in someone's way, they, hopefully gently, nudge you out of it; casual conversation demands an average distance of about six inches from face to face (perhaps a slight exaggeration) and strangers tousle the hair of other people's kids in the street. Men and women exchange two kisses, one on each cheeck, the first time they meet. Guys shake hands when they first meet, but if they know each other they hug, and it's becoming more frequent that they exchange a kiss on the cheek as well. It's also traditional for male family members to swap a kiss on the cheek. It was somewhere between an honor and an unbearably uncomfortable situation when Bonita's large hairy uncle grabbed me and planted a big fat one on me when we met. If you're not one who is accostumed to such touchy-feelyness, be forewarned, it can be slightly unnerving.

Case in point: I went to concert a while back, in the town of Conil in far southern Spain. I was
really stoked to see "Muchachito Bombo Infierno" ("The Little Drummer Boy from Hell"), a big
band with lots of horns that play a fast paced, animated style of music that to these American ears sounds somewhere between ska, rock, and swing, of course with a noticable Spanish feel. The concert was pretty packed, no where near the most crowded venue I've been in, but regardless, I was constantly, let's say...covered by other people. As people walked by, they very casually and nonchalantly rubbed up against me, stepped on me, and occasionally just slammed right the hell into me. More than once an ass bouncing to the rhythm of the music gradually gravitated toward my crotch, which was more disturbing when it was that of a man, but a bit odd nonetheless. I should add here that I'm no stranger to crowds. I've been to countless concerts where the tightly packed audience was nut to butt, and I've been pushed, bumped, punched and kicked in the head by more crowd surfers that said head kickings allow me to remember. But this was due to the fact that there was nowhere else to be; we were touching because we had to, not because we wanted to. But at the Muchachito show there was more than enough space to accommodate everyone, but people naturally huddled, touched and rubbed. This night, along with countless other experiences, led me to a realization: It isn't that Spanish people don't respect personal space...it's that they don't acknowledge it to begin with. The space you occupy is in no way "yours" and it belongs to them just as much as you, despite the fact that you may currently be using it.

Personal space issues aside, I had a good time at the concert and I'd like to take this opportunity to sing the praises of Muchachito Bombo Infierno, they are an awesome band that puts on a killer show. In addition to the great music and high energy, they employ an element I'd never seen before. As a part of the band, they have a painter, Santos de Veracruz, who tours with the band and throughout the duration of the show, he dances around and creates huge, awesome paintings. It's really cool to see the empty canvas at the beginning and watch it be transformed into a work of art while enjoying the jams. Below are some vids. One is a live performance from a Spanish TV show and the other is one of thier videos. Enjoy.

Baelo Claudia

Baelo Claudia is a city of ancient Roman ruins (located near the present day city of Bolonia in southern Spain) that acted as a trading site between Africa and the Roman empire. More info can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baelo_Claudia. It was quite an experience to walk in the same areas where emperors had tread. Back in the States, our link to the past is a bit scattered, as the Native Americans didn't leave nearly as much behind. Our visit to Baelo Claudia has definitely been one of the highlights of my time so far in Spain.


Current excavation


Right after this, they did the see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, but my camara ran out of batteries.



Note the ancient Roman lifeguard tower...

Room with a view.





A labrum: a giant plate used for bathing in public bathhouses

Almost like the yuccas back home!

The Theatre


They actually have concerts and other events here now. Awesome, no?

Just call me "Augustus"

Backstage at the theatre





Part of the Forum

Layout of the Forum at Baelo Claudia. You should probably be able to figure it out, even though it's in Spanish.

I think that's a statue of the Emperor Trajan, but I'm not 100% on that.

That stick in the front shouldn't be there...just imagine it isn't. Thanks.

Baelo Claudia is a city of ancient Roman ruins that acted as a trading site between Africa and the Roman empire. More info can be found here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baelo_Claudia. It was quite an experience to walk in the same areas where emperors had tread. Back in the States, our link to the past is a bit scattered, as the Native Americans didn't leave nearly as much behind. Our visit to Baelo Claudia has definitely been one of the highlights of my time so far in Spain.