Epilogue

I have a grueling decision to make right now:  do I watch the last episode of season 1 of Lost, or do I write my final DMGY post?

Tonight is the first night in 5 days I got home from work before 2:30am, so I am excited to have some time to relax.  I managed to work 86 hours this past week.

Which is one of the things I wanted to wrap up in this post:  my career.  You may recall that at some point during my trip, my best idea for employment was to join the anarchist collective under a bridge near Landungsbrücken in Hamburg.

And I didn’t even notice when it happened, or how, but by the end of my trip I was clear that I wanted to work my ass off in a job that involved my passions – health and writing.  I also owned up to the fact that those WERE my passions.  I always kind of suspected it, but never really felt it.  I don’t know why I needed to go to Europe and back to feel it, but it’s just how these things go sometimes.

So here I am in NJ as the Operations Manager at The Art of Healthy Living, a new health food store in Butler, and also a freelance journalist on the side.  As of this writing I have 5 articles published at www.riverdell.patch.com and I will probably write 3-5 per month ongoing.

I planned to start small – I basically wanted to bag groceries (inadvertently following in my father’s footsteps 15 years late) until I worked my way up – but because the store is small and agile, and I apparently kick some ass sometimes (it’s in my genes!), within a month I went from scrubbing the bathroom floor to Mr. Manager.  Which means I get to boss people around AND scrub the bathroom floor.

It feels exactly where I am supposed to be.  If I try, I can remember back to what it felt like behind a desk all day.  There was always something very wrong about it for me.  But all around me the universe was conspiring to make everything work out.  Now I rely on my best friend Chris for retail management tips because he’s been doing it for years and I rely on my family for business ideas and general support.  Many of my friends and family members have fallen into place as pillars of support that I simultaneously never needed before, but always needed badly.

One of my goals was to consolidate my life and I’ve managed to do it.  Instead of commuting an hour each way from hippie-dippie-ville to a major metropolitan area, effectively cutting my life in two pieces, I work 10 minutes from my mom’s house (where I am roosting for the time being), and have frequent visitors at the store.  It’s an absolute thrill for me, and it makes me feel like a whole person.  If you’re ever in the neighborhood, please stop by.  The address is 1388 Rt 23 North in Butler.

After stopping at 7-11 for some chips and a Clif Bar at 2:30am last week, I realized that it was awfully ironic that I am working at a health food store, yet this is the most unhealthy I’ve been in 6 years.  It was so effortless to be healthy in Germany.  I biked everywhere because that’s just what you do, the food was cheap and fresh and organic and everywhere, and I didn’t have a job so I could spend hours preparing meals.  And before that I lived near the Holy Grail of American supermarkets – Vitamin Cottage.  Now I’m working to get a new organic market off the ground, and in the process I’m eating crap because it’s all I have time for.  It’s making me question what health really is.  I feel like I am doing exactly what I need to be doing (which is what I consider “healthy”), but it means abandoning certain standards of my own in order to promote them in other people.  Funny how things work sometimes.

Which is I guess part of growing up. I’ve so far lived my life very selfishly but things are finally lining up for me to be able to give back.  The biggest key to that was manning up to my passions.  And now I can see them in others too.  It’s opened up a whole new world to me and when I step back for a second to appreciate it, it’s amazing.

As a freelance journalist I’m paid to be curious.  It’s absolutely brilliant.  How did I not think of that before?  Now I get to meet local people who are amazingly passionate about the things they do.  Last week I met and wrote about a group of people in Bergen County who wrote a series of articles on the Revolutionary War in Bergen county, all compiled in a book called, wait for it, Revolutionary Bergen County.  They were mostly people with no “real” writing background – just an intoxicating passion for local history that reached back as far as 50 years.  Truly amazing to me, and the fact that I get paid to hang out with them and tell the world how cool they are, well, that’s pretty freaking amazing.

I overheard someone say recently that the difference between crazy people and smart people is that crazy people think they are getting smarter.  So which am I?  I honestly don’t know.  Probably both.

What I do know is that I’m finally getting my career on track after many years of confusion, and that feels like a million bucks.  I remember saying to my friend Jessica years ago that it seems like the first step to a “full” life is getting your career on track, and then a real relationship can flower from that space.  I don’t think that’s true for everybody, but I suspect it is for me.

And almost every day I think about going back to Germany, but I haven’t taken any real steps to learning the language yet.  I hope that falls into place sooner or later like everything else so far has.  I don’t know what they do so differently with their food there, but my body was extraordinarily happy about consuming it.  If someday I have enough journalism experience under my belt, and the right tools otherwise, I hope to convince someone to pay me to spend a good chunk of time there with a translator (hey Jessy that means you!) to interview German farmers and food businessmen and store owners about why their food is so good.  And more importantly, I want to explore why American wheat has turned half the stomachs in this country sour.

I left the States thinking I was gluten intolerant, but I ate it (and drank it…) all day every day in Germany with no issues whatsoever.  So I wonder how many other people are in the same boat.  In the States we are made to think that we are built wrong, and so entrepreneurs convince us that buying their gluten-free cookies (which, by the way, weigh half as much as normal cookies but conveniently cost double) will make us feel better.  And it is my feeling that they are charging that much simply because they can.

Sour stomachs are good for business – there wouldn’t be this booming gluten-free industry if we had good food available to us in the first place, I’m convinced of it.  Sickness has always been good for our economy.

So, this is the bind the country is currently in.  We are notoriously unhealthy, but health is coming back into the nation’s consciousness.  We all know in our bones that somethin’ just ain’t right, and stores like mine can help us get back on track.

I’ve been back a little over a month now, and there’s so much abroad and in Colorado I miss, but it feels really good to be among family again.  Who knows what happens next, but it’s been a fun ride so far.  Thanks to all for reading.  I’m officially putting this blog behind me after tonight, so if you’d like to keep up with anything I write from now on, riverdell.patch.com should be your first stop, and I will post occasional things at http://theseabeast.wordpress.com.  But most of my energy is going into the store, so stop by if you can.  I’d love to see you.

Lots of love, warmth, and gratitude to all who went out of their way to show me an amazing time abroad, and all those who made it possible for me to go in the first place, including my family, friends, and former employers.  I hope I can begin to make it up to all of you starting now.

Goodbye Pinkus Special, Hello Dogfish Head

[Written on the flight back to NJ, October 14, 2010]

I drank too much last night and I accidentally made chili that was spicy enough to fuel my connecting flight to Düsseldorf. This flight physically hurts. I have a headache from the hangover and crying, and I can still feel the wine and beer and chili having a domestic dispute in my belly. Somehow though, it’s someone else that is making this plane smell like an industrial cow farm.

In a few hours I will be able to understand overheard conversations and I won’t have to say “Sprechen sie Englische?” instead of “Hey, how’s it goin’?” to every person I meet.  I will be able to wear my sneakers again instead of my hulky Doc Marten’s and I can shave with a buzzer instead of sewing scissors.

But I won’t be hearing anyone sing “Tschüs” on their way out the door. I won’t be able to hear Jessy’s ear worms or her accent. (For some reason I love it when she says “I hate this”.) I won’t be drinking Pinkus Special organic beer or walking to the BioMarkt every day anymore.

Of course there’s a lot more to look forward to, and a lot more I’ll miss, but home is in the details, and no matter where I went throughout my trip, I always searched for one. If you ever find yourself traveling you might notice the same.  Having a home to wander from is monumentally different from just wandering.

I also felt like wherever I went, I didn’t really meet other people; instead I met other versions of me, like we were all just parts of the same stained-glass window (James that’s called my “ken” right?).  And so when I picture my future, it’s easy to see it a bit like Eero’s:  working a job that serves the community simply, with a couple passions on the side. And when I meet strangers on the street I’ll channel Jessy: she always leaves them with a full smile. (She brightens people’s days left and right and doesn’t even notice she does it.  Maybe we are all oblivious to our greatest strengths and that’s what makes them so.)  And when someday I have a family of my own, I hope it will be something like Max’s: open enough for things like Christianity and heavy metal to exist lovingly under the same roof.

But my biggest takeaway from the trip is exactly what I learned during my first festival, Wacken:  it’s not about the music, it’s about the people. Music was the backbone for my entire trip and using it I was able to meet the people that made it all worthwhile.  Amsterdam sucked because no one was there to share it with me. I went to Europe to play frisbee, not boomerang, you know?  So people will ask me how I liked Amsterdam and I will say I hated it, but Utrecht was awesome. In a way I feel like my answer simply depends on the wind that day.  Maybe if I went back to Amsterdam today I would bump into cool people right away and have a fantastic time.  Utrecht was only cool because I got to hang out with Nicky and see some sick metal with him. It had little to do with architecture or canals or weather or history or transportation or anything else. Berlin was only awesome because I got to chill with my Israeli girls. The festivals were only fun because I connected with so many people at them. Helsinki would have sucked without Eero and his inner circle.  Everywhere I went it was just about filling in the stained glass window. This may be an obvious point to some or all of you, but to me it changed how I see everything.

I’ve thought a lot about how I came to meet all these amazing people to play cosmic frisbee with.  With maybe only Eero as an exception I would chalk it all up to chance. Luck. God. Fate. Nature. When you are wandering you rely on little clues to tell you where to go or what to do next. I heard someone speaking English in the distance when I arrived alone and directionless at the second festival, thus met Chris from Australia, and then picked a spot to camp with him right beside Max’s camp. From that English-speaking-seed grew lifelong friendships, beautiful bike rides through Bavaria, my first hitchhiking and beer bong experiences, and countless other memories. When I found Jessy on Couchsurfing.org I sent her a note simply because she had my name (and okay maybe it didn’t hurt that she looked cute). From that name-seed grew so much I couldn’t even put it to words.

This is perhaps the greatest part about wandering. With no real agenda or plan, you can let the universe guide you. When you’re on your way to work or to a dinner date or watching a movie with your lover you’re not looking for nature’s clues because you don’t need them. But when you’re alone, in a foreign place, and want to have a good time, you’re listening. It’s just about the only thing you can do.

And so, when you follow nature’s little clues, without really noticing, your solitude flowers into connectedness. Your emptiness turns into overflowing. And this is indeed how I am coming back to the States.

Zeitgeist: From One Pierced Lip to Another

I’m watching a controversial film called Zeitgeist with Jessy on her computer. I’ve seen it already so I’m watching it in German so she will understand it better. It explores why the Christ story shares so many similarities with other mythologies dating back thousands of years before it. It also explores the official 9/11 story, and the American monetary system. So it’s a pretty brave film, likely pissing a lot of people off, but it’s becoming more and more popular with the youth as word of it spreads from one pierced lip to another. It’s not advertised and you can watch it for free.

Anyway one of the nicest things about being abroad is that I haven’t thought much about heavy political topics like those brought up in the film. When I was last home I thought about them constantly – consumerism, 9/11, debt, fake wars, fake money, etc. It’s been nice not to be possessed by trying to help expose the bullshit in my own country and feeling helpless against it. It felt like scrambling to make more arrows when the enemy is on their way with guns. But by being a newbie somewhere else, I’ve been able to set it aside and do something much more fun: live.

Edward Abbey had this quote somewhere I always liked, and I’ve often relied on it as a quiet comfort: “I hate America because I know America.” It is easy to wax ecstatic about some new country when I don’t know about the evils that got it to where it is now. I suppose no country is perfect, but some have been the shitters and some have been the shittees. Because of its recent dark past and worldwide awareness of it, Germany feels sometimes like a shittee despite its affluence. America has, I think, an arguably darker and more recent past, but no one knows about it. So somehow our government is able to keep on keepin’ on (where Germany’s was dismantled, fined, tarnished forever) – we still have a fake war against terror (and possibly always will because it’s a war, like against drugs, we can, by design, never win), our monetary system is still fraudulent and illegal and I have no hope that that it will ever change, our government is run by lawyers, CFOs, corporate interests, foreign investors, and Obama is nothing but a mask. He is a fake display of progress while behind the scenes there are meetings to figure out how best to manipulate public opinion so that we will beg for RFID chips (since, despite all the fluoride in the water, implanting them by force might actually incite a rebellion).

So after months of not thinking about it, I am again possessed. I think because I know I am headed back soon. Traveling has been amazing, a more or less constant stream of excitement and newness everywhere, but every winding river runs to a lake or ocean somewhere and I’m almost back to mine.

For those curious, Zeitgeist is one of the best ways to spend 2 hours (though I would highly suggest skipping the first 12 minutes only because they are abominably boring). See it here: http://vimeo.com/13726978

How to Turn Your Stalker Into Your Friend

I am en route from Eero’s to Jessy’s, my last stop before my trip comes to an end. In a way my trip is over. Jessy’s flat in Hamburg isn’t some exciting place I get to explore for the first time, it’s simply, like I’ve said before, like home. There aren’t many more new people to meet or sights to see. For the next ten days it’s just me and Jessy, two granny bikes, and some organic vegetarian homecooking.

My time in Finland was, in a word, awesome. I was actually pretty nervous to visit Eero before I got there because of the circumstances under which we met. No matter how I twist or mash the story up, there’s no way around the fact that I stalked him. It is a strange foundation on which to build a friendship, but the winds of fate decided it would work. I befriended him on Facebook because I loved his band Synestesia, he accepted, started reading this blog and liked it, and then invited me to his place after I made a joke on Facebook about killing my Couchsurfing hosts. So who do you think is crazier in the end? Me, who stalked him, or him, who invited a random fan of his band who jokes about killing his hosts to stay on his couch? Kind of a toss-up now, hm? Maybe this is why we got along so well.

Eero and his wife Elina were so hospitable to me. When I first arrived I felt a bit like a stalker, but after spending some time finding out how similar Eero and I are, how comfortable it was being around them, and how much fun it was partying with them and their friends, I just felt like I was an old friend. Fate has put me in front of so many amazing people throughout my trip and Eero’s inner circle isn’t short of them.

He introduced me to his friends and family and I only had to admit to two of them that we know each other thanks to some good old fashioned stalking. His sister Emma roped me into my first karaoke experience and I will take to the grave what we sang together. I cannot be held responsible for my actions. I was drinking lonkero (the best mixed drink in the world) and fisu (Fisherman’s Friend cough drops and vodka) at the time.

Actually that day was one of the best days of my trip. We drove back from Pori (Eero’s hometown on the Baltic Sea), trees turning their purpley-reds and orangey-yellows the whole way, and got back to Helsinki in time to see one of his favorite bands, Enochian Crescent, perform. Elina and Emma came with us for that. They put on a fantastic show, and then we left to drink with his best man and his roommates at the karaoke bar.

That night was also a perfect microcosm of the rest of my trip. At 5pm Eero played me his favorite female singer-songwriter on his iPod, at 9pm we watched the singer of his favorite black metal band cut himself on stage, throw cow livers into the audience, and burn his nipples, and then at 1am Eero sang traditional Finnish duets with his metalhead wife at a cheesy local karaoke bar while drinking girly drinks. For me, life really doesn’t get much better than that.

And that night wouldn’t have been complete without Tommy or Tero. Tommy’s the pacesetter in a party atmosphere, and it is fun and fast. It is impossible to have a bad time if Tommy is in the room. And Tero, well he loves Deathspell Omega. Once I know that about someone, they’re instantly my friend. ‘Nuff said.

Add all that to drinking local beer in the sauna at Eero’s grandfather’s vacation cottage on the sea, a private Synestesia performance, the first quality microbrewery I’ve found abroad, and a private tour of Helsinki led by Finland’s greatest death metal singer, and you’ve got yourself one hell of a trip to Finland. Well I do, anyway. I couldn’t have imagined anything better.

And now, when I listen to Synestesia, I am no longer just listening to some Finnish death metal band I love, I am listening to my friend’s band. I’m no longer just some random fan from across the ocean, I’m the guy who turned his family onto cyclone cider and peanut butter and pesto and who will send enough Twinkies for the whole band when he gets home. How cool is that?

(By the way Synestesia is a great death metal band for rookies because they are kind of melodic, and all really nice guys. Check them out here: http://www.myspace.com/synestesiafi)

I Sense Many Tampons in Your Immediate Reading Future

I think after that last post, I owe it to myself and to you, my readers, to write something a bit lighter, so I’ll start out writing about how Belgium is proud to be the tampon of the European Union. My tour guide said this to us in English today without flinching, and was totally serious, so actually found it strange that we Americans found it hilarious. But it is true. Brussels acts as the tampon of the EU, absorbing any differences between countries and discarding them in the best way they see fit. Brussels is, some of you may know, the capital of the EU. They are centrally located, usually pretty neutral, and usually pretty harmless, so the powers that be decided it was the best receptacle for international feminine hygiene products. German toilets could certainly accommodate them, but please use the provided receptacle, signed, the management.

I’m drinking a “geuze” beer right now that smells like burning hairs on a dog’s asshole but thank god, it actually tastes quite good. Belgium is the home of sour beer and I found some today. For me it is a slice if heaven, but it smells kind of like a Parisian hell.

Which reminds me that I do have one more comment about Paris. I originally wanted to tell you about how all the seats in cafe patios face the street (virtually none face inside, so from the street you feel like you are always being watched… and indeed you are), but I didn’t know why so I didn’t bring it up. But I think I figured it out.

If you are walking down the street like any normal person, and see a pretty French woman you would like to admire, you admire her at your own risk. There is dog shit everywhere just aching for a shoe to call home. Ah! But if you are sipping espresso from the safety of a table, you can admire (or sneer) as much as you like, without risk. So I get it now.

Apparently this phenomenon exists throughout France because it was true also in Lille. Well, the dog shit part more than theater seating at cafes part. I went there to see Joanna Newsom, my last celebrity crush, and I stayed with a couple named Mathilde and Remi, who I met through Couchsurfing. He said “typical France” when I pointed out a pile of shit so they wouldn’t step in it. I said, “at least it isn’t human,” to try to make me feel better about it but shit on your shoe sucks no matter the source.

I skipped Leonard Cohen because tickets were 80€ or more, and it was sold out so I would have had to buy scalped tickets and I wasn’t prepared to pay that much for a guy who, despite writing it, sings the crappiest version of “Hallelujah” I’ve ever heard. I feel like I just reserved a place in hell for myself by saying that, but so be it.

Remi and Mathilde rocked me. I loved what they had to offer so much. We had a bit of a language barrier so communication was sometimes very difficult, but we made it work. Remi is an accordionist, musical sawist, cartoonist, painter, artist, prolific, political, and poor. (When I gushed to him one night about how I considered him a “true” artist, he said, “this is my money”.) He is quite possibly the coolest French archetype there is. I am confident that one day he will be famous. In my book you are not allowed to be as funny, talented, and prolific as he is without some payoff. But I don’t make the rules so who knows. In the meantime, you can see some of his work at http://remihochedez.blogspot.com. The first cartoons you will see right now if you open that link are entitled “Tampax Kama Sutra” and that’s exactly what you can expect to see.

I stayed with them three nights and every morning we had coffee, bread, and Nutella for breakfast. Mathilde said that if I ever wanted to poison France, all I would need to do is poison the Nutella supply.

They took me to their favorite creperie and holy shit, I understood why. Their chantilly (whipped cream) was enough to make Mickey Rourke weep while watching Alien vs. Predator at James Hetfield’s house. And while we were there I got to witness France in all its glory – right outside the creperie, 200,000 Lillians marched to protest the recently-passed law that changed the retirement age from 62 to 67. Apparently 1,000,000 people did the same in Paris. And later that day was another protest – I have no idea what it was for but people wore all white and carried yellow umbrellas (whatever it was for, yellow umbrella makers in China were ecstatic). France is famous throughout the EU for protesting, so I think it appropriate to call them the Toxic Shock Syndrome of the EU. If you leave a bad law in too long, you are bound to have some repercussions.

I am in Brussels now for a few days before heading to Helsinki for a week. Eero got me even more psyched about going there by disclosing that his parents have a vacation cottage by the sea, complete with two saunas (which, I now know, are “the” thing to do in Finland). And he asked me if would like to go there as if I could possibly say no to something like that.

And then, because both Jessy and I are both gluttons for punishment, I am headed to Hamburg again, for one last time this trip, for 10 days, before returning to New Jersey on October 14. I am not sure what the plan is from there but I just changed my 10 year high school reunion RSVP to “Attending” and it is in Pompton Lakes on November 27. So anything can happen I guess.

Anyway, sending you all my love. And if you have any thoughts I would still like to hear from you regarding that whole capitalism in the US thing. All for now.

Consumerism in the USA

Thanks largely to Jessy and Hamburg, my trip has been able to include plenty of new experiences and sightseeing, as well as the time and space to reflect on them. Hamburg has been my home base, and as such has given me the opportunity to get to know a certain culture better. By the end of my trip I will have spent about a month there over the course of 4 visits. Without it I don’t really know what my trip would have looked like, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as awesome.

One of the things I’ve reflected on is simply the difference between our culture and those I’ve been able to see abroad. There has always been that joke that Europe is 10 years behind the US, and I think it’s true, but more like 20 years, and I think it’s a good thing. The past 20 years in the states have, in my opinion, been very ugly. Germany has the opportunity not to go in the same direction we have.

Culture in the states has no substance anymore. The substance is manufactured, often driven by people with ill or at the very least, capitalistic, intent, and we don’t even seem to notice. Our culture’s temperature has been rising the past 20 years or more and now we are boiling without feeling it. Church bells are tapes of church bells and the bells themselves are decoration. The only voices we hear on television or read in the newspaper are those approved by the elite. The truth is hidden from us under mountains of red tape, complex financial derivatives, marketing departments, autotuners, automated phone menus, Photoshop, elitist agendas, oil futures, dogma, speechwriters, and advertising revenue.

Ultimately the fact that the US is so consumer-driven has spoiled us. We have so much shit we don’t need. Our minds are so busy. We have so many products in our bathrooms to counteract the ill effects our food and so-called medicine has had on our bodies. We have anti-dandruff, anti-acne, anti-aging, anti-perspirant, anti-itch, anti-everything products. Do we really need this? If we do, is buying something new really the answer? And this is just the bathroom. And so our thoughts seem to center around what we need to buy next. What else is going wrong with my body today and what product can I buy to fix it? This is a never-ending cycle of consumerism and many American medicine cabinets will prove it.

Contrast the American scene with the scene I’ve been introduced to in Germany. You can feel that people believe in something other than money here, and it permeates through everything. People believe in anarchism and rebellion and punk music and local beer and having a good time and meeting new people and loving life. While I could say I believe in these things, and many of you probably could too, for us it is peppered with the underlying complacency that rampant consumerism has birthed in our society. It makes me feel like all American culture has become hollow.

I think what it boils down to is that the spirit of rebellion in America is dead. No one is rebelling anything (except hipsters, who, like I’ve said before, rebel against themselves). As such, people look like caricatures of former rebellions. We can buy punk t-shirts at Walmart. Is that really what punk was about? Is it really a rebellion if one of the largest economies in the world is hocking it? And right next to that we can buy a Che Guevara iPod case. And everyone and their mother has a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Saving up for a Harley is no longer an act of rebellion, it’s an announcement that you want to fit into a certain clique.

And so the question is, if no one is rebelling, is that a sign that there is nothing to rebel against? I think not. To me it is instead a sign of complacency. For instance 9/11 was an inside job, there is no doubt in my mind, yet most people still are not even asking questions. The official story to me seems like a really great thing to rebel against, but where is the rebellion? Is no one pissed off that there are so many holes in the official story and Americans were quite possibly killed by their own government so a few people could become massively wealthy? We owe it to ourselves to at least question.

One of the things I want to do in my life is help Americans (as well as myself) come back to center, and this includes finding our spirit of rebellion again. I believe we have been led so far off track for the sake of meaningless and incredibly unbalanced prosperity. I believe we have been trained by our government not to notice what they are doing to us and to people all over the world. We have trashy tv shows to watch and shitty jobs to go to so we can buy our meaningless trinkets so the manufacturer of the trinket can do the same. Our minds are too busy buying to think about our spirit dying.

In the end all I want all of us to do is think twice about buying stupid shit. Like I said in an earlier post, we are not citizens anymore, we are simply consumers, and so the best way to protest is to spend money wisely.

I would also like some discussion to arise from this. Tell me your thoughts if you have any. Am I making any sense? Do you wish you bought fewer things or do you feel you’re about right? Does it bother you that church bells in the states are just recordings? Do you trust the news? Where do you find your own truths? Do you think America is too consumer-driven? Do you have any suggestions for making this world a better place? Was 9/11 an inside job? I’d love to hear what you’ve got.

Parisian Land Mines and the Hostile Hostel

I’m not sure how I could possibly write about all that’s happened since last post so let me just mention some highlights.

So far I have made it to all of my concerts. I already wrote a bit about the electro show in Brussels. The night after that I spent on a couch in Utrecht, Netherlands with a metalhead named Nicky. I wrote a post about him and the awesome time he showed me in Utrecht but it is sitting in my drafts. If I write a book it’ll be in there but for now suffice it to say that I met him through Couchsurfing.org, and out of a town of 300,000 people he was 1 of 25 who wanted to go to the show I was in town for. That’s a 1 in 12,000 chance that I would find him. How friggin’ cool is that? In addition he made me realize that all my best friends abroad are one or more of the following: a metalhead, an anarchist, vegetarian, or Israeli. So far no one is ALL of those things but I suspect I will have to marry the first person I come across who is, even if I have to go to Vermont to do it.

The band that played Utrecht was a local post black metal band called Terzij de Horde. The venue was a squat house until the people squatting there made a bar and venue on the first floor. Now the building is officially theirs with only one catch: it must be nonprofit. So the beer is cheap and the bartenders work on a volunteer basis. Like in Hamburg, there is actually a very large and very visible squatting community in Utrecht, and Nicky is part of it. He pointed out the largest squat house in town, as well as the police headquarters next door. (Squatting was never illegal in Utrecht but will be, at least on paper, starting October 1.)

The crowd was small but Terzij de Horde rocked it. The singer spent most of the time down in the crowd, growling the lyrics with ferocity and intent. He ended up coming across my blog randomly the next day and left some footprints on the last post. He felt bad about my crap time in Amsterdam and if I am able to go back he offered to show me a better time. Made me feel pretty damn cool! So hopefully I can make it back sometime soon.

Dutch people are statistically the tallest in the world and I didn’t believe it till I stood next to their bassist and guitarist. I felt like the only velociraptor at a T-Rex party. I have since noticed that yes, Dutch people are huge.

The night after Utrecht was an incredible black metal show in the basement floor of a dedicated metal club in Oberhausen, Germany. Despite having the word “haus” in its name (which is, as you can guess, the German word for “house”), it was the only night so far that I didn’t have a place to sleep. I slept on a cold metal loveseat in the train station. It wasn’t exactly ideal, and Oberhausen wasn’t exactly the friendliest place I’ve seen, so I didn’t sleep much that night. Between the bad vibes, the smell of the McDonald’s, and the discomfort of my bed, sleep would only come 5 to 10 minutes at a time.

Actually, despite how many seedy places I’ve been to, the most hostile one so far was my first hostel in Paris. To make a long story short, the owner (who lived there) was an incredibly confrontational person and the kind of guy that, like a bad cop, thinks maintaining order entails being an asshole. He also seemed to think that charging only 18€ a night (oh yeah plus 2€ for a shower and 2€ for a key) gave him the right to be one. If you really want to read about all the fun stuff that happened throughout my stay, search Google for “Bed and Breakfast Hostel Paris” and read my lengthy Google review about it. I told the owner as he was kicking me out that I was going to write about my experience there, and oh! I did. (Note: the review is not actually posted yet, I have to cut it down a lot because I wrote too much and Google only allows a certain number of words…)

Anyway as I mentioned in the last post the only reason I went to Paris was to see a black metal band called Glorior Belli play. It was their first show in five years but they were so tight you would never know. They played another dedicated underground metal club and it was almost exactly what I imagined as the kind of place I wanted to see awesome black metal in when I fantasized about my trip many months ago.

Glorior Belli was the last in a string of 4 back-to-back concerts playing all over central Europe, and the next was not for a few days later in Holland, so I got to hang out in Paris for 5 days. I saw all the big tourist spots (I think…) as well as some other cool random things. The highlight for me was the gardens at the Palace of Versailles, Louis the XIV’s old joint, which are free of charge after 5:30pm. I went there with two awesome Israelis from the Hostile Hostel, Omer and Neta. They were brother and sister but everyone assumed they were a couple at first, including me. Anyway we got to see these monstrous gardens (altogether they were about 20 square kilometers by my estimation) for free and then got to watch the sunset from Louis’s back steps. He picked a nice spot, I have to say.

I have a few observations about Paris that might be helpful for future travelers:
-Rollerblades and skates are still cool there.
-The easiest way to feel like a local is to ride the subway alone and look at people awkwardly in between stops (this actually works well in any city with a subway). Even better if you have an iPhone and don’t look up from it at all.
-The nicer the neighborhood, the more dog shit will be on the sidewalk. People call these “Parisian land mines”. When you are falling asleep and can’t figure out where that stink is coming from, check your shoe.
-An isolated puddle is not water. (I think this should be included in some book of axioms somewhere.)
-McDonald’s is the most reliable place to find free wifi. They are also almost always packed, near every tourist attraction, and it makes me mad that people actually eat there.
-If you are a sex tourist you’ll have a lousy time in the red light district. However if you are a falafel tourist you will find outstanding falafel in the Jewish district just down the street. The downside is that you won’t find falafel anywhere else in Paris. It is a very vegetarian-unfriendly city and food is outrageously expensive.

I left Paris on an overnight bus to Holland to see, oddly enough, a band based in Denver. Why not? They f*ckin rock. As such I got to see a tiny town in northeastern Holland called Sneek. There were no hostels and no Couchsurfers in this 30,000 person town, but they did have a campground for 11€ per night and, because it was going to cost 190€ to ship back, I still have my tent. So I actually had a nice relaxing day at the campground before feeling like I had a migraine and a three hour long seizure, thanks to Cephalic Carnage and the other bands that played.

Everyone I’ve spoken to in Holland knows English, which has obviously been great. One guy actually asked me, with some ‘tude, why Americans don’t know any other languages and the answer is simple and legitimate. In addition to the world being increasingly English-centric, from Colorado you can drive 15 hours in any direction and still only speak English. If you drive 15 hours in any direction in Europe, you will drive through 4 countries that all speak different languages.

So, I used to feel bad for not really knowing any other languages because I associated it with ignorance. Now I don’t, because the only reason Dutch people for instance are taught 4 languages in school is a matter of business – they want to be able to do business with many cultures. Some Europeans might have a chip on their shoulder about knowing multiple languages while Americans don’t, but you can tell them to screw off (hey Jessy!) because what was the second language they learned? That’s right, English. The world’s language. It’s simply good business to know English.

Well that officially brings you up to speed. I’m in Hamburg for a couple days before heading to Lille to see Joanna Newsom (I will forthwith refer to her as Mrs. Ryan) and Leonard Cohen, who will officiate the wedding.

Miss you all and hope this post finds you well.

The Whirlwind Begins

Last week, the day before I left Jessy’s place, I more or less planned the rest of my trip by looking up tour schedules of bands on my iPod. This is what came out of that:

Sept 9 – Take in Brussels, BE
Sept 10 – Terzij de Horde in Utrecht, NE
Sept 11 – Setherial in Oberhausen, DE
Sept 12 – Glorior Belli in Paris, FR
Sept 17 – Cephalic Carnage in Sneek, NE
Sept 22 – Joanna Newsom in Lille, FR
Sept 25 – Leonard Cohen in Lille, FR
Sept 29 – Alcest in Helsinki, FI

Additionally, my last days abroad will be in Finland, on the couch of my new friend Eero. I am embarrassed to admit how excited about this I am because I know he reads this. In fact it was a great compliment when he told me he only offered his couch because of the blog. He sings for a phenomenal metal band called Synestesia and I cannot express how cool I think this whole thing is.

I had such a crap time in Amsterdam that I actually considered coming home next week, but with such a cool opportunity on the horizon I couldn’t possibly. So it looks like I’ll be back in NJ on October 4.

It may not seem like a long time but time passes slowly for me here, it feels like I have always been traveling. When I had my daily routine, the snooze button, the shower, the rush to the bus, and the longing for the weekend, the weeks would fly by, but they go by so slowly now. I feel like I have time to experience the day. The day is mine instead of Microsoft’s or my trailer’s. I like this. Bavaria seems so long ago but it wasn’t even three weeks ago that I was eating sommel knudl with Mobsi and his hippie friends.

So I have a whirlwind ahead of me, and my trip now includes something I dread and really wanted no part of: France.

In fact, lots of France. 5 days in Paris and 4 days in Lille. I don’t know any French and they have a reputation for being jerks to people like me. So far just about everyone I met has talked bad about the French. And every tour guide is relieved when no French people are there because then they can talk smack about Paris and how bad it supposedly smells, for instance.

So, Amsterdam. That place ate me up and spat me out. I stayed at a crap hostel, every coffee shop I went to played either techno or reggae and I hate both (Internet searches and locals told me there is no coffee shop that plays metal), no bar felt like home, no cafe I liked had any people in it, and I didn’t meet anyone. I had a crap time in Amsterdam. I didn’t even like riding a bike there! I like riding bikes because of the freedom you have on them – you can run stoplights, ride anywhere, often go faster than cars. But in Amsterdam you will get killed if you run a stoplight, so you have to wait just like in a car. This is not freedom to me, so it takes all the fun out of riding. Bicycle paradise my ass. Give me Boulder!

I booked the hostel I stayed at only because it was available and relatively affordable at 20€ per night. It goes up to 50€ on the weekends for a 10 person room that smells like a jock strap from Super Bowl XVI. I slept in one of these 10 person rooms with a bunch of snoring French people who never acknowledged my existence. There were some Aussies there too (there are ALWAYS some Aussies there too) and they were cool, but it was their last night there and they were using it to recover.

The lobby, which is typically a good place to meet people, was cramped and they blasted Steven Segal movies and Lady Gaga so loud that a foghorn would cower in the corner.

The free tour had 55 people on it and the only person I really wanted to talk to left early. I talked with some people after the tour but they were the “real” traveler type and I am not interesting enough for them. The Canadian girl would only talk to people with hot accents. The Aussies would talk to the Canadian. The Americans put up with me asking the standard questions about their trip. The old Danish divorcee kept to himself and really only came alive when he mentioned privately to me that he “might check out” the red light district that night.

There is of course a small contingent of sex tourists in a place like Amsterdam. There are also weed tourists. I realized through this that I am a falafel tourist. I have had falafel every day for weeks. It is quick, almost healthy, available every 50 meters, cheap, and vegetarian. I couldn’t ask for more. So I am missing out on traditional meals but I am ok with that. This is mostly meat country anyway. I was however very disappointed that I did not make reservations in time for the cheap, vegan, reservation-only food collective on Wednesday nights called MKZ. There were only 50 spots and I was not one of them. I was in the botanical garden at the time hanging out with one of the coolest plants I’ve ever seen – a 150 year old giant water lily.

My last night in Amsterdam I hung with 2 of Nicolle’s Couchsurfing friends and that was a good time – and the only time I felt like I had a place in Amsterdam.

So it was a relief to leave Amsterdam for Brussels. I stayed only a night in Brussels but I loved it there. I stayed with Nicolle and Adam’s Couchsurfing friend Emily and she was an awesome host. She leaves laundry and dirty dishes out like I do, loves the night like I do, loves Star Trek, Civilization IV, and ex-boyfriend drama. She is a late night dispatcher for a trucking company and it’s inspiring to me that she actually loves it. How can a cool young person actually love a shit job? I don’t know but if she can then I can too.

The Take concert was in a small bar that is popular among the locals called Bonnefooi. It was a hip little place, it had a second floor with a tiny balcony that wrapped around the inside. I drank tomato juice all night and felt drunk anyway. I got secondhand drunk. I met some cool locals, particularly a lesbian couple who I liked the instant I saw them. One was a student and the other played in the local symphony and they made out half the night, in between talking to me and helping me roll my herbal cigarettes without my rolling machine.

And I made sure to talk to Take for a bit, I mostly just wanted to tell him how far I came to see him and also how many fans he has in Boulder. He was a nice guy and I was actually surprised when he said music is his full time job. This is crazy to me that an electro artist I love is actually making money. I am accustomed to thinking that no matter how awesome they are, the bands I listen to have day jobs and routinely trade couches to sleep on.

I don’t know what any of the buildings or squares or statues are called in Brussels but they were the most beautiful I’ve seen so far. And I had an authentic Belgian waffle with coffee ice cream on it and it was Heaven. Yea, I’m vegan and gluten free… Ha!

So that more or less brings you up to speed on my travels. Hope you are all well and thanks always for reading!

Amsterdam

MILLI VANILLI + WEEDDDDD

makes me think
everyone is singing
along… I think

THIS PLACE IS WEIRD

I would leave but I almost
think weed is fuN

It is either bad 80s or good Euro
90s I think it sucks. FUCK
THIS TECHNO BULLSHIT

Oh – I think he was
clinking his glass to the
music. Do people like
this crap music?

I think he is whistling
along.
I think he is taking off
his clothes.

THAT SNICKERS bar was a
good idea FOUR HOURS
AGO AKA BEFORE I GOT
HIGH

No these guys are def
singing along

I think everyone keeps
laughing.

THERE => FIST PUMPING
AND SINGING ALONG I
COULD SWEAR IT.

NEW PAGE SAME CROWD
IS IT A DANCE CLUB?

SEE – SINGING ALONG AGAIN

IS IT IN ENGLISH?
YES SOMETIMES JUST LIKE
IN REAL LIFE

SEE -> WHISTLING

FUCK IS IT ENGLISH
SOMETIMES?

FUCK TECHNO NICKELBACK

I SAT THRU
SOME NICKELBACK SONG
BULLSHIT AT THE FICKEN
VOMITIN SHIT PIG BULLE
FUCKING HOSTEL
FUCK THAT FUCKING HOSTEL [picture of ocean and moon integrated in the L]

FÜCK AÜTÖTÜNËRS

AND STUPID TECHNO
NO MATTER WHAT
COU

THERE -> WHISTLING
LIKE TO A DOG BUT
ALONG WITH THE MUSIC
IT WAS FRICKEN LOUD
AND SOMETIMES I GET
BORED WITH WRITING AND
THEN–OOOH I THINK
SOMETHING MIGHT
BE INTERESTING HERE

FUCK I LOVE
YA BABY
TECHNO!!!

IS THAT SPANISH?
NO IT.S FICKEN ENGLISCHE
NO IT’S FUCKIN BOTH
I AM SO CONFUSED

OH MA

–>–>WHISTLING ALONG

N I SHOULD HAVE
DONE IT LIKE THIS BEFORE

N

–> FUCK THE FUCKIN
WHISTLIN I HEAR YOU
AND I KNOW YOU LIKE
THIS TECHNO BULLSHIT
INTERNET MEME
SHIT SPONGEBOB TEKNO

I was saying
FUCK IT’S SPANISH AND
HE IS FUCKING SINGING
ALONG I was saying

I think

ITS SPANISH

I
SHIT HE IS SINGING ALONG

ANY
FUCK ITS SPANISH
AND HES SINGING
ALONG FROM THE
BATHROOM

ANYWAY I DONT REMEMBER
ANYTHING.
IS THIS TIM BURTON’S
HANDWRITING?

HE’S DANCING ALONG AND
NOW THEY ARE LEAVING
WHO WILL BE HERE
TO SING WHILE YOURE GONE

OH shit this stuff is gold
^
Does that
look like the
Simpson’s bier?
Duff?
MORE SHIT TECHNO I THINK
I HEARD A MEGAPHONE

MAYBE THAT GUY IS STILL
SINGING ALONG TO THIS
OUT THERE SOMEWHERE

IS THIS A MAN OR A
WOMAN SINGING-? SHIT
THE TV DOESNT TELL ME

I THINK IT IS LIKE THAT
FAST CAR SINGER I
CANT REMEMBER HER NAME

I THINK THERE MAY BE
LESS FLOURESCENT LIGHTS
OUT THERE THAN IT FEELS

FUCK THIS FOREIGN TECH
NO
MEANS NO TECHNO
MEANS NO TECHNO
MEANS NO
HAHAHAHAHAHA

I THINK I SHOULD HAVE
BROUGHT TECHNO INTO
MY CREATIVE PROCESS
A LONG TIME AGO – BY
TECHNO I MEAN WEED
(AND TECHNO TOO)
(SHHHHHHHHH)

I START ONE H
AND I CANT STOP

SOMEONE ELSE HAS TAKEN
THE TORCH
SINGING AND WHISTLING

HOLY FUCK THIS SONG IS
SINGING ABOUT SINGING ALONG

I THINK IT IS ENGLISH
EVERY 12 SYLLABLES AND
SPANISH EVERY 10 SYLLABLES
AND GIBBERISH EVERY 11
SYLLABLES

IT FEELS LIKE MY BALLS
ARE ON FIRE BUT THEYRE
TOTALLY NOT RIGHT CUZ
MY PANTS WOULD HAVE
GONE UP IN FLAMES BY
NOW

I THINK I KIND OF
UNDERSTAND GRINDCORE…
JUST IN TIME FOR SNEEK

FUCK I AM GLAD I HAVE
INK

Sometimes I write because
I like to see how the
next letter will look.

There – stomping along. Tho he
might have been losing at
Foosball. I can’t tell with
these shadows in this place.

NO LADY GAGA… SO FAR

I FEAR THE NEXT SONG MIGHT
BE POKERFACE

NOPE JUST MORE SHIT TECHNO
SEE -> ENGLISH
I THINK THIS IS
PACHELBEL’S CANON

I DON’T THINK I SPELLED
THAT RIGHT

ITS LIKE PIRATES FROM THE
CORNERS OF MY EYES BUT
I KNOW IT WONT BE IF
I LOOK AT THEM AND
I KIND OF LIKE THE IDEA
OF TECHNO LOVING PIRATES

FIST PUMPING PIRATES OF
NEW JERSEY

I KEEP THINKING IT WILL
WEAR OFF BUT THE MIND IS
CURIOUS AND THE PEN
STILL MOVES

AS IF FROM AN UNSEEN
TECHNO FORCE FROM ABOVE

I DONT THINK THE MUSIC
LIKES ITSELF I CAN HEAR
IT REBELLING

NOT SPANISH AND NOT ENGLISH

FROM CERTAIN ANGLES I
AM SURE THAT THIS IS
BLADE RUNNER
WHERE ARE THE ALIENS
I THINK I AM MIXING
UP STAR WARS AND BLADE
RUNNER DONT TELL ANY
OF MY REAL FRIENDS
THAT I DID THAT THEY
WOULD HATE ME. THIS IS
FUNNY ONLY CUZ I DONT
REALLY HAVE TRUE NERD
FRIENDS.

THIS IS LIKE ASCII ART
FARTS. MAYBE THEY WILL
PAY ME FOR THIS DROOL.
DRIVEL, I MEANT DRIVEL.
BUT DROOL TOO, I WOULD
LOVE TO GET PAID TO PRODUCE
SPIT. THAT IS ONE OF MY
DREAMS MAN! PAID TO DROOL.
DROOLING IS A PASSION OF
MINE. ALWAYS HAS BEEN
REALLY. I KEEP THINKING
A CARTOONIST IS USING MY
HAND TO WRITE MY THOUGHTS
IN THIS COOL FONT WHILE
PEOPLE KEEP WALKING TO AND
FROM THE PISSER AND THE
MUSIC IS STILL AS BAD AS
BEFORE BUT AT LEAST THE
HANDWRITING IS COOL JUST
LIKE THE GUY TRIMMING HIS
TOENAILS TO THE SONG.
HE IS SLAPPING HIS CIGS
TO THE SONG AND HIS
FRIEND IS GOING ALL
PAPARAZZI ON HIM IT IS
SICK REALLY, TO THIS
TECHNO MUSIC AND ALL.

YUP – I LOOKED UP, DEFINITELY
NOT PIRATES ANYMORE

SERIOUSLY – CLIPPING HIS TOE
NAILS TO THE SONG.
NO THAT IS A JOKE.
NO I MEAN I WISH THAT
WAS A JOKE.

I MISS JESSY BUT FUCK
THIS FUCKSHITVOMITIN TECHNO
EMO BULLSHIT!

WAHHHHH! WAMBULANCE,
HOW DO YOU CALL THOSE IN
FOREIGN COUNTRIES?
I WILL CALL YOU ONE,
YOU SOUND SAD.

SHIT I AM GOING TO NEED A
NEW MOLESKIN. I MEANT FOR
SPACE BUT NOW TO WASH THE
PUKE OFF IT FROM THIS SONG.

I WOULDNT EVEN ROLLER
SKATE TO THIS.

THIS THOUGHT IS REALLY FUNNY
TO ME. THANK GOD THE HAND
WRITING IS NICE OR I WOULD
HAVE LOST INTEREST IN WRITING
LONG AGO.

THE MUSIC IS NO LONGER TIMED
WITH THE VIDEO THIS IS NOT SOME
HALLUCINATION IT IS THE DIGITAL
AGE MAN. THIS NEVER
WOULDA HAPPENED IN ANALOG.

I THINK MAYBE I SHOULD SEE
IF NIELS WROTE ME BUT
THE TECHNO KEEPS CALLING.

FALAFEL

Its kind of like the cult in
the metaverse book.
But much tastier.

NIELS, FOOD. THOSE ARE MY
PRIORITIES. NOT NECESARILLY
IN THAT ORDER. Shit I spelled
it wrong.

OK I SHOULD GO BEFORE THE
SPELL OF THE TECHNO TAKES
EFFECT – SHIT TOO LATE
I AM DOOMED

MUUST GOOO NOOOOW…

Bottlecaps in the Cobblestones

I haven’t taken many photos throughout my trip, just enough to help me remember certain things I want never to forget. Many of my memories so far are for the private backrooms of my mind. No admittance, signed, the management. They are for the story I tell myself before bed. They are taped over the mouth of my inner nag – no voice is telling me I should quit my job and travel anymore. They take up the space that fear and loneliness used to. The thought of this overwhelms me. Somehow, I feel happy.

Some of these memories I want so badly to relive. Just to do it again exactly the same way. I want to taste Jessy’s tomato coconut pasta again for the first time. I want to sit outside the Feldstern and kiss her again for the first time, to taste the tobacco and weed and mint on her breath. I want to watch her come back to bed this morning again. I want her to play Tim McMillan one more time before bed. But of course I can’t go back, so I do what I can to remember. Some people like photos, but I like words. Photos tell no lies, and have no room for myth.

Chris told me about a certain South Park episode years ago. I don’t even remember what it was about, but he had me in tears it was so funny. When I actually watched the episode myself a few days later, I didn’t laugh at all. Chris’s version of it was actually better than the original.

This is the sort of flexibility you have with words. There is still some mystery left. Sometimes the memory of a thing can be sweeter than the thing itself.

I am sad and heavy right now from a deep sense of loss. The first leg of my train ride to Amsterdam felt like 6 hours but it was only 2. I tried writing this post over and over and couldn’t get anywhere.

I feel like I left an important thing behind, but I know I couldn’t keep it. I couldn’t stay there to watch it grow, nor take it with me. The thought of this overwhelms me too. I feel so full, yet so empty. I don’t know what to do except keep moving. A train is the perfect venue for this. I don’t have to think about moving, but in a few hours I’ll be in a new town.

Jessy took me to a street festival yesterday called Schanzenfest. It is an annual event with a huge outdoor flea market, anarchist food vendors who will give you a bowl of vegan chili as big or as small as you want for 3€, and cross-dressing musicians. The streets there are cobblestone, filled in with black tar. In Germany you can drink alcohol virtually anytime, anywhere. As such the tar, over time, has collected bottlecaps. You look down and you see Pinkus here, Paulaner there, Augustina right next to it. They are pressed into the tar and now exist as part of the street.

This is more or less how I feel about my time in Hamburg – like I was a foreign thing pressed permanently into the city by one stray person’s step. So as I leave, it hurts. Hamburg was my home for only 10 days, but it feels like part of me.

Tonight I’ll be in Amsterdam, where new adventures await. I have had such an amazing time so far, I wish I could just do the last month over again and call it a day. But this is a silly thing to wish for. Somehow, ultimately, life has a way of getting better all the time.

I feel so high right now that it would be the perfect time for the universe to put a cow in my path.

So far so good.

As Olli said, I feel so full of love, I am shitting out of my heart. I hope this letter finds you all well.