Oktoberfest

I can only give you pictures. We just got back from Bavaria and are not prepared for a lengthy discussion. I promise the stories will be worth the wait.

Nothin' But Blue Skies

Willie started vomiting spokes Monday so I had to buy a back wheel. Den Haag’s Centraal train station has its own bike shop. I thought it was worth trying since it is so close to my house. For a back wheel I have received quotes of, 30 Euro (of which he was out), 50 Euro, and 65 Euro. Back wheels cost 45 Euro at the train station. I’ll take it. The only caveat is that you have to install the wheel yourself. No big deal. I used to do all kinds of bike maintenance. Up until the age of eight, I disassembled and reassembled bikes like I was getting paid for it.

I got the bike home and set to changing that pesky back wheel, poised to enjoy a life of cycling freedom. I employed my trusty multi-wrench to do the work. The only thing I took for granted was that everything on a bike is fastened with a nut and bolt. This seemed like a logical assumption to me since they sell this multi-wrench. If I needed an Allen wrench, they should include that as an attachment to my multi-wrench. I had the wheel almost off when I realized my hardware shortcoming. One little bolt required an Allen wrench; an Allen wrench I did not own. I sat there frustrated as the Dutch stared. I don’t know why but the Dutch stare, especially if you are working on a bike. It was like I had found the Ark of the Covenant and no one wanted to get too close for fear of getting Raiders of the Lost Arked. I was hungry and frustrated. I had two choices- put the bike back together (a task that would take another half hour) or find something to substitute for an Alan wrench. I looked everywhere for a solution. None of the removed nuts would work; neither would any of the coins in my pocket. I tried to use my keys as a substitute to no avail. Then I cussed.

I gave some other unmentionable theories a shot before going back to the keys. Finally, one of the keys worked. In the greatest (of five) handyman experience of my life, I removed the wobbly wheel and replaced it.

My life has changed. Old Willie would take several seconds to get from dead stop to moving straight forward. I would usually sway from side to side, avoiding the onslaught of annoyed Dutch to my left and right. Now I’m like Don Garlits off the line and Dale Earnhardt in clean air, leaving all challengers behind in a wake of despair and frustration. I’m Undutchable. My commute time, and this is no joke, has been cut in half. It once took me thirty minutes to get to work. No more. I can now make it there in fifteen, ten if I get up on the wheel like Stroker Ace.

Travis gets here Friday. Our rental car is reserved and we’re headed for Munich.

Delft Interest

I didn’t get much sleep before riding to Delft because I stayed up trying to watch the LSU-Auburn instant classic. I did not make it through the game but there is no doubt in my biased mind that the SEC is the best football conference in the country.

Me, Mitra, Zheni, Randall (from Florida Coastal), and Chris all met at Chris’ place for our Sunday bike ride to Delft. Delft is about 6km (10 miles) from The Hague. I was excited about Delft because of its aforementioned historical significance. The ride was nice if for no other reason than the sense of accomplishment. I took Jon’s bike since Willie’s back wheel was on its last spokes.

Delft is beautiful. Cobblestone streets line picturesque canals with music coming from every pub and restaurant. We walked around in a lazy Sunday mood, marveling at the architecture and enjoying each other’s company. Each charming street gave way to another, and another, and another, and a carnival. You have to be kidding me, a carnival in the central square of a gorgeous historic city? Sure enough, there it was, a carnival just like I have in my back yard and Blessed Trinity puts on every year was happening in this romantic city. The girls automatically reverted to the fifth grade and wanted to go on the swinging death trap roller coasterish thing. This thing was like the bear cages at Blessed Trinity, without a cage. It flipped, spun, dove, and revolved. They asked if we would like to join them. Yeah, I want to end my life at twenty seven years old by falling out of a giant windmill and slamming into a sixteenth century church tower. I am not one to tempt death so Chris and I walked around the burial place of William of Orange while the girls and Randall staked their existence on a carney’s competence and hope for a thrill.

Chris and I sat in a nautical themed bar called, the Clipper, watching soccer and Dutchmen yelling at soccer. While watching the games we hatched our plan for becoming official ADO Den Haag fans/hooligans. I hope we don’t end up in Dutch jail but if we do it is the will of ADO Den Haag and thus our destiny. We couldn’t remember the date of the next home game so we agreed to get the 2008-2009 schedule tattooed on our forearms. This way there will never be a doubt about our allegiance or what time ADO next plays.

Delft was very nice but we didn’t get to see the resting place of William or where he was shot or anything else because the whole town shuts down on Sunday and throws a carnival. We had another beer at the Clipper before leaving Delft. I watched the carney strap more victims into the death trap. As he turned away from us I noticed something shiny coming out of his pack pocket. A wrench.

I Feel a Little Bit Like Eating a Steak

I went out with Jon, Chris, and Serena on Saturday night. My plan was to go to a bar called, O’Casey’s because they occasionally carry college football, if you ask nicely. It turns out; Jon, Chris, and Serena get most college football games on their television. I watched the first quarter of the Gator game in which Timmy Tebow looked like the force we all expected this year. Everyone else was ready to go out so we went to a free concert in honor of the U.N. Day of Peace. A Dutch punk band, clearly inspired by Fall Out Boy and other pop-punk-emoish bands, was playing on the main stage at this festival. The lead singer was dressed like Pete Wentz. He was wearing a hoody sweatshirt with a t-shirt underneath and skinny jeans. About an hour into the show he got rowdy. Someone gave him a row of potted plants. The pot was about six feet in length and I would guess there were about fifteen small plants in it.

Shortly thereafter, Pete started dancing with his back to the crowd. His skinny jeans were sagging and his butt was hanging out. The freaky Dutch loved it. The concert emcee/organizer did not. He came on stage in the middle of the show and tried to get the band to stop playing.
Keep in mind that this is a free public show in honor of the United Nations Day of Peace. The venue was basically like the Landing in Jacksonville. Not like the stage inside the Landing, like the front steps of the Landing.
Pete was undeterred. He kept playing and dancing around. The song came to a break (Patrick, Boda, somebody, what do you call that, a bridge?) and ole Pete started to chant, “I feel a little bit like throwin’ a plant, I feel a little bit like throwin’ a plant, if you feel a like throwin’ a plant say yeah!” This continued until all fifteen plants were safely in the audience.
The next chant went like this, “I feel a little bit like tweakin’ my nipples, I feel a little bit like tweakin’ my nipples, If you feel like tweakin’ your nipples say yeah!” Dude had his shirt up under his armpits and was following his own advice as it regarded nipples.

We didn’t stay much longer. We went to O’Casey’s for a beer and, hopefully, some football. The bartender gave a valiant effort but could not find the Gator game so we watched the Ryder Cup. Go U.S.A. If you are not familiar with the Ryder Cup, get educated. America had failed year after year until Boo Weekley danced like Happy Gilmore down the fairway. God bless America.

Lazy Sunday

We got our Tour on yesterday. We rode our bikes to Delft. It is a beautiful little town just outside of The Hague.

Super Troopers

Add Neosporin to your list of things that are not available in the Netherlands. I asked the pharmacist for some, she wasn’t familiar so I showed her the names of the ingredients. She looked at me like I had asked her, “Where do you keep your heroin? I’ve been tootin’ blow all weekend and need something to settle my nerves.” She offered vitamin B12 but I didn’t buy it. Neosporin is going to be added to my Holland survival kit-list that Travis is so graciously bringing.

Speaking of Travis, I saw someone get pulled over on their bike the other day. I was riding home from work Wednesday night with my brand new street legal lights when I noticed a tall man on a bike wielding an air traffic control baton. The closer I got, the more apparent it became that this man was in fact a bicycle fuzz who had a Dutchman in his clutches. The exchange looked much like the typical American traffic stop. The bike fuzz was chastising the young man while he looked up and nodded, occasionally asking questions to feign interest. The Law handed him a ticket and started the arduous process of refolding his ticket book and putting his pen back in the front jacket pocket. I immediately pictured a scenario from my forthcoming road trip to Germany. If you have never seen Super Troopers, stop reading and Google, “Super Troopers, German Couple Scene”. Warning: Some mild sexual content.

I can see us getting pulled over on the autobahn. A German patrolman comes to each side of the car and asks us whether we know how fast we are going.
“Well, yes officer, we were goin’ waaay too slow. We don’t have the aw-tow- bahn in ‘Merica,” my friend Jon replies.

“Ja, und maybe zere is zomething you can do vhor me, or perhaps zomething vhor my partner,” says the German trooper.

“Zomething? (I explain this last exchange to Jon) Oh, hell no! Buncha fa..”

Just then, Bulldawg wakes from his nap and asks what’s up. He has been drinking Belgian beers for the last five hours and has no idea we were just pulled over for going too slow. He says something in drunken Magamoll. It turns out that the Magamolls have been speaking German this whole time. It’s not that they mumble when they are drunk, they speak fluent German, that’s why we cannot understand them. Whatever he says works and we avoid spending the night at Dachau.

I promise to update you on our travels as soon as possible including whether or not my hypothesis about Magamoll speak is true but I do not plan on taking my computer to the world’s largest beer festival. I’m sure the hotel will have internet access so I will write a little something and/or have guest writer, Travis, add some of his observations.

I have recruited a group to go to Delft tomorrow. If you are unfamiliar with it, do a quick Google search. William of Orange, the George Washington of the Netherlands, defeated the Spanish from his Delft command center. He is buried in the Nieuwe Kerk (new church) which was completed in 1510. The Oude Kerk was built in the thirteenth century. The town is the birthplace of Delftware and is reportedly gorgeous. We are going to bike there which should be interesting because the guy at the market is sold out of budget wheels and I refuse to pay twice as much at a store; Willie and I are just going to limp along to the next town. Twenty or thirty Euro could buy a one way ticket to France or a nice bottle of wine once I get there.

Please exercise your right to vote. I have posted a poll. Travis and I need to figure out what to do during his second weekend in town.

Go Gators. You never appreciate something so much as when it is unavailable. I love Gator football but have become a fanatic since coming to Holland. I will not be able to watch the game so somebody pick up the cheering slack.

Fix You

For the first time in my life I wanted drugs and could not find them. You can buy marijuana at the corner store but good luck finding some Advil PM. A combination of no sleep, traveling, and the weather abruptly changing, left me with a serious cold. I went looking for something to help me sleep to no avail. You can not get basic drugs at the supermarket; you can not get basic over the counter drugs anywhere. I managed to find a liquid antacid at the pharmacy but good luck finding anything to help you sleep. After two hours of searching, I now have a liquid antacid that I can not use because the package is in Dutch and I forgot to ask about dosage and some ibuprofen that I brought from home. Thankfully, my immune system is a rock so I will be fine. I currently feel about 75% well.

Baseball tangent:

I am not in the habit of criticizing coaches because I plan on returning to the profession some day and do not want to generate bad karma.1 It is difficult to be critical when you don’t have a full grasp of the overall chemistry of the team and each player’s physical gifts. Even the die hard fan possesses too little knowledge to make a well reasoned judgment about a coach’s job status.2

I say this to establish my legitimacy as a managerial move critic in light of the most confusing managerial move in history. The Brewers have been sorry for their entire existence. It was not until they lured Ned Yost away from the Braves that the Brew Crew finally began to play baseball the right way. Other than moving Ryan Braun to the outfield, I do not know much about Yost’s strategic moves because I do not follow the Brewers very closely. But this much is absolutely true; They are in playoff contention this year and have had a winning record for three straight years. Imagine the University of South Florida firing their football coach because he couldn’t deliver a national title in three years’ time. To fire a manager with twelve days to go in the season does not make a lot of sense but it is especially asinine when your team is battling for its playoff life against arguably better teams.

1 Exceptions: Les Miles, Bobby Valentine, Lou Pinella, and Dusty Baker.


2 See 1

Queen Dredd Approximately

I saw the Queen (Beatrix) and Princess of the Netherlands on Tuesday. The occasion is called, Prinsjesdag, which roughly translates to, princess day. It is a big deal. The royal family rides in gilded carriages from the royal palace through the streets of Den Haag and into the parliament so that the Queen can give her annual address outlining the goals of the parliamentary session. The Dutch police (who bear a striking resemblance to Stallone in Judge Dredd) usher a procession of military marching bands and harmless looking soldiers followed by several elaborate carriages with really good looking, well dressed people waiving through the window.




It was difficult to tell the exact moment the queen came through because the Dutch never get too excited. The level of activity went from about a 3 to a 5 on a scale of 1 to 10. I knew it had to have been her because everyone walked away after her coach passed. I barely saw her because the Dutch are gigantic and there was a guy who strongly resembled Tom Cartwright standing in front of me reaching his giant arm over the rest of the equally tall crowd to get a picture of Queen B. I couldn't help thinking, didn't we leave Europe to get away from Monarchy? There I was craning my neck to see a symbol of oppression. God bless America.

Get Low

The Low Countries (Belgium, Luxembourg and Holland) are Venga Boys Country. As soon as we got off the train in Brugge (in Flemish which is basically Dutch, Bruges in French), I heard “We Like to Party”. There was some sort of club or bar attached to the station and it was playing this song. I made the trip to Belgium with co-workers, Chris and Zheni, Chris’ roommate, Jon and Jon’s girlfriend, Serena. We checked into our hostel and set about finding a place to have a legendary Belgian beer and something to eat, hopefully chocolate covered waffles. It was difficult to find anything that looked like our kind of atmosphere at a decent price so we had some frites (fries) with mayo (try it). There are frites stands all over the Low Countries. They sell little fried treats of various sorts, frites, fried sausage, etc. The guy working the stand was a talker. He asked where we were from. He possessed an extensive knowledge of American culture. All Texans wear boots and Florida is exclusively populated with hot girls.

We walked the city for a while marveling at its beauty. Finally, Jon spotted a place called, “The Pub”, down an alley just past the main square. The Pub, that’s us right? We walked in and immediately noticed a strange vibe. Something just wasn’t right. I even said that, “Something doesn’t feel right.” We all scanned the room while the bartender just looked at us with a deer in the headlights stare. Then it hit me, and I think everyone else at the same time- we had stumbled upon a gay bar. That would explain why the bar is spotless, completely populated with men, and everyone is staring at us. We ordered a beer and sat outside. Once the bartender warmed up to us, it ended up being a really nice place. They brought us cheese and peanuts and kept our glasses full. One of the best things about traveling is getting to know your fellow travelers. I look forward to traveling with these folks again. Jon and Chris are going to join me and Travis on our road trip to Oktoberfest. A guy from California, not gay, joined us at our outside table. The weather was ideal. It was cool and dry. It had rained when we first got there but now the sky was clear and the city is nothing short of enchanting. Craig, from California, talked about his travels and smoked Cuban cigars.

We stayed at the gay bar for a couple of hours before deciding on a change of scenery. I asked the bartender where we should try next. He said, “well, I think you should stay here ALL night”, and everyone laughed extremely gay laughs. He tried to explain where this bar was located but he knew we would get lost on the winding medieval streets of Brugge. I asked the group to wait a second while I used the toilet (that’s what you say over here). Zheni asked for the same courtesy. I was later informed that as soon as I was out of earshot homeboy said, “I don’t know about her but I will wait for HIIIM.” When told about this, I explained how I was kind of flattered in a weird way by that comment. I don’t think of myself as someone that gay men would find attractive. Jon thinks I have some rare condition where I crave attention from gay men even though I do not find them attractive in return. He speculated there may be thousands of “us” around the world, straight men that enjoy attention from gay men. Anyway, bartender walked us to the bar. He grabbed his manbag and marched us down some dark alley. At the time this did not seem strange. Maybe it was the Belgian beer or the wonder of the city or my alleged disorder. Looking back on it, being led down a back alley, in a European city, by a gay man who has been openly flirting with you all night is pretty unconventional. This was my first time. The bar he thought we would enjoy was closed but there was a crazy discotheque at the end of the alley. Homeboy from the frites stand was working the bar at this establishment. His buddy’s dad owns the place. We were the only people over twenty in the whole bar. Everyone was Spanish and sweaty. It was awesome. Zheni requested the Venga Boys and the place went off the hook. For the first time since beginning yoga, I felt my blood pressure rise to near anger levels. By the end of the song I was singing along and wishing I was eating cotton candy. The energy in the place was infectious. EVERYONE danced to EVERY song and made noises that imitated the beat.

Saturday was supposed to be sight seeing day. I even drafted a very flexible itinerary. We got a late start but didn’t get too far behind. The first thing on the list was to climb the Bell tower for a view of the city. The results are posted below. It was incredible. We got to the top just before noon so we were in the tower during the carillon. Time is kept by this crazy five hundred year old machine.

We stopped at the frites stand, which homeboy was again working. A group of guys struck up conversation with us. Turns out they are from Jacksonville, pretty wild. The Asian American (preferred nomenclature) gentleman pictured below is a representative from their group. I don’t know whether it was too early or what but it took a lot longer than you would expect. We finally found a reasonably priced restaurant and sat down for waffles, sandwiches, and beer. By the time we finished lunch, the Texans were ready to go home so we agreed to meet them at the gay bar for a beer before going to see Michelangelo’s, Madonna and Child. Michelangelo supposedly worked on it while taking a break from his masterpiece, the David.

I’m not really sure what happened but our friends were not at the gay bar when we got there and the bartender had not seen them. Zheni and I decided to stay there for a little while to see if they came along. After a few minutes, Zheni left to meet her Bulgarian friend at the train station. Vlade is going to school in Brussels, she came to Brugge for the night. A girl walked in alone while Zheni was gone. She was speaking English to the bartender, sitting by herself, so I invited her to join us. Her name is Sarah, she’s a Kiwi and works on a boat of some sort traveling around the world. Sarah knew of a free jazz festival so we went. The festival was nice. The jazz wasn’t bad and we met some interesting locals. I was into the jazz and the girls were talking about girl stuff so I didn’t realize that they had met some local guys. The guys told us about a bar we should try. I was pretty exhausted and ready to go home but I reluctantly agreed to go. The bar wasn’t really a bar at all. It is a mansion that the owner opens up for guests on Saturday nights. You have to know the password or secret knock or something to get through the door. Willy, the owner, takes you into the house, through the kitchen, and to your seat. We had to sit in the balcony because there were too many people downstairs. The balcony walls are covered with paintings of people engaged in coitus. There was a three piece band that walked around serenading women for a small fee. I had a coffee and water since the beers are very strong and it was late. The last thing I wanted at that point was another 9% alcohol beer and this place made me think I was already a little too tight (intoxicated) for my own good. I'm pretty sure they put PCP in the beers.

The next day we checked out of the hostel and amended the original plan. I really wanted to see Madonna and Child. We agreed to take it easy and stroll around the town. Zheni chatted up a Canadian named, Sean, while I was in the shower. He was traveling alone so we invited him to join us. The weather was perfect. We saw Madonna and Child, ate chocolate, and sat in the square. There was a marching band concert on the square followed by said band actually marching through the streets. I ate frites and talked to homeboy again. He was still talkin’.

More Brugge in Pictures

Brugge, Belgium

Walkin'

I can’t speak for America because I don’t think you notice this type of thing until you are on a different continent. We may very well walk in a zigzag pattern but I have not noticed it. The Dutch do. I let it go for a week figuring it would work itself out and society would prove me wrong. No chance. They walk sideways and zigzag. I cannot believe there are less then twelve thousand accidents a day. In fact, knock on wood, I have yet to see a pedestrian hit a bike or a tram hit a car or a tram hit another tram or a building run into a car. They just seem to understand that the other person has less nerve than them. Evel effing Knievel would lose a game of chicken to a Dutchman. Evel would have died thirty years ago if his nerve was tested in Holland. They would call his bluff, everyone would die, and the people would cope by smoking dope with whatever American tourists were in town.

I did not hit anyone today but I did go to the Dutch version of Target. Willie, by proxy, is the proud owner of new lights and a multi purpose tool. Both are a necessity. The lights make us street legal and the tool is just prudent given Willie's tendency to break down everyday.

Belgium calls this weekend. My trip has gone from a one man pilgrimage to a festival. My fellow interns, Chris and Zheni, are coming along with Chris’ roommates. Chris and his boys are from Houston while Zheni is from Bulgaria. It should be incredible. Bruges is a medieval city lost in time and its sister city, Ghent, is a university driven carbon copy. Ridiculous pictures to follow.

Chuck Klosterman's France

Chuck Klosterman does it again. Interesting read about baseball: http://www.esquire.com/features/chuck-klostermans-america/baseball-klosterman-0908

AND

I think I am part nutria; apparently my digestive system is conditioned to process paper. I felt no ill effects from the brie incident of two nights ago. I actually slept quite well.

The Venga Boys are Coming

There is a carnival going on behind my apartment. I doubt they call it a carnival but that’s what it is. There’s a Ferris Wheel, a gravitron and, presumably, carnies. If it’s un-American to dislike the carnival then call me John Kerry and kick me a soccer ball because I am there. The only reason I go to the carnival is if it is in conjunction with a county fair and Travis Tritt and Marty Stuart are playing a “No Hats Tour” reunion. Even then, it better not fall on a night during the World Series or NFL playoffs.

My problem is that all those carnies, with their hands smelling of cabbage, are operating death traps. Incredibly, people still choose to chance their lives on these things and this phenomenon is not lost on the otherwise pragmatic Dutch. This particular carnival should be of no concern to me because I am not fifteen; thus my girlfriend does not wield such unchecked power as to make me stride a cold piece of rusting metal while whirling out of control in circles and/or vertically. However, this particular carnival is in my backyard and the theme song of one of the rides is the Venga Boys’, “The Venga Boys are Coming (We like to party)”. I normally welcome this song because it reminds me of senior year spring break (apologies to Bulldawg and his would be shutout gem that turned into a slaughter because we all went to Daytona the night before and for some reason coach Yancey played all the reserves that day) but I like the song for just that, nostalgia. Going to sleep to it every night is not what I had in mind almost ten years ago when, even then, I found the song to be pretty ridiculous.

On a brighter note, I went to Intern Happy Hour last night and met some really interesting people. I would like to reinforce that Belgian beers are incredible. That being said, the Austrian I met professed that Belgian beers are second in the world to Czech beers. He described the Czechs as, “champion” beer brewers. Looks like I’m going to have to amp up my Jon Mann-visit preparation.

Knox Harrington

Dutch men, almost universally, laugh like Knox Harrington, the video artist from The Big Lebowski.

Oui Little Oversight

I bought brie cheese and bread at the supermarket last week. I figured, since I am in Europe, I should eat cheese and bread in between meals and at any time other than when I am in the shower. Last week I ate a piece of cheese but the bread I bought was so terrible that I postponed my snack until I could purchase some decent bread.

I resumed Frenching today. I cut off a slice of cheese at a time and then tore a little piece of bread - all while wearing a beret and candy striped stockings. After about six pieces, I turned the cheese over so I could cover it with plastic. Only then did I realize that every bite included a piece of paper that was attached to the bottom of the wedge. I'll have an update on my night's sleep tomorrow.

Achmed

The ring tone skeleton; the one that says, "Silence! Silence! I kill you!" He has a name, Achmed the Dead Terrorist. He is the brain child of an American ventriloquist/comedian called, Jeff Dunham. The Dutch apparently love him. I don't think it's very funny. Judge for yourself: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uwOL4rB-go



I just learned that you can't get Pandora radio in Holland. Their license is not valid in Europe. If you are not familiar with Pandora, and are currently in America, give it a chance: Pandora.com.

Gator Bait?

I watched the game last night. By last night, I mean this morning. I have ESPN360 college football coverage so I can watch the Gator games. It started at about 2:00 a.m. local time. I expected us to destroy Miami in the first half thereby allowing me to get some sleep. The offense made me uncomfortable until I realized what a nice problem it is have. They will come around. I am pleased to see the defense playing so well.

The Best Looking Not Famous British Couple

I met this couple at the bar after being stood up by my team. I think the girl introduced herself as Sheleigh (Sha-lay) but the bartender called her, Sheila, and my Dutch tour guide (who showed me the way to the next bar) called her Sheleighla. I met them at a bar called, Sheleighleigh. His name was, Sam.

They were really nice but Sam made me feel unwelcome by the end of the night. I don't know whether he is a bad drunk or felt like I was moving in on his lady. Either way, I left before getting an education in English pub brawling.

Let's Get Naked and See if We Can Sort Things Out

The attorneys I work for invited me to a birthday celebration for our client, Vlade (not his real name but I’m tired of calling him, our client). I went to the bar and waited for almost an hour. No one ever showed up. While futilely waiting for my team I noticed a girl wearing a Seattle University sweatshirt, speaking in an American accent. I asked if she knew my buddy, Ghalib, who had transferred from Florida Coastal. She didn’t but we talked for a while and her English friend took down my email address. They are both interns at the ICTY. I invited them to the ironically named, Summertime Music Festival, that was to take place today. They seemed interested.

Kirsten (the English girl) sent me an email this morning saying they were going to try to make the festival. I got to the festival at about 1:30 and didn’t recognize anyone. It was set up under a couple of tents in the middle of the park behind my house. The park is called, Haagse Bos (The Hague Forest). It isn’t really a forest; it is more like the Central Park of The Hague. There were two stages, a main stage that housed the bigger acts and a satellite stage that showcased one man folk acts. The performances ranged from Caribbean dancing to indie rock.

When I first got there it was almost empty. I’d say there were about twenty people. The crowd was young and everyone was wearing, for lack of a better word, alternative clothing. I packed light for the trip to Europe so my wardrobe is limited. The rain forced me to wear my navy blue and white Florida Coastal rain jacket, navy blue and white Adidas sweatpants, my blue and white New Balance sneakers, and my Mets hat. I looked like a track coach. I felt like a high school quarterback crashing a Dungeons and Dragons convention.

The satellite stage featured a girl with a keyboard singing some folk songs. It seemed like a lost scene from Napoleon Dynamite. She had a glamour shot 8 ½ x 11 poster of herself and CD’s for sale. Maybe five people were watching and three of them, including me, clapped after every song. I didn’t see my new intern friends and considered leaving. Something made me stay. I don’t know whether it was the family, who seemed to be constantly fighting, setting up to sell Dutch food or the guy who stopped me and asked if I would mind filling out a survey that kept me from leaving. I’m glad I stayed. A British pop band came on the main stage. Three boys aged 17 or 18, singing lyrics they ripped off of a Dashboard Confessional album. I know it sounds like torture but it really wasn’t. They were not that bad. In between songs the keyboardist/vocalist would speak in Dutch and then the guitarist/vocalist would speak in English. It was crazy. They weren’t saying the same thing. It wasn’t like the English speaking guy was translating. In fact, at times they were communicating with each other but in different languages. About that time I noticed that there were dogs everywhere. Wet dogs. I guess you get used to wet dogs when live in a country that suffers from a perpetual downpour. Dog owners just take their dogs outside as if nothing is different. What else can you do? You can’t wait out the rain. It is not going to stop. I wonder if Dutch dogs are bilingual. I know dogs don’t actually understand the language but I wonder if they respond to English in the same way as Dutch. I should have experimented.

After the emo/Britpop/indie band I watched a singer songwriter on the satellite. That is where I got the title for this entry. I think he was Dutch but his lyrics were in English. Most of his songs said something about, “sorting things out.” This was a particularly creative way to work in his theme. During his set I got up the mettle to purchase some food from the angry family. My apprehension was due to the fact that, 1) they were angry and 2) the sign was in Dutch. I think the mother/wife was Indonesian. There is a large Indonesian population in Holland as a result of colonization. The lady was making some kind of fried ball of something and it looked delicious. I watched a brave soul go over and order one. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing either so he is my hero. The guy on stage was still sorting things out so I could not tell whether they were speaking English but I decided to jump in anyway. The lady did speak English albeit with a very think accent. I pretty much nodded my way through the transaction and at the end I had a fried ball of something split in two and stuffed with hot sauce and sweet chicken. I ordered a water to which she replied, “why o re?” I asked her to repeat herself, which she did bringing us back to square one. She finally walked over to the beverage display and pointed to the white bottle of wine, “why o re?” We eventually got it straight and the meal was awesome. I stayed for a couple more shows including a Caribbean dance show. The girls were sisters (twins I reckon). They were wearing some sort of traditional garb; I’m not exactly sure what I saw because they were speaking in Dutch but I’m pretty sure they said something about Suriname, a place I cannot locate on a map. You may not be able to tell in the picture but they are wearing Dolce and Gabana t-shirts. Strange afternoon.

Correction

I stand corrected. New York, in furtherance of its effort to join the EU, does offer rolling hand baskets.

My team is celebrating our client's birthday tonight by drinking really good beers. After that I'll be watching da U vs. the Gators.

Spreekt Engels

I woke up with a little bit of a sore throat. As a result, I decided to forgo my morning yoga which is sort of like trying to avoid drowning by swimming deeper.

“Work” was fine although I didn’t have my “A” game. I worked at the tribunal and then at the office which is actually the lead attorney’s apartment. It started raining at about 1:00 (13:00 in Dutch) and didn’t stop until two seconds after I arrived home. I left the office at about 6:30 (18:30) into a steady rain. There is a beautiful red brick road on my route to and from work. Like many of Europe’s gems, this road is aesthetically pleasing and functionally frustrating. Every day I think this road is going to kill Willie. One of these days Willie is going to explode. Today was that day. About thirty meters (that’s how we measure things) onto the road, Willie’s chain popped off. No big deal right? Just put the chain back on the bike and continue on your way. Good idea except the Dutch cover their bicycle chains with a vinyl cover that requires disassembling the bike to remove. It took about fifteen minutes to remove the cover and reposition the chain. I was soaked and hungry and, predictably, grumpy. I still needed to go the supermarket and stare at the nearly empty beef case.

The supermarket is always entertaining. It is a chance to interact with the Dutch people at a very domestic level. You can meet people on the tram or at the bar but the grocery store is where you get to see what people put in their bodies. In the case of the Dutch that is really good beer, some cheese and a lot of bread…no beef. Since we are technically underwater, I figured fish was a safe bet. Must be fresh. The checkout girl spoke English to the person in front of me but I want to assimilate so I played dumb. She spoke in Dutch, I smiled and said Ja and Nay to everything she asked. I think she asked me if I had a discount card and then whether I had 5 cents. She probably asked me if all Americans were as short as me and whether I liked to have sex with men. Either way I felt like a native and the fish wasn’t bad.

International Debut

The man finally makes his international debut. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Willie Soft Spot (He's the one wearing blue).

Freaky Dutch

The Dutch are weird. I went to the men's room (heren in Dutch) at the ICTY today. On the wall behind the toilet there is a sticker shaped like a stop sign that says, "Gents, please P in the middle and not on the floor." The same stall has a sticker on the door that says, "Don't forget about me", with a picture of a toilet brush at the meeting of two tiled walls.

I have no explanation for the former sticker but the latter has a legitimate basis. You see the Dutch, and all Europeans in my experience, do not allow their toilets to fill with water. In fact, the toilet only has a little bit of water in the bottom. So, when you use the facilities, whatever matter you expel stays on the bowl of the toilet until you flush. I assume this is done in an effort to conserve water. I support the environment and efforts to maintain it but I hope this does not become a trend in America like the comma in favor of the decimal point has. Those of you in Ocala or other small towns may not know what I'm talking about and you're lucky. New York now has prices displayed with commas much like the Euro. Example: $4,25 vs. $4.25. I don't think the comma is that big of an improvement. If we are going to adopt something from the Europeans, let's adopt the rolling grocery store hand basket or really good beer not the price comma.

Le Barack of Obama

I just watched Obama's DNC acceptance speech. Someone should tell this guy he's running for President of America, not France.

Obama on the free market, "In Washington they call this, the ownership society. What that really means is, you're on your own."

Those words sound familiar. Oh, that's right, they are the basis for the political and social philosophies of Castro, Lenin, and Mao.

Pictures of Amsterdam Because I Haven't Taken Many of the Hague

Probably can't read that. It says "Durty Nelly's". Clear infringement on the Ocala/Gainesville establishment's trademark.

Willie's New Groove

I realize that Willie (for those of you just joining us, Willie is the baby blue bike I have been riding) has dominated the conversation. That is how things operate in Holland. Today is no exception. I have been easy on Willie Soft Spot (the soft spot refers to an unfortunately placed sticker on Willie's cross bar). The truth is, Willie's seat has been punishing my "soft spot" since I picked him up two days ago. I do not have any tools here so I had yet to remedy the problem until today. For some reason the seat was pointing up at about a 45 degree angle from the road. Luckily, the attorney I am working for has a crescent wrench and now things are kosher. I felt like an outsider before, with my wobbly wheeled bike that performed abortions on my potential children. Now I feel like a Dutch resident. I think that's what it takes to belong. You need a bike that can be mounted with pride, not trepidation.

I apologize for the abundance of words at the expense of pictures. I will include some eye candy for my ADD readers as soon as I get a chance. The medieval city of Gent, Belgium is probably on tap for this weekend which will likely reap hundreds of pictures.

Speaking of Belgium, I have a homework assignment for you. The next time you are at the liquor store, see if you can find a beer called, Kasteel. I think I mentioned it earlier. It is as ubiquitous as it is delicious over here but I bet we can't get it in America.

Super-Soaked

I forgot to mention that my shower head broke on the first day. The faucet and shower head are located in the center of the tub rather than on the (logical) end of the shower. It appears that the Dutch do not believe in cleaning themselves from above because the shower has only a small hook on which to hang the hand held shower head. This hook is not sturdy enough to hold said shower head in the event that you should want to end the shower and turn off the water. In hindsight, I should have taken the shower head down and then turned off the water but, typical American, I assumed that I could just end the water flow when I wanted. The shower head fell and snapped leaving a super-soaker for a shower head. I begged my parents to buy me the latest super-soaker when I was a kid. Mom, save your money. Buy me a decent shower head. The Beatles’, “Happiness is a Warm Gun”, plays in my head as I take a shower. The water pressure has to be adjusted according to which body part I am cleaning as some body parts are more sensitive to water pressure than others.

I had my first real day of work today. Yesterday was all formalities. I actually read our client’s indictment and talked about the case with my bosses. The attorneys on this case seem like very nice people. They have a pretty laid back approach which lends itself well to my personality. I had to be at work by 2:00 so I mounted Willie and took off into the Den Haag traffic. Unfortunately, it was raining. I knew this when I left but I had no idea just how constant the rain would be. It wasn’t raining hard, just a drizzle. But it rained the whole way and I began to worry about my laptop which was resting in my backpack. I don’t think this backpack is waterproof although I suspect it is water resistant. Not wanting to risk ruining my lifeline to the rest of the world, I took off my rain jacket and wrapped the backpack in it. As always, I figured in getting lost time but the rain, coupled with Willie’s back wheel injury, slowed us down more than I expected. By the time I reached the tribunal I had nearly fallen over by getting caught in the tram tracks, stopped three times to look at the map, and gotten soaked from head to toe. Fortunately, my computer and ipod went unharmed.

I walked through security with a chip on my shoulder. The guards weren’t sure what to do with me. That place is locked down for real. The guards change everyday and they do not understand the whole intern concept. Every guard asks for an extension to call. This is an impossible task since the ADC does not really have an appropriate extension and even if they did, I don’t know the number. I just started working. My new bosses basically laughed at me for being wet and stupid which was a welcomed grumpy mood breaker.

The case I am working on is exciting. If this guy did everything they say he did, he raped about a hundred people and killed another two hundred in one day. Stay dry.

World Tour

Excuses to visit:

9/12 Billy Joe Shaver Haarlem, NL

11/12 My Morning Jacket Amsterdam, NL

11/20 GZA/Genius Den Haag, NL

Peace

Willie Nelson

I met with my team today and picked up the bike that Brent Hicks has so graciously lent me. The bike needs a new back wheel and front and back light but other than that it isn't too bad. I'm thinking of calling it, Willie Nelson. Blue Skies was the song that popped into my head and I think Willie when I think that song. I will post a picture of Willie (the bike) when I get a chance. My work day was only an hour long but I am still in the process of getting settled.

Today included my first trip to the grocery store. The Dutch have hand baskets like we do but theirs have a long retractable handle and rollers. Another example of something the Dutch do better.