Record the new song in Dublin

A few miscellaneous thoughts as I leave Dublin:

* The guy at the post office this morning thinks Bush is a f---ing idiot, but that most folks think Americans are fine. It's just their president ...

I totally dig this place.

Oh, Dad and Joanie, I shipped myself a box of stuff to your house. But no stripper this time. Sorry.

* On the streets there are look left/look right guides to help people avoid getting plowed by a bus. Got to admit, they came in pretty useful.

* Upon further review, Amsterdam's airport is worse than Heathrow. And Dublin kicks both their butts.

* In airport I sat in what I thought was an open seat. I asked the guy sitting next to it if it was open. Hey made some gesture that couldn't definitely be called an affirmative or negative. So I asked again, rephrased and possibly setting up a double negative (I felt like a Bonds prosecutor) and he seemed to indicate that it was OK for me to sit down.

So I did. And he said nothing.

Several minutes later a woman came over and sat across from the man, who shrugged at her as if to say, "dude jacked your seat, beeatch." I thought about offering to switch, but I was having too much fun waiting to see if either of them (I think they were Czech) said anything.

They didn't. Few minutes later they left.

I win.

* The lead opinion piece in today's British Times is headlined, "Woman with organised handbag is a formidable foe."

No wonder we kicked their butts in those wars (that's right, don't forget about 1812).

* It occurred to me that I haven't written much about the weather when the lady my brother somehow convinced to marry him asked me about it. Fortunately, there hasn't been much to report. Some drizzles in Assisi, one rainy day in Florence, and that's about it. Pretty solid otherwise.

* Also occurs to me that I've whined about the cost of things a couple of times. Really, it just comes down to paying for silly stuff, like water in a restaurant, the right to sit in a restaurant, a bag at a convenience store to carry items just purchased at said store.

Many odd examples of stupid little things we take for granted (and for free) in U.S.

Of course, the dollar sucks and our economy is in bad shape, so maybe Italy, Germany and Ireland have it right (the Irish do have free water).

I will come back here ... Maybe when the dollar is stronger.

FUN FACT: All kids in Irish schools are forced to learn Gaelic, and all official signs are in both English and Gaelic. I'd suggest that all Americans should learn Esperanto, but I'm working to make it better with six of Miller High Life.

* Today's agenda: return to Amsterdam, hit the Rembrandt House and possibly a silly torture museum, maybe have some space cake, send some postcards and get ready to roll into Paris on Sunday.

Paris. Last stop on this tour. Crazy.

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OK, so just got back to the Netherlands, and it's chilly and rainy. Damnsterdam!

I also missed my train (no biggie, as they run every 10 minutes) because I was fighting with the ticket machines. I even risked putting my credit card in. Rejected, but at least it spit it back out.

Incidentally, I wonder where all these extra vowels came from.

Not so iffy on the Liffey

Lots of travel and walking+four ciders=need for sleep.

Got plenty last night after taking in the Jess Klein show (no, I was not forcibly removed from the premises -- I left of my own accord ... after it was strongly suggested several times that I do so).

Bummed around Temple Bar today, had good ol' Irish Pub food (and some great Bailey's cheesecake). Wandered by the Dublin castle (leeches! i think ...), saw a man fight with a piece of plastic, took my photo on the famous ha'penny bridge, wondering what's so special about it.

Was planning to do a music pub crawl later. And unsuccessfully resist the groovy Irish souvenirs.

And that's about it. And on the 16th day, he rested.

_________

Fast forward to post-nap Friday, and I did manage to unsuccessfully resist groovy Irish souvenirs. Then hit the pub crawl, which was more of a quick jaunt at first and then eventually a stroll rather than a crawl.

Anyway, our guides are musicians who played some tunes, talked some Irish musical history and encouraged audience participation. It was great.

Our first stop, the Ha'Penny Pub (by the bridge ... which decidedly is not the same one I took a picture on earlier in the day), is "the Only pub in Temple Bar not turned into Irish pub," one of our guides said. "Like someone's living room."

Basically, Temple Bar is a young and touristy area. So many of the pubs have been pub-ified. Not this one. But that didn't stop people from talking throughout their first song. Why are you even here, folks?

Among the overheard: "Holy crap. It's thick ... But smooth."

First Guinness.

Our hosts talked about lock-ins, which basically entail a pub owner deciding around midnight that he doesn't think he'll be raided, so he's locking the doors, closing the blinds and staying open. That's when the real music happens.

"They're illegal but fairly common in Ireland," our guide said. "Complete disregard for the law."

Basically, traditional Irish folk music is learned directly from others rather than a class or radio. That's how it's passed on.

So during these lock-ins, there are "noble calls." Anyone in attendance, good voice or no, is invited to bring and share tunes from wherever they are from, in whichever language they speak. People share and learn.

One of our hosts (Larry, I think ... let's just call him that) once heard an American girl sing "Ice, Ice Baby."

So they called on us tonight, saying American Pie and Bohemian Rhapsody are banned. A guy from NY sang "You can't always get what you want," these three sisters from D.C. kicked butt with a three-part harmonized "Ashgrove," some people from some eastern country performed some traditional march which seemed to have something to do with domestic abuse (at least based upon their hand gestures), the guy from N.Y.'s mom (who thought I was from the Ukraine) sang "You've got a friend (in Pennsylvania)" and a Brazilian woman sang "Girl from Ipanema" in Portuguese -- which was far more tolerable than the English version.

After all this, I finally started to get up the courage to do my stupid version of "Leaving on a Jet Plane," but they shut down the audience participation segment at that point. Ah, missed opportunities.

Either way, these songs and the traditional Irish ones often turned into singalongs. Larry and the other guy kept saying music here is about sharing. That came across clearly.

I was totally jazzed by this ("It's the music, stupid," I remind myself), which clearly ranks in the top five in terms of best experiences of this entire trip (right behind the streets and fort of Assisi and the free Gummy Bears). And it's everywhere; any town, almost any pub. Was one of the highlights of previous Ireland trip, too. And most people here are so damn friendly, too.

I head back to the pub where I had lunch and take in a little more traditional music (he sang "Puff the Magic Dragon" -- I thought I had left Amsterdam...) and had a Guinness before calling it a night. On way downstairs to main area of the bar, "Born in the USA" was on.

Outside, a bunch of college-aged kids (who seem to overdress the same everywhere) were belting out, in group, some friggin' Oasis song. Hey, Bruce rocks, but do these kids not understand what they have here?

Anyway, walked back to hostel, capping the evening with a gelato (there's a place by the Promenade I may start frequenting).

Jess Klein, fun Dublin, great Irish music. Good couple of nights.

Oh, almost forgot. I gave a piece of my pizza to a homeless guy, which apparently is becoming my thing.

But I refused to pay 42 cents for a bag. Have to draw the line somewhere. A 52-cent waffle, on the other hand, would have been perfectly acceptable.

Luck o' the Baumish

Had to get out of Amsterdam (and the continent in general). And despite "March of the Belgian Paratroopers" being one of my favorite concert band tunes from high school (I was a drummer, damnit -- that ain't fineable), Brussels just wasn't providing the necessary allure.

There were two places (well, three if you count Spain, which I'll hit someday) I was wanting to get to during this trip that just didn't quite fit on the itinerary. The first was the island of Corsica. For those who understand that one, c'mon, how great would that have been?!

The second? Dublin.

So here I am in Ireland for the first time since Laurie, Owen and I tore it up here for New Years '99 (what ARE we talking about?). Weather is crisp but clear, people are friendly (the folks working at my hostel totally rock), pubs are plentiful, and here I am taking a break from Europe by eating at a Johnny Rocket's-type place.

It's called Eddie Rocket's. Yeah.

They took my order right away and served me my above-mediocre food quickly. With a vanilla shake. I needed this.

OK, so there is a significant ulterior motive here. Back in blog entry No. 1 I mentioned the slight possibility of seeing one of my favorite singer/songwriters. Well, just so happens that she (Jess Klein) is playing here tonight.

I think.

Her website says yes. The venue's website says no.

Local listings say yes. Other local listings say she played there already.

A person from her own website says yes, she absolutely is playing. The guy at the ticket office had no idea what I was talking about.

Oye.

After wandering through energetic Dublin to the ticket office, I talk to the same guy I spoke with over the phone. He does more research, finds out that Ms. Klein is playing in their upstairs venue tonight, tix available at door.

Phew.

Don't get me wrong -- there's plenty to do here without seeing the same singer for the (insert scary-high number here)st time, but I would have been pretty annoyed had the show not gone off -- especially since a) I've made an art form out of finding ways to miss her shows, and b) I already was a little testy, what with Amsterdam's airport making a serious run at Heathrow's level of suckiness earlier in the day (they're bagging check-in system blew them right past Heathrow, but their security line format offered some redemption).

By the way, I ordered another glass of water about 10 minutes ago. Nothing. Typical Eddie Rocket's.

Before the airport I managed to hit the Vincent Van Gogh museum. Good stuff. They also had a Rodin, some Monets and a Picasso. Will try to see what Rembrandt has to offer upon my brief return to Amsterdam before heading to Paris.

Oh, and I might have left my shades in a taxi. And still no water. But once again "Manic Monday" is on.

Maybe Jess will cover that one tonight. And maybe a restraining order will be waiting.

Amsterthoughts

Wednesday in Amsterdam...

Took a walking tour of the town, learned a bit about its history. The gist? If it makes money, it's cool with the town. Also, the Dutch traded Manhattan (new Amsterdam ... why they changed it I can't say...) for Suriname. So there ya go.

Nice to get the history, as I knew precious little about Amsterdam (they dammed the Amstel river, hence the name -- not to be confused with Heineken damning Amstel Light). Also had a local brew -- a white beer, but I forgot its name. But it was good.

Also hit the Anne Frank house (yes, my Holocaust tour continues ...). Very digestible, good setup, some interactives, good history ... well done.

And if it seems as if this blog is losing a little steam, that's because it's author is losing a little steam (as evidenced by that inexcusable misuse of an apostrophe back there). Long trip. All great, but long. Not sure if the coffeehouse visit last night helped or hurt.

FUN FACT: A little less than 10 percent of the Dutch smoke weed. Gotta love tourism.

Looking to rebound big today with a (mostly) unplanned side trip. More on that later. But for now, some musings...

* I wonder if the EU currency deliberately looks like play money.

* I wonder if I could knock a biker over with a well-timed foam rocket.

* I wonder how original New York pizza can be served here (yeah, with utensils, but that's not what I mean). Though I guess with the whole New Amsterdam thing, maybe it works somehow.

* I try not to wonder what could be on Porno Supermarket's much-advertised demonstration video.

* I wonder if I actually look like a cokehead, or whether the folks on the street looking to score some just ask everyone. Let's go with the latter.

* I wonder if I have a stress fracture in my foot.

* I wonder if any other cities have had to take specific measures to stop guys from pissing on buildings.

* I wonder if any other cities have had to deal with women protesting outdoor facilities being made available only to men by pissing on a bridge.

* I wonder if any other cities had to shut down the new female facilities because heroin addicts were shooting up in them.

* I wonder where all these cuts on my hands are coming from.

* I wonder if I too can save Holland.

* I wonder how many bikes are at the bottom of the canal (our tour guide says tons of 'em).

* I wonder which hostelmate took my room key (I eventually found it -- my guess was right).

* I wonder how many times I can lose and then find my sunglasses (in another city).

* I wonder if I should go to Dublin.

* I wonder why everyone thinks I look like I'm 26. Not that I'm complaining ...

* I wonder if the key-thieving hostelmate in the bunk beneath me would be offended if I gave him a breathe-right strip.

* I wonder if that psycho tourist from the walking tour yesterday still is stalking me.

* I wonder if covering the tennis tourneys in Rome and Berlin -- and maybe some soccer -- would have allowed me to expense all this.

* I wonder if Joe Girardi has been fired yet.

* I wonder if I will start walking all around Santa Monica when I get back, or whether I never will walk anywhere again. Ever.

* I wonder where the hell I am right now (I since have figured it out, but I'm sure I'll wonder off again).

* I wonder about Pandora.

* I wonder whether those kids will be convicted in the Natalee Holloway case.

* I wonder which country's currency is weakest against the dollar, and whether I should vacation there next.

* I wonder if Zenit Yobs are going crazy.

* I wonder if my other hostelmates actually do have meningitis to go with their throat infections, or if they were just kidding. Or being paranoid.

* I wonder why Charlie Brown never kicked Lucy.

* I wonder if anyone watches the NASCAR reruns Amsterdam apparently shows at night.

* I wonder if any other three weeks of my life will compare to these.

Going Dutch

Made it to Amsterdam, where the rules are scarce and the internet is down (as I compose this, anyway) .

Got here late last night and did some exploring ... And let me get this out of the way now: the red-light district is odd, hilarious and creepy all at the same time. And I, without objection, am following my mother's instructions: window shopping is fine, but don't go in. Not even all that sure about making eye contact as they tap the window, trying to get your attention.

I did see a very attractive young woman in a doorway this morning, but she was fully clothed and without red luminescence -- though she did work for a street marketing firm. Pretty much the same thing, no?

"Coffee house" is the official slang for marijuana cafe, which is fine unless it's morning and one is looking for an actual coffee house with unadultered pastries.

I did find a standard cafe and ordered an Amsterdam classic: banana pancakes. A bit different. See the pic above.

There also was a cat hanging around in the restaurant. Do they serve cats here? As in, provide them with food (To Serve Man is a cookbook!). Found out she (Pluke) lives there. Found out later that many restaurants have cats to help with the mice problem.

Incidentally, considering how much time I've spent in NYC and LA, I'm a little surprised today was the first time anyone tried to sell me coke. I asked if he had Coke Zero. Confused, he walked away.

Today holds in store a walking tour, some sightseeing/tourist destinations (hello, Van Gogh) and just maybe some local pastries. We'll see. Could help with the internet withdrawal.

By airplane to the rocket

Tried to cram one last trip into the Berlin portion of my itinerary. Might cause me to miss my train to Amsterdam, but there are more trains later ... I think.

Anyway, made a quick (as in time spent there, not time it took to get there; after issues with lines and trains, I'm no longer buying this German efficiency stuff) visit to the Saschenhausen concentration camp.

There were barracks, guard towers, signs of awful conditions, mass graves, memorials, an execution ditch, an autopsy lab ... Basically, most of what you'd expect.

There were moments when I pictured the prisoners being rounded up in the freezing rain for roll call or shoved by the dozens into small showers. But because I knew I had to cruise through in order to have any hope of catching my train, I didn't let myself linger ... And therefore didn't let myself ponder too deeply. Which, after the Topography of Terror, might have been the best approach. I'll reflect later and take it all in when looking back at pictures. This place certainly deserves a great deal of reflection.

So now my train to the train is rolling. I've got a slight chance of making it ...

Final Berlin thoughts:

*Nice collection of neighborhoods, very pedestrian friendly. And (mostly) good mass transit.

*Doesn't try to ignore its history, though many believe it needs to do more. Berlin overall seems to have become somewhat progressive.

*Charging for tap water is just silly, but nice job with the spargel.

*Heathrow sucks.

*And many thanks to Katrin for being a lovely host. Go rock Ithaca.

Now pick up the pace, train!

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FUN FACT: I barely missed my Amsterdam train (apparently it left right on time -- damn German efficiency) but caught another leaving 13 minutes later. Which somehow, through a connection, may have put me on the train I belonged on anyway. Perhaps Einstein can explain. Or Buckaroo Banzai.

Hopefully the train actually is going to Amsterdam ... Either way, the yellow fields are mighty purdy, ma'am.

Local chefs? Give 'em credit

Hit the zoo. Knut got the most attention, but the big cats and seals and sea lions were the real stars. There were some cool monkeys too, Ben. Won't go into too much detail because, well, it was a zoo. But a nice one. Nothing too crazily out of the ordinary, but much fun/relaxing.

And I got to effectively use, in context, one of the few German words (geschlossen) I know. The others include but are not limited to: wilkommen, achtung, verboten and, um... Baum.

Earlier in the day I decided to sample some of the local cuisine. See photo. One tasted like a candy bar. The other? A slightly healthier rice/granola bar. Shocking. Later on, Kathryn, her fire-dancing friend Mimi and I had some spargel soup. There -- I've had something certifiably German to eat, as asparagus is in season here right now.

And it was good. Asparagus to the max. Followed by a dish with the second-biggest chunk of mozzarella I've ever seen (that restaurant back in Florence had the biggest, though Mimi tells me some place on La Cienega also serves enormous cheese ... which just sounds ridiculous).

FUN FACT: It is possible to hop off a train, validate your ticket and get right back on in the span of about 10-12 seconds. It was a bold move to avoid a €50 fine, though I've yet to have my ticket checked on a local bus or train at any point on this trip. I had forgotten to validate it when I bought it b/c I was too busy buying local candy bars. Really, I just wanted to get my ticket validated at Rathaus. So that's what I did.

Speaking of trains... the credit card saga has come to an end -- a happy one! After multiple visits and phone calls, earlier today we were informed that the evil ticket machine mysteriously popped out my card late last night and the same crazy station worker who was there the night it happened was there again tonight to hand the card back to me. I had to sign a ledger with many, many names on it. Apparently a lot of people lose stuff. Or have cards eaten by technology.

So... my German jaunt ends Tuesday with a trip to Sachsenhausen in the morning and then a long train ride to Amsterdam in the afternoon/evening.

Tchuss, Berlin!