Italy, Corsica, South of France, Amsterdam, Paris
The phrase “Rome wasn’t built in a day” was meaningless to me until I went to Roma. One cannot walk the streets without realizing the amount of work, effort, and artistry that went into ancient Rome. To this day, they are still excavating mines of vast architectural and sculptural marvels that were prominently displayed when Rome was the cultural, artistic, and military world leader. There are still endless arrays statues of man, man-like, god-like, and animal figures that are on a great deal of buildings and random spots around town as the pinnacle of buildings, churches, fountains, and edifies everywhere. It is actually almost ridiculous the number of buildings with semi-naked, muscular, war-like statues of men which are guarding the thresholds or serving as gargoyle. Without a doubt, this is the number one feature that sets Rome apart from anywhere else I’ve been. I can only imagine when these now-broken or worn sculptures looked when Rome was at its peak.
At times, I was amazed that there was a society that appreciated sculpture as much as one that would grant a living to what was obviously a very viable occupation in ancient Rome – artist. Perhaps it was this appreciation for art that kept Rome at the Pinnacle of civilization so long – or perhaps this decedent delight contributed toward its downfall. Nevertheless, beyond the many acres of sculpture that are likely still hidden beneath the paved or cobblestone streets or in the catacombs below, there is still plenty of sculpture to be appreciated without going to any particular museum in Rome.
I ended my trip to Rome riding the clutch of a Fiat Panda to the city limits. The Fiat Panda is the typical econocar of Italy and Pandas of all ages can be seen everywhere. Driving in Rome sucked, but once outside the city, the driving was sublime. Drivers in Italy are very attentive. They are so attentive that they wish to focus their attention even more clearly by going as fast as possible. Generally, I’d say that Italian drivers are very focused on the road, even the slow ones, which is usually the case for those driving with cell phones.
At times, I was amazed that there was a society that appreciated sculpture as much as one that would grant a living to what was obviously a very viable occupation in ancient Rome – artist. Perhaps it was this appreciation for art that kept Rome at the Pinnacle of civilization so long – or perhaps this decedent delight contributed toward its downfall. Nevertheless, beyond the many acres of sculpture that are likely still hidden beneath the paved or cobblestone streets or in the catacombs below, there is still plenty of sculpture to be appreciated without going to any particular museum in Rome.
I ended my trip to Rome riding the clutch of a Fiat Panda to the city limits. The Fiat Panda is the typical econocar of Italy and Pandas of all ages can be seen everywhere. Driving in Rome sucked, but once outside the city, the driving was sublime. Drivers in Italy are very attentive. They are so attentive that they wish to focus their attention even more clearly by going as fast as possible. Generally, I’d say that Italian drivers are very focused on the road, even the slow ones, which is usually the case for those driving with cell phones.
Steelers sports bar in Rome
Firenze (Florence) --> 
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I enjoyed having to actually DRIVE my manual transmission up, down, and around the hills of Tuscany, passing slow cars as others passed me. In Italy, very few places have a solid double white line, indicating a no passing zone. While safe passing zones are marked just as in the USA with the dashed line, most of the area just has a single solid white line – pass at your own risk. Like in France, motorcycles, which are usually scooters with a closed foot area that is sometimes big enough to hold a dog, follow their own rules.
In both Tuscany and Corsica, driving was clearly the way to go. In Corsica, we had the Peugeout 207 (the French equivalent to the Panda). The manual transmission came in handy for the tight windy and hilly roads. Engine braking was helpful. In my entire trip through Corsica, I hit 5th gear twice. Most of my time was in gears 1-3. The roads were barely wide enough for two cars and in many cases, only one car could pass at a time. The roads doubled back and forth around the mountains with cliffs at the shoulder of the road that dropped hundreds of feet with no guard rail. This was the norm. Fortunately, I never had to drive at night in Corsica.
In both Tuscany and Corsica, driving was clearly the way to go. In Corsica, we had the Peugeout 207 (the French equivalent to the Panda). The manual transmission came in handy for the tight windy and hilly roads. Engine braking was helpful. In my entire trip through Corsica, I hit 5th gear twice. Most of my time was in gears 1-3. The roads were barely wide enough for two cars and in many cases, only one car could pass at a time. The roads doubled back and forth around the mountains with cliffs at the shoulder of the road that dropped hundreds of feet with no guard rail. This was the norm. Fortunately, I never had to drive at night in Corsica.
Near Bastia, Corsica
Cooking classes and wineries in Italy!
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Montepolciano
Calvi, Corsica
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Indeed, transportation was a big part of the trip, though not always by car. One of the best rides of our trip was in the Porto Linea boat along the coast of Porto and the Scandola Nature reserve of Corsica. The captain was a master, getting the boat inside tight lagoon coves that left literally centimeters to spare. He did 360-degree rotations in small caves with old bat dung on the ceiling and crystal clear foot-deep water below. We motored along the steep cliffs looking for Osprey nets and crazy rock formations. Our other boat ride was the Corsica Sardinia ferry from Italy to Corsica. We had our own private room with two single beds and a private bath… definitely the way to go.
Much like in say, New York, for example, many folks don’t even have a car in Paris. It is not a necessity. You can get anywhere by train. Since there are so many trains, there are many ways to get from point a to point b using different combinations. It’s always fun to plain out the best one.
We traveled once by bicycle, though we made two attempts. The second attempt was in Corsica, where there was a trail that could only be taken by 4x4 or bicycle. We thought we’d wing it, but there really was no bike rental place, just a guy that sat around renting out bikes at the restaurant up the road during the summer months. Unfortunately, it was the end of September, and Corsica pretty much closes the tourism shop on October 1st. Before this no-go, we bicycled a molto piccolo portion of the hills of North Tuscany. It was about a 17 km ride. Since it was a “guided” tour, they had the hills worked out nicely, as the Tuscany hills can be treacherous for bicyclists that I’ve seen on the trip. On this excursion, there was one tough hill whose crest defined the end of the ride. Unfortunately I went headlong beyond it down the next hill and eventually had to turn around and climb the hill back, so I got some bonus coverage out of the deal.
Much like in say, New York, for example, many folks don’t even have a car in Paris. It is not a necessity. You can get anywhere by train. Since there are so many trains, there are many ways to get from point a to point b using different combinations. It’s always fun to plain out the best one.
We traveled once by bicycle, though we made two attempts. The second attempt was in Corsica, where there was a trail that could only be taken by 4x4 or bicycle. We thought we’d wing it, but there really was no bike rental place, just a guy that sat around renting out bikes at the restaurant up the road during the summer months. Unfortunately, it was the end of September, and Corsica pretty much closes the tourism shop on October 1st. Before this no-go, we bicycled a molto piccolo portion of the hills of North Tuscany. It was about a 17 km ride. Since it was a “guided” tour, they had the hills worked out nicely, as the Tuscany hills can be treacherous for bicyclists that I’ve seen on the trip. On this excursion, there was one tough hill whose crest defined the end of the ride. Unfortunately I went headlong beyond it down the next hill and eventually had to turn around and climb the hill back, so I got some bonus coverage out of the deal.
The hills of Tuscany
A remote town of Corsica only accessible by sea
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Serving wine out of the barrel
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Another way we traveled was by foot. Besides the pedestrian-friendly cities, suburbs, and town centers, most of where we were in Umbria and Tuscany was only feasible by car. On this trip, the best on-foot journeys were in Corsica. We walked along the coast of Porto to the ruins of an old fort over rocks and through the forest. Another day, we drove to the trailhead in the Restonica Valley, the heart of Corsica. We hiked and climbed up a mountain over rocks to a small lake that was once formed by glacier. Along the circle trail were many miniature challenges: hopscotching on rocks to get over the creek; clinging to a large boulder to get a great waterfall picture; or literally climbing on and over rocks to proceed. There was even a pair of vertical ladders and some spot where chains were added to help you scale the rock. We made it to the first lake plateau after an hour. The estimate given was 45 minutes. There was another lake up the next mountain, which was estimated an additional hour or so, but it was late in the day after a failed bicycling attempt, and we opted instead for the café au lait at the loge, which ain’t got nothing on an Italian cappuccino, even though they are prepared the same way with the same ingredients. Also, a French cappuccino means a café au lait with chocolate added. Most people in both Italy and France just drink espresso.
While the French food is exquisite, I must hand it to the Italians for their simplicity and just simply fresh and simply-good-tasting food of all types. The Italian continental breakfast consists of a bunch of sweet baked goods with embedded fruits and jams and crèmes, accompanied by some prosciutto and coffee or cappuccino. Being so close to Italy, and once belonging to the Roman Empire, Corsica shares many of its customs with Italy. In both places, lunch starts at noon and dinner restaurants do not open until 7 (some, not until 8). In between, there’s time for snacks, such pastries, coffee (espresso shots, that is), Panini sandwiches, or pizza. Most non-restaurant establishments are closed from 12-ish to 14-ish for lunch. The meals are served slowly over time as courses. Reservations are usually by table for an entire night. As for the bill, you need to ask for it, and when you ask for it, expect to pay it and leave quickly. If you pay by credit, the card never leaves your presence as the waiter scans it through the wireless credit card scanner.
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In Italy, you can easily find fresh pasta and fresh pizza dough (though you can also find dried pasta and frozen pizza dough). In Corsica, the vegetarian specialty is Cannelloni Brocciu and the best land dish is the Sanglier or Wild Boar. In Italy, get the veal saltimbocca with the meat from a highly acclaimed farm up the road stuffed with prosciutto and pecorino. There’s free range, or I should say “free country,” pork, lamb, or beef that roams the hills of Tuscany and mountains of Corsica. In coastal cities such as Livorno in Italy or Bastia, Calvi, and Porto in Corsica, go with whatever fish they caught out of the Mediterranean that day. This part of the world has some good cookin!
People take their food seriously in this part of the world. The food in is not even directly comparable to the US versions. For example, most Americans drink drip coffee, but in Italy and France, they drink espresso from some steam-delivery machines. The steam makes the espresso as it shoots through the grounds and the steam simultaneously shoots into the latte (milk) to create froth you pour over your espresso to make your cappuccino. Of course, for the average person, an espresso finalizes just about every meal in Italy, Corsica, and France.
People take their food seriously in this part of the world. The food in is not even directly comparable to the US versions. For example, most Americans drink drip coffee, but in Italy and France, they drink espresso from some steam-delivery machines. The steam makes the espresso as it shoots through the grounds and the steam simultaneously shoots into the latte (milk) to create froth you pour over your espresso to make your cappuccino. Of course, for the average person, an espresso finalizes just about every meal in Italy, Corsica, and France.
Pisa, Italy
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Scandola, Corsica
On a mountain in Corsica
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In Corsica, aperitifs like Cap Corse and Pastis (which tastes like liquorish) start the meal off right. For your dessert drink, Limoncello is the stand-by in Italy. The drink is made by first mixing grain alcohol with lemons and letting the alcohol pull the flavors of the lemon. After infusion, the liquid is diluted with sugarwater to 40 percent alcohol. In Livorno, they drink punch, which is espresso that, instead of being topped off with latte to make cappuccino, is topped of with frothed cognac and rum.
With your meal, there’s always wine. Restaurants have your choice of house red, white, or rose. What would a trip to Italy be without wine? After having random red wine in Rome, we started our wine tour in Montepulciano, home of the very wonderful-smelling and robust-tasting red; definitely a good stand-by. Montalcino’s red Brunello is a step in a more refined direction, but for the money, my personal favorite is the Chianti. We drank red wine at dinner all week until we ended our Italy trip in Livorno, and the white to complement our fish was really good and full of oak!
We visited several wineries on our trip through Italy. Most wine barrels in Italy are made from French oak. We also toured a winery that that made a brandy-like drink aged in chestnut barrels. All of the wineries had huge barrels that were way bigger than the usual size traditional wine barrels used in California. The wineries also had hoses not unlike gasoline pumps where you could pay under 2€ for a litre of wine that is often bought by the “house” and served for under 8€ a litre from their own dispensing device to restaurant guests.
As for the olive oil from my limited exposure a month before olive season in Italy, I am much more enamored with the taste and approach of the Moroccans that still use donkeys instead of machines. At the olive oil place we toured in Italy, the guy spoke of the “inefficiency” and was in favor of a big stainless-steel machine that heats up the oil far more in the process; though, they still had a stone there at least for their personal stash.
It was enjoyable to spend several days in the countryside; it was a great contrast to city life. Like meditation, the mind is forced to slow down and take in the splendor of the scenery and the lack of action. That is not to say that tourist traps like Siena or small towns like San Antimo or Pienza have nothing going on. An afternoon cup of cappuccino with the locals watching traffic or the traveling market selling walmart-like goods and Italian fashion are always good options. Even the smaller towns like Chianciano and Amaita, while like any other boring small town in Texas or Pennsylvania, had their charm. Notably, the charm originates from the landscape.
After days driving through the countryside, we returned our rental to the edge of the Zona a Traffico Limitato. We wheeled our suitcases from there on a journey to our hotel. The street was bustling; the place was jumping. The city of Florence was alive. We passed the pizza places, the tourists, the portable Italian watch and sunglasses salesmen, the artists, people creating chalk drawings on the streets, and the cigarette smokers. We arrived at hotel Arenula, whose owner, Marco, ran the front desk and knew the town well. He told us how to find the Ufizzi, which we enjoyed while we were there. Later, he helped us find some olive oil, a market, a record store, and some great restaurants.
With your meal, there’s always wine. Restaurants have your choice of house red, white, or rose. What would a trip to Italy be without wine? After having random red wine in Rome, we started our wine tour in Montepulciano, home of the very wonderful-smelling and robust-tasting red; definitely a good stand-by. Montalcino’s red Brunello is a step in a more refined direction, but for the money, my personal favorite is the Chianti. We drank red wine at dinner all week until we ended our Italy trip in Livorno, and the white to complement our fish was really good and full of oak!
We visited several wineries on our trip through Italy. Most wine barrels in Italy are made from French oak. We also toured a winery that that made a brandy-like drink aged in chestnut barrels. All of the wineries had huge barrels that were way bigger than the usual size traditional wine barrels used in California. The wineries also had hoses not unlike gasoline pumps where you could pay under 2€ for a litre of wine that is often bought by the “house” and served for under 8€ a litre from their own dispensing device to restaurant guests.
As for the olive oil from my limited exposure a month before olive season in Italy, I am much more enamored with the taste and approach of the Moroccans that still use donkeys instead of machines. At the olive oil place we toured in Italy, the guy spoke of the “inefficiency” and was in favor of a big stainless-steel machine that heats up the oil far more in the process; though, they still had a stone there at least for their personal stash.
It was enjoyable to spend several days in the countryside; it was a great contrast to city life. Like meditation, the mind is forced to slow down and take in the splendor of the scenery and the lack of action. That is not to say that tourist traps like Siena or small towns like San Antimo or Pienza have nothing going on. An afternoon cup of cappuccino with the locals watching traffic or the traveling market selling walmart-like goods and Italian fashion are always good options. Even the smaller towns like Chianciano and Amaita, while like any other boring small town in Texas or Pennsylvania, had their charm. Notably, the charm originates from the landscape.
After days driving through the countryside, we returned our rental to the edge of the Zona a Traffico Limitato. We wheeled our suitcases from there on a journey to our hotel. The street was bustling; the place was jumping. The city of Florence was alive. We passed the pizza places, the tourists, the portable Italian watch and sunglasses salesmen, the artists, people creating chalk drawings on the streets, and the cigarette smokers. We arrived at hotel Arenula, whose owner, Marco, ran the front desk and knew the town well. He told us how to find the Ufizzi, which we enjoyed while we were there. Later, he helped us find some olive oil, a market, a record store, and some great restaurants.
Corsica
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However, I didn’t feel right asking him where to find the green herb, so I figured a watch salesman selling sunglasses and watches attached to a piece of wood of atop a cardboard box which was collapsed and then folded at a 45 degree angle was a good option. The entire “store” could be quickly broken down and taken away, as was the case when the police car arrived on the scene. It seemed as though the true shop owners on the Ponte Vecchio bridge likely called them as the many portable salesmen do not pay taxes. Nevertheless, I asked him where to find the herb, and he pulled out his cell phone and called up the man that ran that independent portable business.
The man that sold the meddiehuana was on a bicycle. He insisted that we left the tourist scene. We went up away from the bridge by the water. He told me it would be 100€ for 2 grams. Of course, this would have been by far the most I ever paid for such a thing. I knew I was getting the tourist price. I only hope the watch guy made a cut. He decided that it was still too open to discuss, so we walked toward a back road, and found a spot where the road had a small nook that was surrounded on two sides with concrete. This was not a complicated feat in Florence. He informed me he only had hashish pulled out two small unequally-sized cubes. I later found out they were of good quality. |
Florence had great views, great restaurants, beautiful churches, and lots of charm. At the same time, it was the big city, so there was a lot going on. It had its fair share of students (many of which were American) and tourists, but the locals were evident. They were the ones pouting and walking with an aura of superiority toward their destination of nightlife.
We spent 3 nights in Florence before a day trip to Pisa, where we were able to climb to the top of the leaning tower. The leaningness is quite evident when you scale the steps. Of course, Pisa is a great place for pictures, as we got a bunch of pictures in the field of dreams eating Pizza in Pisa while drinking 50€ Montalcino wine vintage 1997. After that it was on to Livorno to catch the ferry to Bastia the next day.
The trip to Corsica led to more of the same food and drink decadence and in many ways it felt like Italy, though the ruggedness was a lot more evident. In Corisca, the hills were replaced with mountains and the food was a blend of Italian and French specialties. Corsica is clearly an island looking for an identity though time. Much like many islands across the world, it has an indigenous population of Corsicans. The Italians and the French have both laid a claim, and the island still has an identity crisis. First off, the signs are in French and Corsican, and most of the time, the French words are either spray-painted over or obfuscated by bullet holes by the natives. There are no McDonalds on Corsica; they were all burned down. As for the world’s most popular brand, Coca Cola, you can’t find it there. They call it Corsican Cola. The national pride is still evident. However, my conclusion is that Corsica is France’s summer playground, and a beautiful one at that.
We spent 3 nights in Florence before a day trip to Pisa, where we were able to climb to the top of the leaning tower. The leaningness is quite evident when you scale the steps. Of course, Pisa is a great place for pictures, as we got a bunch of pictures in the field of dreams eating Pizza in Pisa while drinking 50€ Montalcino wine vintage 1997. After that it was on to Livorno to catch the ferry to Bastia the next day.
The trip to Corsica led to more of the same food and drink decadence and in many ways it felt like Italy, though the ruggedness was a lot more evident. In Corisca, the hills were replaced with mountains and the food was a blend of Italian and French specialties. Corsica is clearly an island looking for an identity though time. Much like many islands across the world, it has an indigenous population of Corsicans. The Italians and the French have both laid a claim, and the island still has an identity crisis. First off, the signs are in French and Corsican, and most of the time, the French words are either spray-painted over or obfuscated by bullet holes by the natives. There are no McDonalds on Corsica; they were all burned down. As for the world’s most popular brand, Coca Cola, you can’t find it there. They call it Corsican Cola. The national pride is still evident. However, my conclusion is that Corsica is France’s summer playground, and a beautiful one at that.
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After a week in Corsica, I awoke in Nice, France. The final Saturday of my vacation was upon me before I had to be in Paris Monday morning for work. What better place to spend 24 hours before Paris than Amsterdam. I arrived at noon and hooked up the falafel from a random place near my hotel, the NH Barbizon Palace, among the best hotels in which I’ve ever stayed. It all started when I arrived in my room and the television was on, welcoming me personally with my name on the screen. Next up was the bathroom, which not only had the usual shampoo, body wash, conditioner, bar soap, hand towels, and bath towels, but also washcloths. This was the first and last hotel on my travels through Italy and France that supplied a washcloth; I guess they don’t use ‘em in Italy or France. However, this place went the extra mile. In separate sealed packages (all of which I kept) were a comb, a hair brush, a shaving kit, a sewing kit, a toothbrushing kit, shoe shine (for the automatic shiners in the hallway), feminine hygiene tools, bath sponge, as well as a host of other random toiletries. They even offered (by request) to give you the clear plastic bag to hold it all so you can get through the airport system. I later requested aspirin for a caffeine headache from the very helpful concierge, and grabbed a random apple on the bar at the end of the night. I never had to use the phone by the toilet, but the final clincher was the bedtime stories book that was next to the bed and suggested you take home. This was not to mention the minibar, which was computer-connected to your bill so they knew everything you took, as well as the selection of movies at your disposal for a fee. As you flipped through the pay stations, each one gave you a free one-time 5-second or so “preview” of what was playing. The two pornographic stations gave you a 20-second preview.
Nice, France
Corsica
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Corsica
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Amsterdam
As I emerged to the streets of Amsterdam, I was quickly reminded of all the familiar things of the town I remembered from when I was there ten years ago. Speaking to one of the locals, he pretty much summed it up as he described his trip to Las Vegas, explaining that he was dumbfounded since Americans are so impressed when they could be in a city where you can drink a beer on the street. In Amsterdam, anything goes. Coffee shops that sell weed and prostitution? That’s just the beginning. How about gambling houses, mushroom shops, sex museums, endless porn shops and head shops, a huge phallic symbol in the heart of the city, easily available drugs of any type through various street dealers, and places that don’t deal with the 1¢ and 2¢ Euro coins. It is a holdback from the days where the Dutch Guilder was the form of currency and they didn’t have any coin under 5 cents. Everything was rounded.
Finally, the art museums of Amsterdam are my personal favorites – the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh museum. Both feature realist paintings that can easily be mistaken for photographs. It is an art form that went by the wayside with the invention of the camera, but has made a recent resurgence in the art world due to the appreciation for what it takes to make such a masterpiece.
As for coffee shops, well, you obviously need to see for yourself what it’s all about. Here is a quote from my journal which I’d written after my first joint, smoked at the Grey Area, a coffee shop on the west side of town which was personally recommended to me by a friend who had been there earlier this year (look for the Toast sticker on the front window):
So I just finished my first small joint after utilizing all the tools I’d need which were purchased on my way to the Grey Area… I stopped by the Bazar souvie shop down the road to pick up an herb grinder, rolling papers, a lighter, and a deck of “tips.” My destination was the Grey Area for the L.A. Confidential, a strain that had recently won some awards from some prominent cannabis smokers. It is a mostly indica strain which is very easily smokable and yields a high that can be described as one that allows me to easily write this as I watch the bicycles traverse the roads which, unlike Nice and Corsican towns, are not totally overrun with motor-operated vehicles.
In Amsterdam, there are so many ways to get around. There are streets that only allow pedestrians and bicycles. Some allow pedestrians, bicycles, and trains (watch out for the trolley). Some allow pedestrians, bicycles, trains, automobiles, and boats, of all things. The town is very low-lying, just miles from the North Sea. The area is covered like a maze in canals, some of which are streets.
However, Amsterdam has changed since the last time I was there exactly 10 years ago to the day. First and foremost, tobacco smoking is banned in all indoor venues. On one interpretation, this totally flies in the face of the underlying philosophy of the town, but was likely adopted as part of a general EU movement (as each country slowly loses its identity and sovereignty). Also, it struck me as odd because; while most Americans smoke the herb straight, most Europeans, and many people around the world cut their marijuana cigarettes (spliffs) with tobacco. In Amsterdam, you can only smoke pure cannabis in the shops. If you want to mix, you must smoke outdoors in the street. However, overall, there are not nearly as many smokers in the streets as in France, Corsica, and Italy. I think that it goes with the general Holland attitude of “just because it’s legal doesn’t make it good.” The US slogan might be “just because it is illegal, it must be bad.” After a few more joints, I reflected once again:
I just finished a few joints made from various strains from various coffee shops and met some interesting people along the way. The first was a prostitute. After hours of drinking coffee, I was walking the red-light district looking into the windows to find a girl hot enough to warrant her sitting topless in my fully-clothed body while I fondled her tits.
“For that?” she purred in an Eastern-bloc accent, looking me up and down. “Only Fifty Euro!” she smiled.
“How long?” I asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” was her reply.
I gave her a Euro and thanked her for her time to answer the question. As I walked away I figured I’d just confirm my assumption that it was only the matter of her time.
“How much to have sex in 15 minutes?” I asked.
“Fifty Euro!” she gleefully replied, ready for me to climb in the sack. Of course, none of it was going to happen.
Next were some drunk UK/Irish people. For some reason, Irish pubs seem to be big in Amsterdam. The patrons are in the streets yelling football crowd chants while the games are on inside. Last up tonight were the French from Paris. They were lighting up tobacco-laced weed spliffs and I advised them as they smoked their first that they were not allowed to mix-in tobacco. Interestingly though, you can smoke anything else. At Baba, another coffee shop, they had some sort of substance which only serves to make the straight kindbud phattie a bit easier on the lungs, but you won’t get the tobacco buzz, which seems to be the point I guess if you enjoy cigarettes.
Finally, the art museums of Amsterdam are my personal favorites – the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh museum. Both feature realist paintings that can easily be mistaken for photographs. It is an art form that went by the wayside with the invention of the camera, but has made a recent resurgence in the art world due to the appreciation for what it takes to make such a masterpiece.
As for coffee shops, well, you obviously need to see for yourself what it’s all about. Here is a quote from my journal which I’d written after my first joint, smoked at the Grey Area, a coffee shop on the west side of town which was personally recommended to me by a friend who had been there earlier this year (look for the Toast sticker on the front window):
So I just finished my first small joint after utilizing all the tools I’d need which were purchased on my way to the Grey Area… I stopped by the Bazar souvie shop down the road to pick up an herb grinder, rolling papers, a lighter, and a deck of “tips.” My destination was the Grey Area for the L.A. Confidential, a strain that had recently won some awards from some prominent cannabis smokers. It is a mostly indica strain which is very easily smokable and yields a high that can be described as one that allows me to easily write this as I watch the bicycles traverse the roads which, unlike Nice and Corsican towns, are not totally overrun with motor-operated vehicles.
In Amsterdam, there are so many ways to get around. There are streets that only allow pedestrians and bicycles. Some allow pedestrians, bicycles, and trains (watch out for the trolley). Some allow pedestrians, bicycles, trains, automobiles, and boats, of all things. The town is very low-lying, just miles from the North Sea. The area is covered like a maze in canals, some of which are streets.
However, Amsterdam has changed since the last time I was there exactly 10 years ago to the day. First and foremost, tobacco smoking is banned in all indoor venues. On one interpretation, this totally flies in the face of the underlying philosophy of the town, but was likely adopted as part of a general EU movement (as each country slowly loses its identity and sovereignty). Also, it struck me as odd because; while most Americans smoke the herb straight, most Europeans, and many people around the world cut their marijuana cigarettes (spliffs) with tobacco. In Amsterdam, you can only smoke pure cannabis in the shops. If you want to mix, you must smoke outdoors in the street. However, overall, there are not nearly as many smokers in the streets as in France, Corsica, and Italy. I think that it goes with the general Holland attitude of “just because it’s legal doesn’t make it good.” The US slogan might be “just because it is illegal, it must be bad.” After a few more joints, I reflected once again:
I just finished a few joints made from various strains from various coffee shops and met some interesting people along the way. The first was a prostitute. After hours of drinking coffee, I was walking the red-light district looking into the windows to find a girl hot enough to warrant her sitting topless in my fully-clothed body while I fondled her tits.
“For that?” she purred in an Eastern-bloc accent, looking me up and down. “Only Fifty Euro!” she smiled.
“How long?” I asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” was her reply.
I gave her a Euro and thanked her for her time to answer the question. As I walked away I figured I’d just confirm my assumption that it was only the matter of her time.
“How much to have sex in 15 minutes?” I asked.
“Fifty Euro!” she gleefully replied, ready for me to climb in the sack. Of course, none of it was going to happen.
Next were some drunk UK/Irish people. For some reason, Irish pubs seem to be big in Amsterdam. The patrons are in the streets yelling football crowd chants while the games are on inside. Last up tonight were the French from Paris. They were lighting up tobacco-laced weed spliffs and I advised them as they smoked their first that they were not allowed to mix-in tobacco. Interestingly though, you can smoke anything else. At Baba, another coffee shop, they had some sort of substance which only serves to make the straight kindbud phattie a bit easier on the lungs, but you won’t get the tobacco buzz, which seems to be the point I guess if you enjoy cigarettes.
On to a workweek in Paris, France...
On the train to Paris the next day, I reflected. Holland has a little bit of everything. Some things, they excel at, like weed and the craftsmanship resulting in an extreme attention to detail (such as the details of a still life of fruit that looks like it came from my digital camera), but for many things it is only mediocre. They key is that it is very generalist. While other European countries seem to specialize, this area is in the heart of it all in terms of a melting pot of ideas. The ideas are free, though the people do a fine job of taking personal responsibility for their actions.
The workweek in Paris could be summed up nicely in terms of food as spending two in the next-door caféteria and the other three others at eateries within walking distance. Our first excursion was to a typical brasserie. Of course, a local got the raw beouf dish, Steak Tartar The other got the common salad. It was great for a quick lunch and possibly could have been somewhat dependent on what’s on tap for the day. The other two lunches were not even French. One was a Chinese place where I hooked up with the Pho and their Chop Seuy, a vegetarian stir-fry. Its great to find a good Chinese/Thai/general Asian place anywhere in the world. The final day was some sushi made by some Japanese folks down the road that didn’t sit well with a couple of us that day for a short while. Next time, I’d take a train at least once to get out of Dodge, or Charenton, that is.
The morning arrival is different in France; it is a very social event. As someone arrives in the office, they tend to do their rounds, greeting everyone in the open office with a handshake and a hearty “Bonjour!” If the greeting involves a female friend then the handshake is replaced with a pair of cheek-to-cheek “kisses.” The closer the friend, the closer the two are closer to actually being kisses. I’m not sure can imagine this sort of hullabaloo each time someone arrives in the office at home.
Unlike what I’d witnessed in Italy and Corsica (and even Nice) is that in Paris, many shops do not take a siesta and close for lunch. Like their American counterparts, they are open for one full block all day. Consequently, they tend to close earlier and maintain a standard workday during reasonable business hours.
Once again, Friday was the best day of the week on the France business trip. The workday started late after several hours of the French hob-nobbing over breakfast, which was brought into the office due to the occasion that the team from Austin was there. The pan o chocolats (which went first, of course), next was the criossants (which were inevitably crushed). Of course the expresso was flowing as well as the tea. After breakfast, the “morning” which ran till after 1. It was a discussion about estimation of the software delivery. We came with some estimates on Thursday that were “negotiated” into a master plan.
On Friday, I had to make up an adjustment to get back to a 40 hour workweek slightly, I must confess. While everyone went back to work after lunch, I decided instead to take the train to Pigale, a part of town known for its musical instrument stores and prostitution.
The prostitutes were pretty much a joke – so ugly that I couldn’t even bear to look at too long. A local Parisian (now local to Austin) said they were bery cheap. They’d have to pay me a lot more than what I’d have to pay an Amsterdam hooker (€50 for 15 minutes) .
However, the music stores were awesome. Street after street was peppered with just about every type of music store imaginable. I’ve never seen so many guitars and guitar stores in my life. There were hundreds of guitars for sale. Additionally, there were quite a few stores that just sold bass guitars. There were even stores that just sold effects pedals. The best was the store that sold nothing but cables.
I was able to try keyboards that had been discontinued for years whose only availability in the USA is through ordering. I finally got to play the Nord G2, a keyboard that I had considered purchasing for years but never did because I couldn’t play it first. Fortunately, I never did obecause it had a very lackluster sound.
Additionally, I was able to see many melodicas sold by many stores, which is unheard of anyhwhere I’ve been in the usa. Unfortunately, everything seemed to bhe priced with an exchange rate of 80¢ but instead it was around $1.36, so there were no deals to be had. Evidently, I could have negotiated. I might have had luck with my metal sax mouthpiece that I don’t use for a good price with the exchange rate considered.
The workweek in Paris could be summed up nicely in terms of food as spending two in the next-door caféteria and the other three others at eateries within walking distance. Our first excursion was to a typical brasserie. Of course, a local got the raw beouf dish, Steak Tartar The other got the common salad. It was great for a quick lunch and possibly could have been somewhat dependent on what’s on tap for the day. The other two lunches were not even French. One was a Chinese place where I hooked up with the Pho and their Chop Seuy, a vegetarian stir-fry. Its great to find a good Chinese/Thai/general Asian place anywhere in the world. The final day was some sushi made by some Japanese folks down the road that didn’t sit well with a couple of us that day for a short while. Next time, I’d take a train at least once to get out of Dodge, or Charenton, that is.
The morning arrival is different in France; it is a very social event. As someone arrives in the office, they tend to do their rounds, greeting everyone in the open office with a handshake and a hearty “Bonjour!” If the greeting involves a female friend then the handshake is replaced with a pair of cheek-to-cheek “kisses.” The closer the friend, the closer the two are closer to actually being kisses. I’m not sure can imagine this sort of hullabaloo each time someone arrives in the office at home.
Unlike what I’d witnessed in Italy and Corsica (and even Nice) is that in Paris, many shops do not take a siesta and close for lunch. Like their American counterparts, they are open for one full block all day. Consequently, they tend to close earlier and maintain a standard workday during reasonable business hours.
Once again, Friday was the best day of the week on the France business trip. The workday started late after several hours of the French hob-nobbing over breakfast, which was brought into the office due to the occasion that the team from Austin was there. The pan o chocolats (which went first, of course), next was the criossants (which were inevitably crushed). Of course the expresso was flowing as well as the tea. After breakfast, the “morning” which ran till after 1. It was a discussion about estimation of the software delivery. We came with some estimates on Thursday that were “negotiated” into a master plan.
On Friday, I had to make up an adjustment to get back to a 40 hour workweek slightly, I must confess. While everyone went back to work after lunch, I decided instead to take the train to Pigale, a part of town known for its musical instrument stores and prostitution.
The prostitutes were pretty much a joke – so ugly that I couldn’t even bear to look at too long. A local Parisian (now local to Austin) said they were bery cheap. They’d have to pay me a lot more than what I’d have to pay an Amsterdam hooker (€50 for 15 minutes) .
However, the music stores were awesome. Street after street was peppered with just about every type of music store imaginable. I’ve never seen so many guitars and guitar stores in my life. There were hundreds of guitars for sale. Additionally, there were quite a few stores that just sold bass guitars. There were even stores that just sold effects pedals. The best was the store that sold nothing but cables.
I was able to try keyboards that had been discontinued for years whose only availability in the USA is through ordering. I finally got to play the Nord G2, a keyboard that I had considered purchasing for years but never did because I couldn’t play it first. Fortunately, I never did obecause it had a very lackluster sound.
Additionally, I was able to see many melodicas sold by many stores, which is unheard of anyhwhere I’ve been in the usa. Unfortunately, everything seemed to bhe priced with an exchange rate of 80¢ but instead it was around $1.36, so there were no deals to be had. Evidently, I could have negotiated. I might have had luck with my metal sax mouthpiece that I don’t use for a good price with the exchange rate considered.
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The "red" store in Amsterdam
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After I ate dinner at the same Indien restaurant that was my first dinner in Paris (walking distance from the Hotel), I went out at around 11. We ended up at Chatalet at a jazz club. The band was enjoyable, with a trumpet player that really had some free-flowing jazz chops (among the best I’ve personally seen). The bass player was the front man, getting crowd participation. Though they were primarily acid jazz, they laid down some rock-like beats and even touched on the some African sounds. It was the second time I’d noticed a strong African influence on Parisan jazz.
The old timers played a very short set. During break, we did a round of exercise by blazing by dance-club scene with the college ladies, many of whom are American. My Parisian cohort walked faster than anyone I’ve ever known and I had extreme trouble keeping up with him. However, I was able to enjoy the sights of the River Seine Notre Dame, and the Louvre. Only a night before, I witnessed the Arch De Triomphe. It is great to be surrounded by artistic beauty through sculptures.
After getting turned down from the discothèque due to my coworker’s attire of a leather jacket over a t-shirt, we power-walked back to the jazz club. Unfortunately, we were a bit late; arriving back at 1:45, time enough for two songs.
At 2am, the cost of living continued to take its toll. After unloading €20 for jazz club entry and €7 and a few 25cl draft beers for €7 after spare change tip, we went to the spot with live music till 5 of generic cover band with €7 50cl draft lager. If you spent $65 on drinks and music in Austin (after the conversion), you’d be pretty wasted.
As the train was not running at the end of the night, around 2:40, so we headed out to find a taxi. There were tons of taxis, but they all drove by with only a tiny yellow light, indicating they were on the clock, instead of the white light, indicating they were free. We finally walked to an area where we saw a few, but they kept whizzing by. I had grabbed the souvenir beer mug from the last place and was holding it in one hand while hailing a cab with the other. I finally got to talk to one that was hailed by my friend and at they seemed to think I had an open container, which is legal in the street, but not in a cab.
On Friday, the waking experience ended around 03:30 Paris (22:30, Austin), I awoke at 08:00 Paris (01:00 Austin) to get the morning cab to the airport so I could go through the cattle call to make it back to Austin (almost 2 hours spread across check-in and security lines, a 10½ hour flight to dallas and a 30 minute flight from there to Austin. My waking experience ended on Saturday at 10:30pm Austin (3:30am Paris). I awoke Sunday morning around 6:30am Austin (1:30pm Paris). The adjustment was great; it was good to be home.
The old timers played a very short set. During break, we did a round of exercise by blazing by dance-club scene with the college ladies, many of whom are American. My Parisian cohort walked faster than anyone I’ve ever known and I had extreme trouble keeping up with him. However, I was able to enjoy the sights of the River Seine Notre Dame, and the Louvre. Only a night before, I witnessed the Arch De Triomphe. It is great to be surrounded by artistic beauty through sculptures.
After getting turned down from the discothèque due to my coworker’s attire of a leather jacket over a t-shirt, we power-walked back to the jazz club. Unfortunately, we were a bit late; arriving back at 1:45, time enough for two songs.
At 2am, the cost of living continued to take its toll. After unloading €20 for jazz club entry and €7 and a few 25cl draft beers for €7 after spare change tip, we went to the spot with live music till 5 of generic cover band with €7 50cl draft lager. If you spent $65 on drinks and music in Austin (after the conversion), you’d be pretty wasted.
As the train was not running at the end of the night, around 2:40, so we headed out to find a taxi. There were tons of taxis, but they all drove by with only a tiny yellow light, indicating they were on the clock, instead of the white light, indicating they were free. We finally walked to an area where we saw a few, but they kept whizzing by. I had grabbed the souvenir beer mug from the last place and was holding it in one hand while hailing a cab with the other. I finally got to talk to one that was hailed by my friend and at they seemed to think I had an open container, which is legal in the street, but not in a cab.
On Friday, the waking experience ended around 03:30 Paris (22:30, Austin), I awoke at 08:00 Paris (01:00 Austin) to get the morning cab to the airport so I could go through the cattle call to make it back to Austin (almost 2 hours spread across check-in and security lines, a 10½ hour flight to dallas and a 30 minute flight from there to Austin. My waking experience ended on Saturday at 10:30pm Austin (3:30am Paris). I awoke Sunday morning around 6:30am Austin (1:30pm Paris). The adjustment was great; it was good to be home.
Copyright 2013 © R.E.D.
