Sunday, July 30, 2006

salty nuts 04.07.06

i was as pomped as a german x-rated dvd on arriving at Ben Gurion airport,tel aviv on the 4th of July, a great day for tom cruise and american independence too.
in all my days i haven't been to a gazillion airports, but this airport was pretty overwhelming. it has no neon signs or sparkly bits in the floor tiles,it didn't remind me of scenes from the second Die Hard movie nor did it make me feel at home knowing there was a Macdonalds around the corner.rather its use of warm, sand coloured marbles,rough and smooth textures, an efficient movement of people, views air side, land side, west side and east, its staggered passport control and hot israeli girls in fitted uniforms all made for a glinting smile that'd make my dentist say 'nice work son, where can i get a set?'
i went to yeshiva for two weeks on a programme,to learn the ancient texts of my people. but i found myself unpacking chicken breasts and loading them onto trays and packing fridges-its a good thing i have space planning skills and am half descent at Tetris. anyone doing this job without that knowledge would surely have plummeted into the dark abyss of depression. maybe these were measures for turning me into a better scholar-wax on wax off. that chicken experience left me tender and as a result i spent eves huddling over the porcelain soup bowl heaving my lungs. i walked outta there emmaciated and scurvied,but learned in the way of the jewish people.
i trekked and carved out a dust path through the city and hills of jerusalem,retracing the battles fought by the defense forces. i visited the wailing wall,it was heaving with people,i just wanted contemplation time. i walked the uphill streets of mea sharim and felt a wee bit of an outsider. i saw the supreme court, but was not close enough to touch it. its a hilly city and the only way forward is up.
Yad Vashem, a holocaust memorial is an architecture of symbolism. it is a marker, a timeline of european jewry from its flourishing beginnings, to its near demise, to its 'freedom' at the establishement of the State. designed by Moshe Safdie, it is one of very few buildings in Jerusalem not clad in the bright burn-your-eyes-in-the-reflecting-light jerusalem stone. it has a zig zag interior for surely our history has been no yellow brick road.
a ten minute drive from Jerusalem one experiences a moon-like landscape and there we trekked up Masada-it was the last stronghold of the jewish people after the 2nd temple was detroyed by the Romans. the plateau affords happy trekkers views to the dead sea and beyond to our arab neighbours. the journey left my dust filled nose a cave for bats. we soldiered through an oasis-Ein gedi, and finally having sweated and shimmed like a mine workers arm-pit in africa, we made tracks towards the dead sea and a plunge and mud bath awaited.the dead sea. it's dead cos if you flogged it it wouldn't get up. its one big chicken and matzah ball soup-its as salty as hell, tepid like a flat coke on a hot summers day and you float like a matzah ball. all in all a recipe for good health. i donned the dead sea mud, became a coconut and shrivelled to a raisin, but my skin glows now and i can't fall asleep.
jerusalem is a carazy city. the city is no artefact for we touch and inhabit ancient history. all that has been excavated becomes a living element of the city. the city does not become the museum, it integrates itself into modern everyday life. it is a hotbed for all the great religions of the world. and only someone who has visited would know the proximity of religious sites. i have a strong identity towards the land,and at every turn, besides smelling the garlic breath of a local, i feel ive walked where my people did for so many years, i feel ive touched the same stone they had, and studied and read the same text too. a crazy thought, huh?
we spent friday night at the Wailing wall and off to a trio of tishes at around 1am. im not sure i can explain 'tish', so google it. anyhoo one of them was in a room. the 4 walled room was surrounded on 3sides by tiered seating. the charaydim, the religious jews wearing furry strimmels and delicately embroidered, golden robes stand on these benches swaying, singing till the early hours of the eve. their tune is calming, whimsical, uplifting and subliminal. to an outsiders eye,it is totally surreal,almot unbelievable. it reminded me of a scene from the matrix. it was something out of judaism i simply could not have conceived of. fruit is then offered to all those in the room. it was a sweet, juicy, cling-peachy ending to an other worldly experience.
a week into my journey something of ours was taken which did not belong to them, and like my mom would always say, 'stop fighting boys, someone's gonna cry.' this episode ended a possible adventure to the northern cities of Tsfat and Haifa. they'll have to wait another day. bneia brak and a goof in the oh so warm, jelly fish riddled beaches of netanya were a pretty sweet substitute nonetheless.
so im chatting to this cherry,a friend of mine in a bar in jerusalem. at the time i had a beard that would have made tom hanks in Castaway turn into apple crumble. so she goes, 'listen dude why dont you shave that beard, get a proper job, stop f*cking around and...' here comes the killer......'GET A BMW'. i stared her down, my eyes fired green lazer beams to turn her into jelly and said, 'gees lady, i wouldn't be caught dead cruising in a bmw, im an Audi all- roader sorta guy-with fake mud application.'
while seated in Ben Gurion in the smoking section (the seats were the most comfy), dammit, staring out into the hazey distance that was Tel Aviv, i notice on the tarmac a stream of ethiopian yids get down on hands and knees and kiss the holy land. it's the land im apart of.
anyhoo my friends, country folk and groupies hope alls tough and sturdy like a well jointed brick wall. keep it cool and eat the skin of a potato, it's the best part.
sweetly
the dan russian bear hunter, master swordsman and heir apparent to a pretzel bagel factory(my favourite snack of late)
quote of the day:i over heard an american cherry half my size belting out the following words over her blinger while standing in Ben Yehuda street on going into a club, 'its gonna be cool the more drugs the better.'

i am a donut 28.06.06

a ticket the length of a bread loaf to a world cup game lead me and 2 chommies, Eu-go and Moonshine to the cap city of berlin, germany.
dropping into the city,i expected to see this dark dank DC comics depiction of a city.
the modern slick new city had taken an electric grinder to my psyche and had ground down all preconceived notions of it, however still not leaving it splinterless.
berlin is fresh out of the bubble wrap. the city which harbours cutting edge, monumental-but -not-imposing architecture that could amputate a limb is full of exciting, diverse spaces buffering large boulevards and dispersed green lungs. its an egaging city that leaves the eyeball wandering where the hell it should look.
it holds very little physical residue of the past-it was bombed to weetbix shreds , no carcass, no carrion.
berlin is an electric city,emerging with varying and numerous hotspots. some slick some grungy,some above ground, some underground, however the common thread is a pint of beer.
being a regular at the annual german beer fest by WITS i felt a slight sense of well being-beer binds us.
we crashed at this hostel which was so outta town that i might have seen tumble weed blow across past my bed,although if you were a big fat,hairy powerful scotsman you could probably toss a caber the distance we had to walk to potsdammer platz. ooh it was so hot,i thought i was gonna platz.
the city openly exposes the tragedies of the past and brings the memory to a tangible fore.

the jewish memorial is a landscape set in a heavily pedestrainised public space. it is an undulating desert of step-up step-down monolithic blocks all set in exposed polished concrete.
the rythmic play of light shadow and dark shadow reveal its architecture, its dynamic aesthetic. if you are not there it is not architecture,you become the navigating ship through its rectilinear grid.

the jewish museum is theoretical and architectural in its stance. it's lightning bolt prescence is carved out of a suburban garden hedge,and grafted to a classical portico. it is sheathed in stainless steel, with cuts and wounds as windows pearing towards historical memories. the jaggeded building with its portals is the revealed element of a hidden lattice which only comes to light on closer study. the internal layout is pretty disconcerting,disorientating.
it is a special building.

ah a papercut from that oversized ticket to the 1st quarter final nearly bled me to death,but hey, i could tell my grandkids a war story. the mighty mighty germans with their ironed shorts took on the greasy argentines in their blue and white pyjama strip. berlin,mother-in-law to the greatest modern day tragedy was to host the game at the olympic stadium which is one of a few nazi-fascist buildings that still stand in the city.
the beer started to fill mugs before noon, capped supporters-their flags as their super strength, ticket touts were there to leave supporters outta pocket, it didnt matter we were in the 2nd tier.
it was the germans that flatlined their meat eating counterparts,and to the semi-finals they would go.
the stadium drained like the blood out of a butchered antelope and to the streets the people flowed. hooters, jumping germans, cars and buses stapled still. Koedam like an over fed 5year old at a cake and candy fest was bursting at its buckles. it was a day etched into our brains, 'dan, eugene and shauno wuz here'

ah the Reichstag. set atop a plinth,proudly over
looking the berliners has been crowned in a jewel by the podgy Foster. the dome is the yolk of a fried egg-glowing and emitting ideas of new birth. it is an element of pure decoration,holds very little for practical purpose yet has become the looking glass for visitors and germans alike. the 'Stag is now a government building that has opened itself up to the people becoming a public face. its un an unbelievable space and an experience which one doesn't pick up at a 'buy bulk and save store.'

perched on empty beer kegs along the fan mile under a tree we watched the portuguese make chourico sausage outta the english. we joined a pub crawl in oranjesburg. free booze was on offer and we raised our hands, we drank like we were thirsty, screamed like lunatics, dragged Moonshine through the streets, watched an arsonist wield his flame thrower,which probably didnt fulfill occupational health and safety conditions especially since the bar and trees were all of timber. we were on tv and we didnt give a sheeite. my booze wasn't finished so i took it home. we walked the streets with an over excited tour guided on speed, the pergamom museum cultured us on berlin's roman history and the gates of babylon reflected blue in our eyes. we saw the ampleman, he's the traffic light now he's emblazoned on our tshirts. we walked for hours looking for subway sarmies, when we saw one ,we knew we were safe and cos thats all chaito wanted.
wow what an absolute cracker of an experience. and dont forget, dip a german they taste great in chocolate so oh far flung ones,if opportunity knocks,definitely open that wee door-alice did.
sweetly
the chaitoman,the russian bear hunter, master swordsman and clip on beard sold separately

Saturday, July 22, 2006

popped lung 22.06.06


shrouded in a plume of orange smoke, glowing with the red light of a robot, emersed in veins of canals-not for shooting up, but for boating- lying just right of the centre of the world and full of people that remind me of bergies, lies the netherlands. hell, who ever thought of the netherlands. it's debaucherous, bacchanalian and full of examples of your primary school sex ed teacher's hold up cards. but this little land mass aint all sex, drugs and heineken beer. it was once a former empire, setting sail for unknown lands, raping, pillaging (or maybe not), and plying its trade in goods. its a stewing pot of great architecture, beautiful woman bicycles, flippin bicycles, a vibrant street culture, slap tjips(frittas), plateau toilets which simply are unpleasant and words like 'asheblief'.

if you were a kid that got on your mom's nerves, she'd tell you to 'go play on the highway'.in this particular instance you'd be run over by a car.but in holland it's more exciting, for you could firstly be panneled by a tram and left looking like a snackwedge machine left its marks on you, then with grill marks and limp arms a bus will rip half of you apart dumping you in the car lane looking like a half eaten cheese blintze. then while you find half yourself leopard crawling along the vehicle lane a car will leave a portion of you splattered on its windscreen and embedded in its tread. now looking like your mom's apple sauce, thinking your'e closer to home, some crazy loony on a bicycle, yes a bicycle will probably run into you ringing that nasty little jingle bell to tell you to get the f*ck outta the way, and this'll be done without the hint of slowing down. thanking goodness up until now i have survived, its now only the raising and lowering of the canal bridges that i need to overcome-bridges that could leave me pulped and ready for canning.

rotterdam was first my port of call. its an amoeba of differing architectural forms and designs. if you can sketch it on a serviette, the 'dammers' will build it. it's not the prettiest city and if it was my daughter i'd probably put her up for adoption, but wow, she has a great energy. i did get excited by the masses on their bicycles and there's an array of colours too as long as its black. there's a fortune of urban regeneration taking place, it's hard hat territory so watch your back cos you could be skewered by scaffolding. the port is the largest in europe, criss crossed by tension and structural steel bridges. its a humble city and home to one of the greatest architects, Rem Koolhaas. it has tiny houses, with on street glazing, and if you took a stroll at night through suburbia it'd be like window shopping. while here the city was awash in orange. orange always seemed to me like the colour nobody digs,its the sorta colour that gets picked last when choosing a colour for a wedding retinue, but the dutch just seem to make it awesome. all of a sudden you just wanna eat the dutch thinking they were these nutritious glowing oranges.

after 3 nights rotting in the dam, i jumped ship and headed for Den Hague. it sounds so poncy, and i suppose it is. but the air of snobbyness is crusted in sh*t too. its not a well knitted city. with its hotspots here, there and past the train station. the local fare was haring. it's raw herring jammed into a roll and sprinkled in onion cubes and im a fan.the haring aint for sushi eaters. its the next level. only bowels clad in pre-rusted steel will endure, just ask me.
as i wandered the streets of den hague i saw surf boards and i thought, 'what the f*ck'.the lady behind the bar who hucked me so much i nearly tripped over my fallen ear, told me she was a surfer and i thought, 'what the f*ck', i saw the map-the hague is bounded on one side by a big blob of blue and i thought , 'what the f*ck'. so i caught tram 11 and there it was the powdery brown beach of holland, its copacabana, its tequila sunrise, its pina collada. and all i could think of was, 'what the f*ck'. i chilled on the beach one sunset-just me myself and my wine gum joob joobs. did i get drunk? i'll let my liver tell you.

i left the hague one morning after my cornflakes and shawowee i landed in amsterdam an hour later. its world famed, asphyxiated in its own billows of sweet smelling herb and nestled on reclaimed buttressed land. its full of dykes and rainbow flags-its the gay capital of the netherlands. the city is a segment, veined in canals-a graveyard for old bicycles. its flipping large and i know it. its overwhelmed by tourists eager for the freedom to hit the ol' binger-i didnt give a sh*t, i can buy it from the BP-its more fun to steal marbles than to be given them- pork a pro and drown in heineken beer. the beer they serve has large head, normally i'd argue, but hey the folk are willing to serve. it really is a beautiful city, steeped in history, awash in great art and culture. anne frank was there, in bronze, nestled among the flowers of sorrow. rembrandt was light and dark, affluent and debaucherous and a night watch he did paint, but he died a pauper, blowing his loot like he owned it. van Gogh wasn't trained but he was a genius, a loony, an earless wonder. one of the great cities of the world and i was there, man

ah utrecht, my final stop and probably my most favoured in the netherlands. it's not a city and its not a village. it fits in to its place like a frog in a sock. i stayed in this hostel in which everyone seemed to work there and there was asmuch nosh as you could feed on. utrecht's canal lined streets, its cobbled stoned walk ways, its vicious cycle riders, its little bunny named miffy, its gerrit rietveld gem, and its rem koolhaas master piece all excited me like a beetle in a dung ball. its all happening in utrecht and im loving it. it's a student town, with an expansive university, littered with buildings by Meccannoo and OMA. its full of squares and genteel folk.
i visited the gerrit rietveld schroeder house and it totally took the magic carpet from under my feet. i was absolutely blown away by this wee piece of modern architecture. i'd seen it in tacky old library books and on the grimy over head projector,but now i got to feel it(thats a lie,we weren't alowed to touch anything, it was all rubber gloves and plastic bootys),to experience it and wow what a building.its a true building of the machine age with its sliding moving walls and its glass bottle ability to allow for light. the way the house unfolds, unpacks and reconfigures itself would leave the Transformers' looking as impotent as an 80 year old wearing tight jeans.
gerrit wasn't trained as an architect, but as a furniture designer. while other kids were playing with wooden horse drawn carts, gerrit was playing with lego.he was given the task of creating a house that'd look like a parrot amongst pidgeons. it's pure genius.

while in utrecht i watched holland battle the argentines and the city was awash in orange. there were no celebrations but all were drowning in half pints of heineken. from this wikeed experience, its become known to me that the dutch are a liberated bunch for they BBQ on the sidewalk, they walk the streets and canal lined terraces without fear, they leave their bikes along the garden wall and it chooses to stay there. they have a public transport system-who needs a car?. they are a happy bunch and they arent even on drugs.

what a country and it felt good again to flash my pearly whites at someone and to receive a string back.

anyhoo oh far flung ones,another journey and another story for the grand kids. im a wee bit in arears with the blogging but soon the rivers will flow and don't forget youre not gonna win the lottery if you stop scratching.
http://scratchingsofdan.blogspot.com/