oops i did it again 02.11.06

you wont believe what bloody well happened to me when i arrived at tampere, which is the city from where i would then go to turku to meet elli in finland. arriving in tampere at 11pm touching down on iced over runways and mounds of ploughed snow, hearing the crazy apple bite of crushed ice under foot,i was sure i could crash in a hostel i'd been to previously,no probleemo... pasted on the hostel door, 'sorry closed for the winter.' written in the conversation bubble of the comic book story that is my life, 'f***ck, not again,why me?'kicking and screaming under the clear icey-below-6-degree skies i head for the boozed bum-filled train station. sitting comfortably i find my nostrils peaking tothe waft of bacon. some pigs come round, it's 2 am and they choon, 'sorry buddy but we're closed tilll 5am, come again soon.' gsus you're joking. now im really in sh2t street, corner ball sack and hairy crack. the boozers and i were discarded like the bums they were.a 150 euro hotel room and i make sure i figure out other options. now its minus 6 degrees,so i walk to this other hostel.....closed.my gob stopping glazed eyeballs just wanted to squeeze out a syrupy tear-to cry like a wee girl just one more time. then this kids story just went and got itself a whole lot worse,as he slipped, bags and all,ploughing himself into the heaped snow. 'i could have died' is what i'm talking about.with hand aching, throbbing and freezing,i hobbled, making notredam look like a sissy.hobbling, hobbling, my hand feels all wet so i pull it out of my pocket. it was just about swimming in its own bloody blood. plunging my hand into the crisp fresh snow i shouted expletives. with my hand in the snow, i thought that id have to saw my arm off with my swiss army pen knife, i nearly died.the golden arches had never looked so inviting. a quick stop in macdonalds gets my sugar and blood levels back to a stable bp 360 over 60. its like minus 6 still. i begin walking to the hotel but then iread this pamphlet advertising another cheaper hotel on the same road, so after a trudge of about 3km in heavy snow,gail winds and icey pavements i arrive at the self service hotel. 55euro a debit to my card,and a supposed access key code which made itself scarce to me. 2 hours spent outside the room trying to work out the code and eventually it was back to the train station. it was properly like a national geographic exposei thought i was gonna die, man. in that cold, but im alright, and havent suffered much more damage than a paper cut. elli the finn, joined me for another chapter of this crazed comic book story. and it was off to Rovaniemi that we did go. billed as the gateway to lapland and the home to santa and his crew if you got 30 euro to fork out. it's where santa has his village and there you can meet the ol' geezer and send a post card, i didnt. one road, one bridge and an iced over river, which left my mouth to dribble. a great cawfee shop, drink as much as you can and an alvar aalto centre, and ofcourse a town square named after the eurovision winners, Lordi. it was a pretty pleasant town/village, but won't get awards for being party central. we breached the arctic circle and into Inari way up north we bussed, carving the snowy fields and sugar dusted pine trees. shawowee it was uber toitwe were heading further north and far colder ,-18 degrees and a great ice creamyou can have. there was so much snow. we saunaed and plunged into one degree water, totally freezed my wee goons off, walked a mountain as the sun reflected off the snowy crystals in the icey cold , it was the most unbelievable experience ever. it was my small step for mankind. and then the hot english mustard on the pot roast of this adventure saw me and elli gazing, dribbling at the surreal northern lights-red, yellow, blue and green,the sky was awash. reminding me of scenes from 'close encounters of the third kind'. spielberg wasn't directing this wee episode. it was an adventure that i could never have imagined being involved in. i was a sunny african calloused from walking barefoot, kicking cans in the streets of cooking jozi,but who was now bundled in woolies thermals, H&M gloves, a primark jersey,a jacket,a set of you-look-good-on-the-dance-floor blue long johns and an austin powers-like hairy chest and a tiger named elli.

i am a rock n roll fan 14.09.06

Richie and I headed to Milton Keynes for what could be the gayest story of my life. It could leave me excommunicated, harangued and left guttered in a stew of old frot tomatoes, spinach and diced pumpkin.
The 14th September was ignited by former take that minnow Robbie Williams and me, richie and about 64 000 women shrieked like lunatics (well me and richie didn't).
We called the proverbial sickie on Thursday and rocked up in milton keyes having ridden Virgin style from Euston station. I ordered a super veggie subway, hoping to munch it in the grassy bowl that is the Milton Keynes concert venue., but nooo, that fat bouncer made me shove all 12 inches down my gullet. The grub was sprawled all over me like a two year old being force fed mashed carrot.
We slid our way down the side of the grassy bowl and into the golden circle we were. We felt like heroes. The golden circle at Milton Keynes resembles the wee pool of milk where the last few super absorbent soggy cornflakes at the bottom of your cereal bowl settle. Those flakes are difficult to get to, but boy they have the sickest lil view. The stage sits so close, I felt like a rock star. The well oiled, well connected curved yellow meccano-set-from-the-80's that was the stage huddled over us, the support bands and the mighty Robert Williams. Personally I was a lego maniac.
Orson, certainly weren't that, they got a coupla decent radio lyrics, but hey, I probably wouldn't buy the album, pirate their cd, copy the tape, stick them on my pod or even let them pay backing tracks to z-grade horror flicks.
Robby rolled onto stage amidst flames and kabooms and every sort of pyro mania shyte you could think of. I couldn't stop chuckling to myself knowing that I was in and amongst once Take-That fans. The show was like a massive bubble chewy gum. as the wrapper was unravelled the candy sweetness of it left my teeth rotten to the gum. It was so poppy the massive bubble that the experience blew, burst and we were covered in the sticky gooey sugary strawberry flavourness of it all. It was so bubble gum and candy floss that I no longer have a sweet tooth.
Robbie puts on a show, a show biz show. this is predictable, rehearsed, its true West-End. What its doing attracting gazilions of frenzied bra-waving chickita's to huge football stadiums I simply do not know, but he does it. We were swimming in a sea of oestrogen, a pool of drool. This is what Robbie does to girls. But what I do know is this dude is pure entertainment, pure gimmick. He's f*ckin good in anybody's lingo.
after the gig the masses drained outta the milton keynes bowl, and hopped onto packed trains, packed African style. It was carazy night and one i wont tell my grand kids about.
farewell my far flung friendsthe russian bear hunter, master swordsman and clubber of baby seals....oops did i say that allowed?

This message will self destruct in 5…4…3…2….1……KABOOM,

sub woofer 31.07.06

the time it takes a steak from being grilled medium to well done was the amount of time by which ryanair decided to close the big vacuum sealed doors of one of their teeny tiny boeing 737's so leaving me stranded like tom hanks in cast away at stansted airport at 18.30pm.
next flight to Gothenburg City........7.15am the next morning.
FU...............................................................................................................CK

i had to fork over 40 squid rings (copyright capitan america) and believe you me that didn't come garnished or with a side order of rice. that's the price you gotta pay for missing a flight with the flying rodent that is ryanair.
and so began a torturously exciting adventure, but luckily in my company waiting for me with a subway sarmie on the swedish side was ray 'bones barbone', who was nearly shot while attempting to make a pat cash on the swedish royal palace one wednesday morning.

bones and i chewed the fat,grizzle and meaty bits of a two legged journey which culminated in stockholm.
the airport at gothenburg is no bigger than my garden shed, and i aint sh*tting you. our bags rocked up off the plane on a frikkin tractor. it was all agrarian to me, all green and woody. saw dust filled my nose and i was loving it.
i dig hostels, you never know who is gonna be cooking their pasta next to you. me and boney man quickly made buddies with some other travellers and all of a sudden the city was all ours. we bent that wee town like a pole vault attached to the hairy sergei bubka.
Gothers is a wee little city, again like most european cities, it sits real perty on a river. we quickly whipped though the city like tasmanian devils, drank all their beer, chewed their sh*tty tobacco and punished our jamesons. we punished that jamesons so hard, it made guantanamo bay look like play school.

having raced through gothenburg, stockholm would find us weathered and tired at the end of the track.
Stockies aint no joke. she harbours loads of water and is pocked with emerald green coloured onion domes and roofs. her architecture is detailed and vibrant in colour. her patch work city layout is stitched by fingers of water, squares and grassy playgrounds.her old cobbled town is quaint and steep with streets only 4 people deep.
the swedes are icy blonde, air brushed and strikingly beautiful. the two of us were burdened by our fat lips we dragged behind us, and our eyes needed to be soldered to their sockets after each days journeying.

we had booked one night in the old town thinking we could then book another as we pleased, but noo, stockies had to go and be difficult. it so happened that every gay in every village was in stockholm for her gay pride parade. so me and the boney man having burnt our rubber soled shoes to chewy gum looking for available beds decided to go the night sleepless and so a night of torture began.

we jump started the night punishing a litre of my favoutite jet fuel vodka in some kiddies park in wee swedish suburbia under the guise of dark. we bar hopped and made an attempt to party the night like there was no tomorrow. we chilled in a park and watched the sun rise from a bus stop bench. wow what a night.

that morn boney man left me stranded on a hard wood train station bench to stew in the putrid stench of stale cigarette smoke and humid sweat. i stayed on for another couple of nights battered and as tired as john waynes old leather belt.

the architecture of sweden occupied my days. gunnar asplund's chapel left me with grass burns and his library, unfortunately inaccessible, left me wandering and illiterate.

the sunny days saw me strolling the bays and soaking the sun. every swede was out baking to a fine crisp, and plunging the waters.it was an incredible sight.

swimming in the black water bay of stockholm after a night of cheap heineken was as freaky and as surreal as a b-grade horror movie.'ill go get my swimming trunks before we go.' sorry dude but we dont have time for that, we'll go bare ass, you can swim in your jocks.' hmm mm. from the water i peered long at the lit city and high at the overhead concrete bridge. it was an experience ive placed in my back pocket secure from being erased.

i continued to spend my days dangling my raw feet over the harbours edge staring at the glorious sparkling Baltic sea, munching pre-made salads, industrialised french baguettes and sipping ice cold coca colas. i saw design museums and the great vassa museum-home to a splintered viking ship. i walked my way to the geodesic dome that is the ice hockey stadium, bought a california shirt from a svelte swede who was a fan of Oasis, 'keep listening to rock n roll', i watched gays on motor bikes, gays in trucks, gays who worked for Ikea, gay cops, gay docs ,it was the gayest thing i've ever seen. phew what a day, a day as gay as the hills

finally i had found a city that had not been drowned in the gangrenous rot of globalisation.
stockies, you are my friend, so long buddy, i do hope to return.

from the scratchings of saddened lad.
stay well my far flung friends and remember, skating goofy aint mickey mouse.
sweetly
the dan russian bear hunter and master swordsman

red peppadews 23.07.06

'i will be there one day,o yes i will'.
4 years ago i uttered these words over my mom's oven baked chicken, gently steamed peas and rice and while watching a snippet of the Farnborough Airshow. and so it came to pass that i made a melon-sized opening in my diary and circled the date of the 22nd of July with a big fat khoki pen for this carazy event.

a great airshow requires a massive landing strip, display space, cheap dry and sh*tty noodles,some eager beaver airplane fanatics-eugene, chaito, geller, the seligmans and flying machinery that makes your bmw 325i function like a commodore 64. the planes on display were the greatest that any army has to offer and we got to breathe the fumes of their wrath.

lurking at the far end of the runway alongside the portaloos and probably the highlight of the breezy day was the new Airbus A380. its an absolute behemoth. as it stares you down, you shiver like a quiver. it's bulbous head, and beady eyes, and its stubby body would see it playing the starring role in an Alien movie. its arched wings are rather beautiful. she's chunky as hell. try staring her down, this bad girl aint the playground bully, but she'll lift all 550 of you and dump you across the ocean.

the 5 people deep crowd munching on sweaty pies, oggling the sling-shot take-off speeds, smelling the oily air reeking of high octane jet fuel, and hearing the roaring grunt of jet engines, stared non-believing at the noodle-like A340, the longest commercial beast to puncture the skies. it is as nimble as jack and her antics will leave you frothing at the mouth. she pulled moves out of her top drawer leaving us stappled to the tarmac with dry mouths,and deadlegs. the euro fighter, named the typhoon, is a piece of european engineering built to scare the sheeite outta any iraqi.

we saw jump harriers-the pride of the royal airforce-it's full of hot air, but it'll blow any insurgent out of their toyota diesel pick-up. we saw mother russia's MiGs-they're as nimble as a toy aeroplane in the hands of a 3 year old and as pure as the vodka the commies drink. we saw apache attack hellicopters-she is american and yet she is not, she is slim, she is stealth. the swedish grippen, protects south africas skies, from whom i cannot say. she tore the sky into absolute shredded tuna yawing, rolling and pitching her way through the air space of farnborough. the bomber of today aint the big tin can you kicked around the school play yard in days gone yonder. they're known as bones. the B1-B bomber is as sleek as a bone,it's tar black and it'll tear the skinoff your skull while doing mach 2. 'chew on that,fat boy.'

it was an absolute ripper of a day that i've pencilled into 'chaito's top 10 excursions of all time.'

i went to see with elli from finland the Serpentine pavillion by rem koolhaas. each year someone out there chooses a famous architect that hasn't built shyte in the UK to put up a temporary pavillion. this year it was the dutchman rem kolhaas who was drawn out of the lucky packet. honestly dude, that big bulbous piece of inflatable cow turd is a stain on the rolling fox hunting hills of hyde park. may a hungry furry fox come and chew the polycarbonate walls of your pavillion and may sesame street's yellow big bird pierce that swollen dr bean that is the roof.
hope you enjoyed another adventure from our intrepid russian bear hunter.stay cool my friendssweetly, the dan, russian bear hunter, master swordsman and soon to be the action figurine all the kids wanna own.

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

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.
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