Saturday, September 20, 1997

Europe 1997

My Freaking Trip to Europe


Tuesday, Sept 10th

I made the ten am flight to JFK. Robbie Robertson and two buddhist monks were on the plane. After deplaning I was smoking at the curbside of the terminal and saw one of the monks pull a cell phone from within the folds of his robe. The other monk bowed a greeting to him but got no response.

Wednesday, Sept 11th

I made the eight pm flight to Heathrow. The movie was "The Arrival", about yuppie aliens terraforming the earth to suit their own smog-breathing ecosystem. There was a lengthy promo for ABC-Disney-American Airlines-NFL monday nights that was clearly a rip on "Independence Day". This was followed by a Nightline episode about "life on Mars" that featured scenes from the movie...Coincidence?



Slept well, skipped breakfast. Passed easily through customs and soon found myself on the tube to Earl's Court. Upon exiting the subway station a man asked if I was looking for a hotel. He wanted to direct me to one down the street. I asked how much for a room with a bath. He said 35 pounds. I took out my guide book and asked about the Green Court Hotel. "Oh, you don't want to go there, mate, run by Indians..." I told him I was going to shop around. There were hotels everywhere you look. I went into the first one, the Ramses, and asked for a single with bath. The Indian behind the counter gave me a key to look at a 30 pound room. It was tiny, had a shower at the foot of the bed, a sink at the head of the bed, and no toilet. I went down and asked if any rooms had tubs. He said no, none of the hotels in the area had tubs. I thanked him and left. Across the street was a larger hotel, a Best Western. I asked for a single with bath, they replied yes all our rooms have baths. The receptionist asks if I understood the rates (they were posted right next to her head). 65 pounds. I said yes that's fine. She asked how long I was staying I said one night and the other receptionist suddenly is saying sorry we don't have any singles but we can give you a double...there's a convention you know...I went to a few other hotels and was given some version of the same scam. Finally I reached the Green Court. A very friendly Indian man gave me the key to a single on the 1st landing. He said it was 25 pounds. It had a sink at the foot of the bed and a separate room with toilet and a tub. The window faced the tube tracks and the sheets were moldy. (Although when I returned later they had put fresh sheets on.)



I took the tube to Covent Garden and stopped at a restaurant for lunch and I asked the american waitress if she knew how to find a number through information, or if she had a phone directory. She was no help, said she had similar problems figuring out the English phone system. I walked around then took the tube to Glouster Road, bought a map, and walked towards Earls Court. I bought a watch for 40 quid, it is by Naf Naf. Back at Earls Court I went to a phone service and tried calling everyone. Paid 10 pence for reaching an answering machine in France. Stopped at a pub for a pint and asked to see a phone directory. No listing for Simon but I found an internet service nearby, "declare". It was just round the corner from my hotel. Mostly LCIIIs, they didn't serve food or drinks. I logged on (5/hr) checked my eMail. I tried to update my journal with an old version of Fetch but it uploaded everything as .htm.txt files. Went to another pub. Called Matt. Back to my hotel ( new sheets!). Then took a much needed hot bath. Whoever had changed the sheets had left a girlie mag in the night stand. Then I went out to dinner at an Indian restaurant across the street. Went to a grocery store and bought yogurt, beer, sweets, and a Time Out. Back at the hotel I read in the Time Out where all the internet cafes were and a listing of hotels, one of which was the Windermere near Victoria. It was listed at 65 per single. I watched tele for a bit and fell asleep.



Thursday Sept 12th

The next morning I got up and called the hotel. They had a room. I went down the street and made some calls. Took the tube to Sloan Square and then a cab to the hotel (it was 10 am). They let me have a nice double for 65. It had a nice shower and a big bed. I set off for the Internet Cafe near Victoria. I logged on and got my eMail and sent a note to the QTVR list saying I was traveling through Europe, and listed my itinerary. It was a beautiful day. I walked up the road to Buckingham Palace and took three panoramas. Walked up to Piccadilly Circus, found the Global Cafe. Logged on again. Talked to the manager about QTVR, he was interested in having some done when they finished redecorating. I gave him my card and said I'd be back in November. He said he would eMail me a proposal. Took the tube back to Victoria. Stopped for a pint. Took a shower at the hotel, put on my white shirt and went down to happy hour at the hotel bar (7:30pm). I had two Pernods for one then sat down to dinner (Turkey Provençal). Chatted with the french bartender and chef, then went up to sleep.


Friday, Sept 13

Next morning I went down to breakfast ( bacon and eggs, very tasty). Got my things in order. The hotel owner was kind enough to give me a lift to another hotel. It was closer to the station but the room was on the 4th floor. It had a tub. Walked over to the internet cafe, got eMail from Daniel Brugger in Switzerland and Tim Carrol in Paris, both responding to my posting on the QTVR list. Got a note from Matt. Sent notes to Matt and the eCafe. I looked in on the live cam at the eCafe but it was 5am there...
There was a tour bus leaving from across the street. It was one of those double decker jobs with an open top. I figured I could get some good shots and it would be nicer than taking the tube. I asked the driver how much, he said ten bob, but you could get on and off all day- the busses ran every 15 minutes. So I got on. It wasn't very interesting...we passed the American embassy and a large group of protesters were gathered there but the tour guide only mentioned the wing span of the eagle stuck to the side of the soviet-style building, "It's as wide as this bus..." We eventually got to Parliament and I got off. I hadn't bought a ticket so I got a nice free ride around town. The weather was glorious so I took lots of photos (I remember Parliament being black now it’s gold). Walked along the Thames to the Embankment and took the tube to Gough Road. Had a sushi lunch with beer and saki. Then just around the corner was Cyberia. As I was standing in line for a terminal, a guy asked why I had a spirit level on my camera. I explained it was for QuickTime VR panoramas. He says he manages Cyberia and edits an internet magazine and would like to know more ( but he was in a hurry). I gave him my card. Logged on, got a note from Xroads with Andy Bower's eMail address and a note from William Donelson (QTVRer from Earls Court) saying I should call.


I took the tube to the hotel ( stopped at a pub for a pint and a gimlet-the bartender had never heard of a gimlet).Very unfriendly fuckers at every pub so far. Bought some bubble bath. Went back and used it. Fell asleep early- no dinner.



Saturday, Sept 14

Got up for breakfast ( overcooked eggs and greasy bacon with a side of deep fried wonderbread) Took a shower, packed and paid up. Walked to the station and put my bags in a locker. Went to the internet cafe. Note from Matt. Took the tube to Earls Court, to make phone calls. Was able to contact Keith's girlfriend in Prague, she said he was going to be in the Ukraine until October 3rd. I gave her my e mail address and said I would be in Prague around the 1st. I walked to South Kensington, had lunch at the Gran Cafe near the V&A. Went to 'declare' but their system was down, went to phone place- no contact. Took the tube back to Victoria, bought a ticket on the overnight train/ferry to Amsterdam. Departs 7pm arrives 9am. 60 quid. Unfortunately leaves from Liverpool Street on the other side of town. I go kill a few hours at the internet cafe. Then get my bags and take the Circle Line.


On the tube: A street musician is just stepping off the train telling everyone, "I'll be playing at so and so pub next Wednesday...", in a thick Irish brogue. A pinstriped suited old man stepping on says,"get off you IRA bastard!". The longhair with the guitar responds,"You've got as much intelligence as the boot end of my arse you narrow-minded ponce..."

Sometime later

OK, so I'm on the fucking ferry. Sitting in the middle of this fucking disco, talking to my new friend, Roderick, from Utrcht (excuse me). We are talking about this German girl sitting with her friends. I go over and introduce myself, offer to buy them drinks, they ignore me. Later, Roderick, after talking with one of the other German girls tells me that they thought I was 40...So I go to the fucking casino on the fucking ferry and blow 5 pounds on roulette...So its a fucking 7 hour ride through disco hell. I'm just drunk enough to be in sync with the boat...I should have taken the chunnel, like fucking Tom Cruise.



Sunday, September 16th

OK, I feel better. I slept for a while, then we were herded off the boat, given validations. My friend Roderick took the train to Rotterdam and I took the express to Amsterdam. When I arrived I tossed a coin three times: heads go directly to Zwolle, tails stay in Amsterdam. Heads three times, so I bought a ticket to Zwolle.


At this point I'm in some serious hurt. I drag myself off the train in Zwolle and to a taxi. I tell him to take me to a reasonable hotel. It is 150 whatever a night. OK. It has a jacuzzi bath. OK. It won't be ready for an hour. OK. It's a ten minute walk to town. I leave my bags. Take a map with me. The town has a moat. I see Annemieke's old address on the map so I walk by. Nice place. So I'm downtown now- it's Sunday morning- like a fucking neutron bomb went off. A few people ride around on bikes. Thousands of bikes parked everywhere- none locked. I look like an extra from Pulp Fiction in my black two button jacket, white collared shirt and black jeans - I get funny looks. I go back to the hotel, draw a bubble bath (nice big tub), peel off my clothes, and dive in. I still hurt. Crawl into bed and sleep until six. Shave, put my hair in order and go out. I walk to the center of town, legs sore but unencumbered by anything but my journal. I'm taking stock of my aches and pains- mostly my left shoulder, thighs and both knees. I puruse various restaurants, no one is particularly friendly but they all speak english. So I settle on a place called 'Weekends'. I have tomato soup and chicken Sate (the waitress explained that it is a traditional Dutch preparation- chicken skewers with peanut sauce- I asked if that was anything like the Thai dish, she gave me a confused look.



Monday, Sept 17th

Get up early, have breakfast: grapenuts, coffee, oj, canned fruit salad, cold cuts and bread. The coffee was good. Gave my laundry to the hotelier. Organized my camera bag and set out. I stopped at some store; it was either a realtor or travel agency, everyone was sitting at a computer. I said, " This is a little off the wall, but do you know of anyplace in town that has internet access, perhaps a university?" They said, " Yes, there is a university but its quite far to walk..." Another said, " Don't you have a car?", "No I don't have a car", "Taxi, you could take a taxi" I thanked them and left. I walked to the main plaza, set up and took a panorama. Then I walked around town, took another pano of a castle and fountain. Then I walked back to the square and bought some postcards and a Herald. On the way back to the hotel I passed a bar that had a small Mel's style pool table. I ordered a beer and asked to play. Three college kids were playing, one, an asian, was quite good. I played (and won) several games. We talked, they were very friendly. One was wearing a Chicago Blackhawks jersey. Finally I lost and went back to the hotel. I told them I would be back later.


At the hotel I changed clothes and left my equipment. I set out again for town, stopping on the way at Annemieke's old house. There was a piece of paper taped next to the buzzer: M= 1 buzz W= 2 buzz C= 3 buzz F= 4 buzz Jehovas= 10 buzz. I rang once and got no answer so I rang twice. A young man answered. I told him I was looking for Annemieke. He invited me into the foyer and showed me her address pinned to the wall. He gave me a piece of paper to write on. I wrote down her number, then walked back to the bar. The same guys were still there. I bought them all beers and played another game. I tried calling A's number but got a weird out-of order tone. I asked my new friends what that meant. "Oh, yes, we have a new prefix in Zwolle, you must dial 4 first" So I did. A man answered, undaunted I asked for Annemieke. After a pause she was on the line.

"Hello, Annemieke, this is Mark, Mark Norris, from Amerika,"
"Yes, hello, how are you?"
"I know it's been awhile, a year or so, we met in Chiapas..."
"Yes, of course...This is unexpected. How are you..."
"I'm fine, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner."
"Dinner...?But..."
"I'm in Zwolle...I'm staying at the hotel Fidder."
"You are in Zwolle!" I could hear her talking in Dutch to someone.
Then,"What brings you to Holland?"
"I'm just passing through on my way to Prague, I'm doing photography for the internet..."
"Oh, yes so you are doing the same..."
"Yes, and you, are you still in radio?"
"Yes, yes, a different company but still radio..." There was a pause.
" So I invite you to dinner, here; I will cook for you..."
"OK, that would be nice"
"Yes, you can see my place...just give me an hour and a half. Yes? I need to clean up..."
"OK."
"And if you get lost call I will pick you up, I have a car now..."

So I bought another round for the gang, told them my good news. We played more pool but eventually we just sat around talking about films and conspiracy theories. They were looking forward to the impending release of "Independence Day". Coincidence?


After an hour or so I walked over to Annemieke's. She lived just across from the train station. She answered the door, I didn't recognize her at first. She had short hair. The apartment was dark, she led me down a dark hall to the kitchen. Her boyfriend was at the stove. We exchanged pleasantries. Then I sat down. They chopped food and we chatted. A bottle of wine was opened. They were making cheese fondue. We went outside to set the table but it was too cold. We drank another bottle of wine. Annemieke's friend, Margoram, who was with her in Chiapas, came over. I gave them a picture I took of them there. The boyfriend was in entertainment tv. We talked about politics. He is a Palestinian. Margoram doesn't like him. I drank another bottle of wine (white wine! I should have known better...) I even made myself a martini...Annemieke said she would drive me back to my hotel. Margoram left and Annemieke drove me back (she was very proud of her plastic car). I don't remember what I said to her but I think I said I was glad to see her again. She hastily wrote her address and number on a receipt laying on the dash. This artifact is all I have to show it all went well. I went up to my room, tossed my case on the bed and walked to town. I asked a taxi to take me to "girls"...He drove me down some back alleys and deposited me in front of a garage door that had a video camera. I knocked and was buzzed in. It was a tacky bar, one large blonde at the counter. She was the bartender. I asked for a beer. I talked with her for a while, she asked if I wanted to take a Jacuzzi. I asked 'how much?'. She said 100 of whatever they called money. I had to go to the bank. I walked around the darkened alleys, found the bank, found my way back, and ended up in the tub with this large Dutch woman surrounded by stuffed animals. I asked ' what's up with all the teddy bears?' She said they belong to the Russian girls; this was their room. It was a big room, filled with stuffed animals, with a big bed at one end and a big Jacuzzi at the other. I asked 'where are the Russians?'. She said 'they're around'...


Tuesday

The next morning I was woken at 9 by someone asking if I was coming down to breakfast (served until 10). I said , "No, I would like some coffee." I packed up and went down. A woman I hadn't seen before was behind the desk. She wore a black low-cut blouse that showed a lot of cleavage. She gave me the bill ( the phone bill was more than the room). I asked her to call me a cab and add a pot of coffee to the bill. She said I could have the coffee free because I missed breakfast. The taxi took me to the station. I bought a ticket and sat at a cafe for more coffee and a ham sandwich. I felt like shit. Took the train. I actually got annoyed at all the chain smoking going on around me. Walked right out of the station in Amsterdam and got on a tram. The driver wanted to know how far I was going. I said I didn't know, I would get off when I saw something I liked. She sold me a 3 gilder ticket, saying,"It is good for the center." I rode a few blocks and got off. She seemed disappointed. I walked away from the busy streets until I found a hotel that seemed like it would be clean and quiet. The Nova Hotel; 150 guilders for a single with shower. It was a tacky, modern room compared to Zwolle and it faced a street with a tram track, it had porno on the TV. So I chilled for a bit, took a shower. I asked at the desk where the internet cafe was. They showed me on a map the general area they thought it was. I think they misunderstood me because they sent me to the red-light district (intercourse cafe? intersex cafe?). I walked around worriedly. A lot of seedy looking people lurking in dark alleyways. Some cute girls standing behind windows in their undies. They would tap the glass with their rings as I passed by. Finally, I had dinner at a sushi place (mental note: do not ever go to a sushi place in Europe-they all suck). Then went back to the hotel to watch bad porn and 'Get Shorty'.

Wednesday

Next day, got up and went out with my camera. Went to the Mini-Office, a computer center with internet . Very slow connection. Checked my mail. I asked about the internet cafe and they looked it up in a guide book. I headed towards it, stopped at a used clothing store because it was cold. I wanted to buy a Gaberdine coat but they didn't take credit cards. So I headed for a bank. End up at Top's Internet Cafe. Log on, drink coffee, get eMail. I fix my journal a bit using Fetch on their Mac. Go back towards the hotel, stop at bank, have lunch, write postcards, back to clothing store, buy coat. I go back to the hotel and rest, watch CNN. Get up, take a shower, head for 'Top's'. Stop on the way at 'Shiva' for a delicious dinner (chicken tikka). (mental note: Indian restaurants in Europe are better than sushi places). Very satisfied, I walk through Rembrant Platz, passed-up all the strip joints and made it to 'Tops'. Ordered a beer and started updating my journal. Got as far as Zwolle. More beers at the bar, inhaling all the second hand hash smoke. If I weren't alone and traveling tomorrow I'd be tempted to get some. I'm pretty pleased with my stay in Amsterdam. Tomorrow, I'll check my bags at the station, buy a ticket for Paris, and spend the day photographing. I get a bit freaked out when I think about how much this is costing and how I should have more to show for it. But, I'm learning and I'm writing, and I should have some good photos. Had a few more beers and talked to the manager of 'Tops' about QTVR. He was interested but hadn't downloaded the plug-ins. On the way home I bought some Gaulois Blondes and had a Guiness.



Thursday

Having breakfast at the Nova, I figure I should stay another night. Get some good panos today and tomorrow. I need to rest my leg ( my right shin is fucked-up) Went to the post office, mailed 11 cards. Took a pano from a pretty bridge. Walked and walked, had a shwarma for lunch and ended up at Top's. Had a beer, only seven messages- all to the QTVR list. Bit low on cash so I didn't send any mail nor update my page. Played pinball. Walked towards the Rikjsmuseum, stopped at the Amnesty International bar/cafe/movie house. Some thoughts on Europe: I grew up in a very different England. London, I remember, was a dark, dismal place. The countryside was bucolic, small villages unmarred by superhighways and chain stores where the local pub was a friendly meeting place (yes, even as a little kid I was hanging out in bars). Now London is a big, americanized melting pot boiling over with hatred and mistrust.



The Dutch really pride themselves on speaking English but someone needs to point out that they aren't very good at it. Usually, they speak in a broken pig English (is that redundant?), which is fine, but they don't seem to always understand what is being said. They hear what they want to hear. I suppose, because they are taught English from an early age and they deal with so many tourists, they think it is too easy, but they miss the subtleties. Don't get me wrong, I can't even order a beer in Dutch, this is not some rant about English-uber-alles, I think people should preserve their culture through language. When I go to another country I don't mind if no one speaks my language. It is always possible to make oneself understood. It forces you to pay greater attention to people. I think of Marco Polo traveling the spice route through a myriad of established, exotic cultures; the respect and wonder he showed their customs. He didn't have a phrase book. He didn't eat at the local McDuce's pizzeria everywhere he went. So, to give credit where due, the Dutch speak English better than the Germans, the French, and the English. And they are a handsome race.



What's up with all these Russian whores everywhere? They had them in Cambodia, Thailand, Hong Kong, Zwolle...Isn't it enough that Amerika won the cold war, they also have to turn all russian women into sex slaves? How proud to be a Russian today: dad's a drunk, mom works at McDonalds, sis is a whore, little boris is a thug, gramma and gramps are in the street, and I'm in the Mafia...Well I haven't been to Russia yet, but it sounds pretty bad. I'm sure I'll have something to say about the French when I get there. I've been boycotting French wine for a while now because of their killing of a photographer on the Greenpeace boat that their spies blew up in New Zealand.


O.K., enough of that. I'm at a bar called Balls. I think that is because they have pool tables but I'm not sure. The music has turned sour here at Balls. So I'll move on. A bicyclist just rode by singing, "the secret life...of a-ra-bia.." I thought that was amusing. My choice of bars now, just within blocks of my hotel, has dwindled. The last one was packed, no place to sit, a mix of Americans and Dutch but too typical. I walked by the 'Kandinski', which has a nice ring to it, but aside from a few couples necking there was no one there. I chose the place I am now because of the cute bartendress. It is dark with beer stiens and antelope heads on the walls. Full of only self-absorbed Dutch people. Still, it's better than television. It is just after midnight. I will have all day tomorrow to finish my Amsterdam experience.


These fucking French cigarettes suck. Cobblestones are pretty but they wreak hell on my shins. Still, outside of Elsie's, New York, the eCafe, parts of Seattle, San Francisco and LA, Amerika blows compared to Holland. The Dutch do have that annoying throat-clearing conflux of syllables when they speak their own language. I'll have to recommend this bar, if I ever figure out what it's called. It gives a realistic impression of Dutch life. The average Dutchman wears either a windbreaker or a stylish KGB-style leather jacket, wide-collar shirt, and jeans. The women wear short skirts with black stockings, cable turtleneck sweaters. I'm wearing my new gaberdine overcoat, blue shirt, black sweatshirt, black jeans, scarf and Vans. My black-dyed hair is usually standing on end from sleeping on the train or too small a bed. I'll have one more smoke then go back to the hotel.


I was thinking before I left on this trip that I needed to live more to write more and to find a quiet place, free of distractions where I could commit it all to paper, but I haven't really done anything. It is good to write this journal because it is clearing the cobwebs out of my head - but I need to spend some serious time putting it together in a readable format. And I need to write a sensible story involving my dreams and ambitions. Perhaps in this journal I should concentrate less on my comings and goings and more on the atmosphere of places I am. Aside from my asides I have skipped a lot of the visual, tactile details of this trip. The piss smell of the London tube for example. I said this cafe was dark; bars in Holland are called 'brown cafes' because the centuries of tobacco smoke have turned the walls brown. I haven't met anyone who doesn't smoke. Sitting at Top's internet cafe I could taste the second hand hash smoke. So sweet smelling. Luckily, at the time I still had some Exports. I'd rather smoke hash than these shitty french cigarettes.

sometime later

There are similarities in Steve Erickson's stories, particularly his very autobiographical 'Amnesiascope', to my own untold stories and dreams. His obsession with a girl he calls Sally is so similar to my feelings towards Sophie. Each of his previous books have in some way focused on his relation to her. Of equal importance is his respect for the meaning of dreams - not necessarily that his or mine mean anything or are precognitive but he gives their mystery the deference deserved. His stories interweave dreams and a dreamlike reality and are propelled by the passions of very real characters. The best writers I can think of use similar techniques - essentially they are driven to find the truth of consciousness using self-perception and unconscious archetypes. Thomas Pynchon, Lawrence Durrell, Henry Miller, Phillip K. Dick, Samuel Delany, Ursurla K. LeGuin, Martin Amis, Steve Erickson, Jonathan Lethem...that's all that come to mind at the moment. This is an aside but Erickson mentions one of my favorite movies, "In a Lonely Place" in Amnesiascope. It stars Humphrey Bogart as an alcoholic screenwriter accused of murder. Very intense depiction of writer's block. Another great movie few people have ever heard of is "Cry of the Penguins" starring a youthful John Hurt.



I am sitting here in the Lizard Lounge in Le Marais a few blocks from my hotel, the Grand Hotel Mahler. I had a lovely dinner; poulet citron, and was pleased to find it full of and run by americans ( the lounge not my chicken). Now they are playing Portishead so I decided to stay and drink.

Thursday, September 11, 1997

Europe 1997

Tuesday, Sept 10th

I made the ten am flight to JFK. Robbie Robertson and two buddhist monks were on the plane. After deplaning I was smoking at the curbside of the terminal and saw one of the monks pull a cell phone from within the folds of his robe. The other monk bowed a greeting to him but got no response.

Wednesday, Sept 11th

I made the eight pm flight to Heathrow. The movie was "The Arrival", about yuppie aliens terraforming the earth to suit their own smog-breathing ecosystem. There was a lengthy promo for ABC-Disney-American Airlines-NFL monday nights that was clearly a rip on "Independence Day". This was followed by a Nightline episode about "life on Mars" that featured scenes from the movie...Coincidence?



Slept well, skipped breakfast. Passed easily through customs and soon found myself on the tube to Earl's Court. Upon exiting the subway station a man asked if I was looking for a hotel. He wanted to direct me to one down the street. I asked how much for a room with a bath. He said 35 pounds. I took out my guide book and asked about the Green Court Hotel. "Oh, you don't want to go there, mate, run by Indians..." I told him I was going to shop around. There were hotels everywhere you look. I went into the first one, the Ramses, and asked for a single with bath. The Indian behind the counter gave me a key to look at a 30 pound room. It was tiny, had a shower at the foot of the bed, a sink at the head of the bed, and no toilet. I went down and asked if any rooms had tubs. He said no, none of the hotels in the area had tubs. I thanked him and left. Across the street was a larger hotel, a Best Western. I asked for a single with bath, they replied yes all our rooms have baths. The receptionist asks if I understood the rates (they were posted right next to her head). 65 pounds. I said yes that's fine. She asked how long I was staying I said one night and the other receptionist suddenly is saying sorry we don't have any singles but we can give you a double...there's a convention you know...I went to a few other hotels and was given some version of the same scam. Finally I reached the Green Court. A very friendly Indian man gave me the key to a single on the 1st landing. He said it was 25 pounds. It had a sink at the foot of the bed and a separate room with toilet and a tub. The window faced the tube tracks and the sheets were moldy. (Although when I returned later they had put fresh sheets on.)



I took the tube to Covent Garden and stopped at a restaurant for lunch and I asked the american waitress if she knew how to find a number through information, or if she had a phone directory. She was no help, said she had similar problems figuring out the English phone system. I walked around then took the tube to Glouster Road, bought a map, and walked towards Earls Court. I bought a watch for 40 quid, it is by Naf Naf. Back at Earls Court I went to a phone service and tried calling everyone. Paid 10 pence for reaching an answering machine in France. Stopped at a pub for a pint and asked to see a phone directory. No listing for Simon but I found an internet service nearby, "declare". It was just round the corner from my hotel. Mostly LCIIIs, they didn't serve food or drinks. I logged on (5/hr) checked my eMail. I tried to update my journal with an old version of Fetch but it uploaded everything as .htm.txt files. Went to another pub. Called Matt. Back to my hotel ( new sheets!). Then took a much needed hot bath. Whoever had changed the sheets had left a girlie mag in the night stand. Then I went out to dinner at an Indian restaurant across the street. Went to a grocery store and bought yogurt, beer, sweets, and a Time Out. Back at the hotel I read in the Time Out where all the internet cafes were and a listing of hotels, one of which was the Windermere near Victoria. It was listed at 65 per single. I watched tele for a bit and fell asleep.



Thursday Sept 12th

The next morning I got up and called the hotel. They had a room. I went down the street and made some calls. Took the tube to Sloan Square and then a cab to the hotel (it was 10 am). They let me have a nice double for 65. It had a nice shower and a big bed. I set off for the Internet Cafe near Victoria. I logged on and got my eMail and sent a note to the QTVR list saying I was traveling through Europe, and listed my itinerary. It was a beautiful day. I walked up the road to Buckingham Palace and took three panoramas. Walked up to Piccadilly Circus, found the Global Cafe. Logged on again. Talked to the manager about QTVR, he was interested in having some done when they finished redecorating. I gave him my card and said I'd be back in November. He said he would eMail me a proposal. Took the tube back to Victoria. Stopped for a pint. Took a shower at the hotel, put on my white shirt and went down to happy hour at the hotel bar (7:30pm). I had two Pernods for one then sat down to dinner (Turkey Provençal). Chatted with the french bartender and chef, then went up to sleep.


Friday, Sept 13

Next morning I went down to breakfast ( bacon and eggs, very tasty). Got my things in order. The hotel owner was kind enough to give me a lift to another hotel. It was closer to the station but the room was on the 4th floor. It had a tub. Walked over to the internet cafe, got eMail from Daniel Brugger in Switzerland and Tim Carrol in Paris, both responding to my posting on the QTVR list. Got a note from Matt. Sent notes to Matt and the eCafe. I looked in on the live cam at the eCafe but it was 5am there...
There was a tour bus leaving from across the street. It was one of those double decker jobs with an open top. I figured I could get some good shots and it would be nicer than taking the tube. I asked the driver how much, he said ten bob, but you could get on and off all day- the busses ran every 15 minutes. So I got on. It wasn't very interesting...we passed the American embassy and a large group of protesters were gathered there but the tour guide only mentioned the wing span of the eagle stuck to the side of the soviet-style building, "It's as wide as this bus..." We eventually got to Parliament and I got off. I hadn't bought a ticket so I got a nice free ride around town. The weather was glorious so I took lots of photos (I remember Parliament being black now it’s gold). Walked along the Thames to the Embankment and took the tube to Gough Road. Had a sushi lunch with beer and saki. Then just around the corner was Cyberia. As I was standing in line for a terminal, a guy asked why I had a spirit level on my camera. I explained it was for QuickTime VR panoramas. He says he manages Cyberia and edits an internet magazine and would like to know more ( but he was in a hurry). I gave him my card. Logged on, got a note from Xroads with Andy Bower's eMail address and a note from William Donelson (QTVRer from Earls Court) saying I should call.


I took the tube to the hotel ( stopped at a pub for a pint and a gimlet-the bartender had never heard of a gimlet).Very unfriendly fuckers at every pub so far. Bought some bubble bath. Went back and used it. Fell asleep early- no dinner.



Saturday, Sept 14

Got up for breakfast ( overcooked eggs and greasy bacon with a side of deep fried wonderbread) Took a shower, packed and paid up. Walked to the station and put my bags in a locker. Went to the internet cafe. Note from Matt. Took the tube to Earls Court, to make phone calls. Was able to contact Keith's girlfriend in Prague, she said he was going to be in the Ukraine until October 3rd. I gave her my e mail address and said I would be in Prague around the 1st. I walked to South Kensington, had lunch at the Gran Cafe near the V&A. Went to 'declare' but their system was down, went to phone place- no contact. Took the tube back to Victoria, bought a ticket on the overnight train/ferry to Amsterdam. Departs 7pm arrives 9am. 60 quid. Unfortunately leaves from Liverpool Street on the other side of town. I go kill a few hours at the internet cafe. Then get my bags and take the Circle Line.


On the tube: A street musician is just stepping off the train telling everyone, "I'll be playing at so and so pub next Wednesday...", in a thick Irish brogue. A pinstriped suited old man stepping on says,"get off you IRA bastard!". The longhair with the guitar responds,"You've got as much intelligence as the boot end of my arse you narrow-minded ponce..."

Sometime later

OK, so I'm on the fucking ferry. Sitting in the middle of this fucking disco, talking to my new friend, Roderick, from Utrcht (excuse me). We are talking about this German girl sitting with her friends. I go over and introduce myself, offer to buy them drinks, they ignore me. Later, Roderick, after talking with one of the other German girls tells me that they thought I was 40...So I go to the fucking casino on the fucking ferry and blow 5 pounds on roulette...So its a fucking 7 hour ride through disco hell. I'm just drunk enough to be in sync with the boat...I should have taken the chunnel, like fucking Tom Cruise.



Sunday, September 16th

OK, I feel better. I slept for a while, then we were herded off the boat, given validations. My friend Roderick took the train to Rotterdam and I took the express to Amsterdam. When I arrived I tossed a coin three times: heads go directly to Zwolle, tails stay in Amsterdam. Heads three times, so I bought a ticket to Zwolle.


At this point I'm in some serious hurt. I drag myself off the train in Zwolle and to a taxi. I tell him to take me to a reasonable hotel. It is 150 whatever a night. OK. It has a jacuzzi bath. OK. It won't be ready for an hour. OK. It's a ten minute walk to town. I leave my bags. Take a map with me. The town has a moat. I see Annemieke's old address on the map so I walk by. Nice place. So I'm downtown now- it's Sunday morning- like a fucking neutron bomb went off. A few people ride around on bikes. Thousands of bikes parked everywhere- none locked. I look like an extra from Pulp Fiction in my black two button jacket, white collared shirt and black jeans - I get funny looks. I go back to the hotel, draw a bubble bath (nice big tub), peel off my clothes, and dive in. I still hurt. Crawl into bed and sleep until six. Shave, put my hair in order and go out. I walk to the center of town, legs sore but unencumbered by anything but my journal. I'm taking stock of my aches and pains- mostly my left shoulder, thighs and both knees. I puruse various restaurants, no one is particularly friendly but they all speak english. So I settle on a place called 'Weekends'. I have tomato soup and chicken Sate (the waitress explained that it is a traditional Dutch preparation- chicken skewers with peanut sauce- I asked if that was anything like the Thai dish, she gave me a confused look.



Monday, Sept 17th

Get up early, have breakfast: grapenuts, coffee, oj, canned fruit salad, cold cuts and bread. The coffee was good. Gave my laundry to the hotelier. Organized my camera bag and set out. I stopped at some store; it was either a realtor or travel agency, everyone was sitting at a computer. I said, " This is a little off the wall, but do you know of anyplace in town that has internet access, perhaps a university?" They said, " Yes, there is a university but its quite far to walk..." Another said, " Don't you have a car?", "No I don't have a car", "Taxi, you could take a taxi" I thanked them and left. I walked to the main plaza, set up and took a panorama. Then I walked around town, took another pano of a castle and fountain. Then I walked back to the square and bought some postcards and a Herald. On the way back to the hotel I passed a bar that had a small Mel's style pool table. I ordered a beer and asked to play. Three college kids were playing, one, an asian, was quite good. I played (and won) several games. We talked, they were very friendly. One was wearing a Chicago Blackhawks jersey. Finally I lost and went back to the hotel. I told them I would be back later.


At the hotel I changed clothes and left my equipment. I set out again for town, stopping on the way at Annemieke's old house. There was a piece of paper taped next to the buzzer: M= 1 buzz W= 2 buzz C= 3 buzz F= 4 buzz Jehovas= 10 buzz. I rang once and got no answer so I rang twice. A young man answered. I told him I was looking for Annemieke. He invited me into the foyer and showed me her address pinned to the wall. He gave me a piece of paper to write on. I wrote down her number, then walked back to the bar. The same guys were still there. I bought them all beers and played another game. I tried calling A's number but got a weird out-of order tone. I asked my new friends what that meant. "Oh, yes, we have a new prefix in Zwolle, you must dial 4 first" So I did. A man answered, undaunted I asked for Annemieke. After a pause she was on the line.

"Hello, Annemieke, this is Mark, Mark Norris, from Amerika,"
"Yes, hello, how are you?"
"I know it's been awhile, a year or so, we met in Chiapas..."
"Yes, of course...This is unexpected. How are you..."
"I'm fine, I was wondering if I could take you to dinner."
"Dinner...?But..."
"I'm in Zwolle...I'm staying at the hotel Fidder."
"You are in Zwolle!" I could hear her talking in Dutch to someone.
Then,"What brings you to Holland?"
"I'm just passing through on my way to Prague, I'm doing photography for the internet..."
"Oh, yes so you are doing the same..."
"Yes, and you, are you still in radio?"
"Yes, yes, a different company but still radio..." There was a pause.
" So I invite you to dinner, here; I will cook for you..."
"OK, that would be nice"
"Yes, you can see my place...just give me an hour and a half. Yes? I need to clean up..."
"OK."
"And if you get lost call I will pick you up, I have a car now..."

So I bought another round for the gang, told them my good news. We played more pool but eventually we just sat around talking about films and conspiracy theories. They were looking forward to the impending release of "Independence Day". Coincidence?


After an hour or so I walked over to Annemieke's. She lived just across from the train station. She answered the door, I didn't recognize her at first. She had short hair. The apartment was dark, she led me down a dark hall to the kitchen. Her boyfriend was at the stove. We exchanged pleasantries. Then I sat down. They chopped food and we chatted. A bottle of wine was opened. They were making cheese fondue. We went outside to set the table but it was too cold. We drank another bottle of wine. Annemieke's friend, Margoram, who was with her in Chiapas, came over. I gave them a picture I took of them there. The boyfriend was in entertainment tv. We talked about politics. He is a Palestinian. Margoram doesn't like him. I drank another bottle of wine (white wine! I should have known better...) I even made myself a martini...Annemieke said she would drive me back to my hotel. Margoram left and Annemieke drove me back (she was very proud of her plastic car). I don't remember what I said to her but I think I said I was glad to see her again. She hastily wrote her address and number on a receipt laying on the dash. This artifact is all I have to show it all went well. I went up to my room, tossed my case on the bed and walked to town. I asked a taxi to take me to "girls"...He drove me down some back alleys and deposited me in front of a garage door that had a video camera. I knocked and was buzzed in. It was a tacky bar, one large blonde at the counter. She was the bartender. I asked for a beer. I talked with her for a while, she asked if I wanted to take a Jacuzzi. I asked 'how much?'. She said 100 of whatever they called money. I had to go to the bank. I walked around the darkened alleys, found the bank, found my way back, and ended up in the tub with this large Dutch woman surrounded by stuffed animals. I asked ' what's up with all the teddy bears?' She said they belong to the Russian girls; this was their room. It was a big room, filled with stuffed animals, with a big bed at one end and a big Jacuzzi at the other. I asked 'where are the Russians?'. She said 'they're around'...


Tuesday

The next morning I was woken at 9 by someone asking if I was coming down to breakfast (served until 10). I said , "No, I would like some coffee." I packed up and went down. A woman I hadn't seen before was behind the desk. She wore a black low-cut blouse that showed a lot of cleavage. She gave me the bill ( the phone bill was more than the room). I asked her to call me a cab and add a pot of coffee to the bill. She said I could have the coffee free because I missed breakfast. The taxi took me to the station. I bought a ticket and sat at a cafe for more coffee and a ham sandwich. I felt like shit. Took the train. I actually got annoyed at all the chain smoking going on around me. Walked right out of the station in Amsterdam and got on a tram. The driver wanted to know how far I was going. I said I didn't know, I would get off when I saw something I liked. She sold me a 3 gilder ticket, saying,"It is good for the center." I rode a few blocks and got off. She seemed disappointed. I walked away from the busy streets until I found a hotel that seemed like it would be clean and quiet. The Nova Hotel; 150 guilders for a single with shower. It was a tacky, modern room compared to Zwolle and it faced a street with a tram track, it had porno on the TV. So I chilled for a bit, took a shower. I asked at the desk where the internet cafe was. They showed me on a map the general area they thought it was. I think they misunderstood me because they sent me to the red-light district (intercourse cafe? intersex cafe?). I walked around worriedly. A lot of seedy looking people lurking in dark alleyways. Some cute girls standing behind windows in their undies. They would tap the glass with their rings as I passed by. Finally, I had dinner at a sushi place (mental note: do not ever go to a sushi place in Europe-they all suck). Then went back to the hotel to watch bad porn and 'Get Shorty'.

Wednesday

Next day, got up and went out with my camera. Went to the Mini-Office, a computer center with internet . Very slow connection. Checked my mail. I asked about the internet cafe and they looked it up in a guide book. I headed towards it, stopped at a used clothing store because it was cold. I wanted to buy a Gaberdine coat but they didn't take credit cards. So I headed for a bank. End up at Top's Internet Cafe. Log on, drink coffee, get eMail. I fix my journal a bit using Fetch on their Mac. Go back towards the hotel, stop at bank, have lunch, write postcards, back to clothing store, buy coat. I go back to the hotel and rest, watch CNN. Get up, take a shower, head for 'Top's'. Stop on the way at 'Shiva' for a delicious dinner (chicken tikka). (mental note: Indian restaurants in Europe are better than sushi places). Very satisfied, I walk through Rembrant Platz, passed-up all the strip joints and made it to 'Tops'. Ordered a beer and started updating my journal. Got as far as Zwolle. More beers at the bar, inhaling all the second hand hash smoke. If I weren't alone and traveling tomorrow I'd be tempted to get some. I'm pretty pleased with my stay in Amsterdam. Tomorrow, I'll check my bags at the station, buy a ticket for Paris, and spend the day photographing. I get a bit freaked out when I think about how much this is costing and how I should have more to show for it. But, I'm learning and I'm writing, and I should have some good photos. Had a few more beers and talked to the manager of 'Tops' about QTVR. He was interested but hadn't downloaded the plug-ins. On the way home I bought some Gaulois Blondes and had a Guiness.



Thursday

Having breakfast at the Nova, I figure I should stay another night. Get some good panos today and tomorrow. I need to rest my leg ( my right shin is fucked-up) Went to the post office, mailed 11 cards. Took a pano from a pretty bridge. Walked and walked, had a shwarma for lunch and ended up at Top's. Had a beer, only seven messages- all to the QTVR list. Bit low on cash so I didn't send any mail nor update my page. Played pinball. Walked towards the Rikjsmuseum, stopped at the Amnesty International bar/cafe/movie house. Some thoughts on Europe: I grew up in a very different England. London, I remember, was a dark, dismal place. The countryside was bucolic, small villages unmarred by superhighways and chain stores where the local pub was a friendly meeting place (yes, even as a little kid I was hanging out in bars). Now London is a big, americanized melting pot boiling over with hatred and mistrust.



The Dutch really pride themselves on speaking English but someone needs to point out that they aren't very good at it. Usually, they speak in a broken pig English (is that redundant?), which is fine, but they don't seem to always understand what is being said. They hear what they want to hear. I suppose, because they are taught English from an early age and they deal with so many tourists, they think it is too easy, but they miss the subtleties. Don't get me wrong, I can't even order a beer in Dutch, this is not some rant about English-uber-alles, I think people should preserve their culture through language. When I go to another country I don't mind if no one speaks my language. It is always possible to make oneself understood. It forces you to pay greater attention to people. I think of Marco Polo traveling the spice route through a myriad of established, exotic cultures; the respect and wonder he showed their customs. He didn't have a phrase book. He didn't eat at the local McDuce's pizzeria everywhere he went. So, to give credit where due, the Dutch speak English better than the Germans, the French, and the English. And they are a handsome race.



What's up with all these Russian whores everywhere? They had them in Cambodia, Thailand, Hong Kong, Zwolle...Isn't it enough that Amerika won the cold war, they also have to turn all russian women into sex slaves? How proud to be a Russian today: dad's a drunk, mom works at McDonalds, sis is a whore, little boris is a thug, gramma and gramps are in the street, and I'm in the Mafia...Well I haven't been to Russia yet, but it sounds pretty bad. I'm sure I'll have something to say about the French when I get there. I've been boycotting French wine for a while now because of their killing of a photographer on the Greenpeace boat that their spies blew up in New Zealand.


O.K., enough of that. I'm at a bar called Balls. I think that is because they have pool tables but I'm not sure. The music has turned sour here at Balls. So I'll move on. A bicyclist just rode by singing, "the secret life...of a-ra-bia.." I thought that was amusing. My choice of bars now, just within blocks of my hotel, has dwindled. The last one was packed, no place to sit, a mix of Americans and Dutch but too typical. I walked by the 'Kandinski', which has a nice ring to it, but aside from a few couples necking there was no one there. I chose the place I am now because of the cute bartendress. It is dark with beer stiens and antelope heads on the walls. Full of only self-absorbed Dutch people. Still, it's better than television. It is just after midnight. I will have all day tomorrow to finish my Amsterdam experience.


These fucking French cigarettes suck. Cobblestones are pretty but they wreak hell on my shins. Still, outside of Elsie's, New York, the eCafe, parts of Seattle, San Francisco and LA, Amerika blows compared to Holland. The Dutch do have that annoying throat-clearing conflux of syllables when they speak their own language. I'll have to recommend this bar, if I ever figure out what it's called. It gives a realistic impression of Dutch life. The average Dutchman wears either a windbreaker or a stylish KGB-style leather jacket, wide-collar shirt, and jeans. The women wear short skirts with black stockings, cable turtleneck sweaters. I'm wearing my new gaberdine overcoat, blue shirt, black sweatshirt, black jeans, scarf and Vans. My black-dyed hair is usually standing on end from sleeping on the train or too small a bed. I'll have one more smoke then go back to the hotel.


I was thinking before I left on this trip that I needed to live more to write more and to find a quiet place, free of distractions where I could commit it all to paper, but I haven't really done anything. It is good to write this journal because it is clearing the cobwebs out of my head - but I need to spend some serious time putting it together in a readable format. And I need to write a sensible story involving my dreams and ambitions. Perhaps in this journal I should concentrate less on my comings and goings and more on the atmosphere of places I am. Aside from my asides I have skipped a lot of the visual, tactile details of this trip. The piss smell of the London tube for example. I said this cafe was dark; bars in Holland are called 'brown cafes' because the centuries of tobacco smoke have turned the walls brown. I haven't met anyone who doesn't smoke. Sitting at Top's internet cafe I could taste the second hand hash smoke. So sweet smelling. Luckily, at the time I still had some Exports. I'd rather smoke hash than these shitty french cigarettes.

sometime later

There are similarities in Steve Erickson's stories, particularly his very autobiographical 'Amnesiascope', to my own untold stories and dreams. His obsession with a girl he calls Sally is so similar to my feelings towards Sophie. Each of his previous books have in some way focused on his relation to her. Of equal importance is his respect for the meaning of dreams - not necessarily that his or mine mean anything or are precognitive but he gives their mystery the deference deserved. His stories interweave dreams and a dreamlike reality and are propelled by the passions of very real characters. The best writers I can think of use similar techniques - essentially they are driven to find the truth of consciousness using self-perception and unconscious archetypes. Thomas Pynchon, Lawrence Durrell, Henry Miller, Phillip K. Dick, Samuel Delany, Ursurla K. LeGuin, Martin Amis, Steve Erickson, Jonathan Lethem...that's all that come to mind at the moment. This is an aside but Erickson mentions one of my favorite movies, "In a Lonely Place" in Amnesiascope. It stars Humphrey Bogart as an alcoholic screenwriter accused of murder. Very intense depiction of writer's block. Another great movie few people have ever heard of is "Cry of the Penguins" starring a youthful John Hurt.



I am sitting here in the Lizard Lounge in Le Marais a few blocks from my hotel, the Grand Hotel Mahler. I had a lovely dinner; poulet citron, and was pleased to find it full of and run by americans ( the lounge not my chicken). Now they are playing Portishead so I decided to stay and drink.