A final Netherlands – Belgium vacation mash-up

It’s been two weeks since I returned from Amsterdam, The Netherlands, and Belgium. If you’ve read any of the preceeding posts (about 9 so far I think) about the trip, thank you.

This will be my final post, with a melange of images that give you a taste of the many places I visited … some of which I haven’t mentioned yet.

(The blogging about the trip begins with the post “Going Dutch” and adds from there – you can also find them if you search my “Travel” tag.)

Boat making its way on a Brugge canal

Travel Tip: Brugge is beautiful, and worth seeing as a day trip. Stay in Gent, Belgium and travel to Brugge for an afternoon.

The Delft town square

The other side of the main square in Delft is this magnificent church

Canal porn – Another tourist taking a canal beauty shot – Delft

Travel Tip: The three images above show you everything you would want see in Delft, in my opinion. I suggest you go elsewhere to spend your limited travel time and budget.

Stitched sculpture of a woman – SMAK Contemporary Art

Travel Tip: And when you go to Gent, if you like contemporary art even a little bit, you would do well to spend an afternoon at SMAK, the Contemporary Art Museum.

Detail – stitched sculpture

Bicycle sculpture – SMAK

Canal in Amsterdam

Don’t get me wrong (from my previous blog posts, I mean) Amsterdam has it’s charms. When the sun peeks out from the clouds, and a lone boat sails down yet another picturesque canal in the center of the city, you could come to like the place.

Me taking a photo of tourists taking a photo of themselves in Rembrandt Square – Amsterdam

Yeah, the place is over run with tourists but what can you do but go with the flow? After all, I was one of them.

Detail of something I liked at the Rijksmuseum

And the art is pretty cool, no matter which museums you like best.

Writer sculpture – Eye Film Institute Amsterdam

Despite all of my experiences, I still found it hard to encapsulate them into blog posts. There was so much to write about, and I didn’t even realize it until I got home.

View from top floor of the Amsterdam library

Top Secret Travel Tip: This is the best view you can get in the city of Amsterdam. Behind Centraal Station, you can take a free ferry across the water. Find the Amsterdam Public Library, and go to the 7th Floor, which is their EXCELLENT restaurant. Go to the outside deck, and snap a couple of incredible shots of the city, then go back inside and get one of the most reasonbly priced, delicious lunches you’re going to find.

Worn Out – Van Gogh sketch

When it was time to leave, I was ready to come home to New York City… still the best city on the planet.

Art in Amsterdam – Contemporary and Classic

Tons of dilapidated tourist bicycles behind Central Station

As a blogger, it’s up to me to decide what images to show you of a place I visit. If I show you a romanticized pic of the perfect bicycle alongside a canal on a sunny day, with the reflection of a bridge mirrored in the water you’d get a “travel-porn” view of Amsterdam.

But that wasn’t my experience, so that’s not what I am going to show.

These images are how I saw bicycles in Amsterdam. They abound by the hundreds, most of them homely and half-broke, locked up with thick metal chains, leaning against buildings, or bound to fences or ugly concrete pillars beside the canals. They are an eyesore; the city is over-run with them.

More bicycles leaning against a building

Art can be like that too. We have expectations of art. We want it to deliver a certain viewing experience. In many cases we romanticize art, particularly classical art.

For instance, when you are in Amsterdam and you go to any of the major museums, you will see the “Dutch Masters.” It’s easy to look at these images and settle back into your chair at your computer desk (unless you are looking at this screen on a tablet, or a cell phone I suppose) and say to yourself, Ah, yes, these are the paintings a tourist would see in Amsterdam. How beautiful.

It requires no thinking, it is a passive viewing experience.

So when we think of famous artists from the Netherlands, we’d call to mind Van Gogh:

Van Gogh self portrait – Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam

or a lovely Vermeer:

Vermeer’s The Milkmaod – Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

or perhaps Rembrandt:

Rembrandt at the Rijksmuseum

I’m not criticizing this art. I’m not suggesting these artworks aren’t worth seeing, but I am saying a viewer will not feel challenged when you look at these works. You will see exactly what you expect.

So, I’d prefer not to just highlight these conventional images, and talk a little bit about images that aren’t as expected.

The original rock and roll smoking skeleton? Maybe. It’s a Van Gogh.

Unfortunately I will be unable to show you photos of the art made an impression on me because I was not allowed to take photographs at FOAM - the contemporary museum of photography. I also forgot to take a photograph of “W139: a contemporary art space” and the current work there called “On Fresh Soil.”

Fortunately for you dear reader, I am a writer – not a professional artist – so I can share what I observed in words and you will come up with your own imagined view of what I saw.

*          *          *

At FOAM, I saw a large exhibition of the works of Stephen Gill. The show is entitled “Best Before End.” This show will be on view at FOAM from May 17th thru July 14th 2013.

Here is an excerpt of the show’s description by the museum’s curators:  “The exhibition Best Before End incorporates a number of photographic series Gill made in and around the London borough of Hackney over the past 14 years. … Gill made various attempts to jump outside the technical boundaries that photography imposed. … His processes include burying photographs, making exuberant flower collages, places objects inside the camera so that their traces could be encapsulated within the film emulsion.”

One interesting technique Gill used was adding colored energy drinks to his film and the processed photograph would have a large orange, red or other color “splotch” in places on the finished print.

The content of Gill’s show isn’t always as fascinating as his techniques though. One series of a dozen photos was images of different individuals sitting on a train looking out the window. Another series was old women who used shopping carts and the images were centered on the woman with the shopping cart, and not much else in the image. Still another series was different pieces of concrete sitting in the center of the image, with no discernable background.

However, there were other images that strived toward a larger narrative. My favorite piece in the show was a small photo of a field of cone flowers with a yellow base to the flower, graduating to reddish orange on top in the foreground… in the background, were a series of industrial smokestacks, the top portion of which were safety yellow – but processed to look similar in color to the flowers.

Another interesting part of the exhibit was a dozen works on paper – not photos. Each paper had a smashed purplish blue splotch in the center. The contents of these artworks were, according to the description, “blueberry, hammer, paper.” The description of these works actually said “pathetic attempt to capture” … and I think it said something like the essence of that place at a particular time. But it’s a good challenge to a viewer at a photography exhibition, in my opinion.

There were several other galleries with other photographic works on display. The museum is not large, and depending on how you linger over particular exhibits, you can see it in an hour or hour and a half. Still, I found it worthwhile.

*          *          *

Travel Tip: If you want to purchase some decorative street art from local artists (tourist stuff) … you can stop by the “Art Plein Spui” on Sundays only, in the Spui district. There’s a little something for everybody: landscapes, nudes, abstract, a bit of sculpture … all while being serenaded by a harp player accompanied by a violinist.

Entrance to Art Plein Spui

Artists ready to meet the day’s tourists at Art Plein Spui

*          *          *

Finally, I didn’t have nearly enough time – or map sense – to find out what the contemporary art scene was like in Amsterdam. There was only one ground-breaking space (literally) that I saw, at W139.

W139 is a pseudo-warehouse looking space, with high ceilings, although accessible at street level. When I visited, W139 had “broken ground” by pulling a small tractor (yes, a farm tractor) into the building to plough a “furrow” into the blacktop macadam they had laid over a concrete floor years ago. The artists collective who run the space decided they are going to remove this blacktop surface, and they had a groundbreaking ceremony where the tractor did its bit to cut into the floor.

Unfortunately I wasn’t there to see that. I saw the aftermath… a tractor parked in the center of the space, behind the tractor are pieces of blacktop thrown to both sides of this “furrow” and the rest of the space looks like (and is) an unfinished construction zone.

The folks at W139 present this as an artwork in progress, and that is what’s on view. They are calling this exhibition “On Fresh Soil.” Entrance to the space is free.

*          *          *

Just like the random chaos at W139, there is no neat and tidy way to summarize the art I saw in Amsterdam. The museums are the institutional view, the street art is what it is, and the contemporary galleries are mostly unknown to me.

But if you find bicycles to be the moving art of the city of Amsterdam, don’t worry, you’ll see plenty.

In search of Dutch Literature (in English)

When I travel, I look for “local” literature as a way to get a line into the culture of a place. I did the same in Amsterdam, where I went in search of Dutch literature translated into English.

European readers will probably already know this, but Americans might be more surprised to find out: it is very difficult to get contemporary Dutch literature that has been translated into English, even in Amsterdam, the largest city in the Netherlands!

There are an impressive number of bookstores in Amsterdam, and all of them (from what I could tell) are owned and operated independently. Unfortunately, this did not help me find what I was looking for…

I went into one such bookstore, a sizeable space, and asked about contemporary Dutch lit (especially short stories) translated into English. Out of the entire store, I was shown one shelf with 20 books on it.

I was really surprised when the clerk mentioned that only one of the books would be considered contemporary … then he added he didn’t even like the book!

When I asked what authors he would suggest he mentioned only two. I can’t remember the name of the first writer because I later found out he has had none of his works translated into English. The second author mentioned was Arnon Grunberg. Of course the shop had none of Grunberg’s six novels that have been translated into English, which gave me a mini-quest while roaming to other bookstores.

Just around the corner from the first shop I found a place with the sign “Used English Books” hanging from the doorway so I went in and requested Grunberg. Luckily, they had a hard cover copy of one novel: Blue Mondays, Grunberg’s debut novel from when he was 23 years old, a breakout hit in Amsterdam that was soon translated into many languages. I bought it for the bargain price of $7.50 euros.

(Perhaps it is telling to report that after Grunberg’s tremendous success with Blue Mondays, he moved to New York City, where he still lives two decades later.)

*           *           *

During the course of the remainder of my trip, I read Blue Mondays. The book is set in Amsterdam. The novel’s main character is named……… Arnon Grunberg. This is unusual, having an author write a work of fiction where the main character shares the same name. Of course it leads us to wonder how much of the material from the novel is autobiographical.

The book is about a young man named Arnon Grunberg, a Jewish guy living in Amsterdam. The loosely written story is about his relationship with his crazy parents as well as his obsession with women, and particularly with the prostitutes he starts seeing regularly as the novel progresses.

If there is a dark, seedy underbelly to Amsterdam (and I can easily believe there is) it’s likely that Grunberg has captured it. He never once refers to the Red Light District, and roams all over the city to various cafes and ‘houses’ where he meets the prostitutes.

The novel is not particularly graphic in its depiction of sex, but Grunberg does not shy away from the kind of details that show the human quality of these encounters. So cigarette butts overflowing in ashtrays, the smell of smoke in a woman’s hair, old food left to rot on a table or unwashed dishes are all part of the scene.

I’d recommend the book, it made for an interesting read.

*           *           *

The only other book I could find, when I visited the American Book Center (in the Spui district of Amsterdam) was Joseph Nescio’s Amsterdam Stories.

Again, this was the only book in the entire store written by a Dutch author translated into English. (Of course, if you want English copies of Dan Brown and John Grisham, you’ll find overflowing window displays of paperbacks from these guys and the other names you’d expect.)

Amsterdam Stories is a slim volume written by Nescio over the course of a few decades from 1907 to the 1940′s. Nescio did not produce a lot of literature during his lifetime and was more of a hobbyist (I can’t remember what he did for a living, but he had four children and needed to support his family.)

The most famous story in the book is about “Joppy” (pronounced Yoppy) who is a freeloader. The guy squats at people’s houses, eats their food, drinks their wine, sleeps in their beds, and smokes their cigars.

Nescio’s primary theme is about the passage of time, and his rose-colored-glasses view of what it’s like to be a young man roaming through the Netherlands countryside.

I didn’t enjoy these stories as much as I enjoyed Grunberg’s work, mostly because Grunberg is speaking in a more contemporary voice whereas I felt the Nescio stories are dated.

*           *           *

Incidentally, Grunberg just released a new novel in May this year, called Tirza which was reviewed by the New York Times.  When I was in Schipol Airport, getting ready to leave Amsterdam to come home, I wanted to buy a book for the plane and went into the airport bookstore.

When I asked for Grunberg, the clerk immediately made her way to one of the tables.

“I’ll need it in English,” I said.

“No,” the clerk said, “in that case, we have none.”

The Train, The Train! Transportation Nightmares between Amsterdam and Belgium

A small variety of tram, high speed, and local train tickets needed to get around

Yellow tickets for travel inside the Netherlands; Blue ticket for the Amsterdam tram (24 hr pass); high speed computer print-out ticket for travel from Amsterdam, NL to Brugge, Belgium… the dizzying array of tickets needed to get from place to place was confusing for this traveler.

In Belgium, if you announce to the conductor before you get on the train, you can purchase your ticket on the train. In the Netherlands, if you attempt that move, you’ll be asked to pay a $35 euro surcharge for not having your ticket in hand.

What does that really mean? Miss the train sitting on the platform in front of you, go downstairs, wait on line to buy a ticket, then go back up to whatever platform for the next train, wait twenty minutes… did I mention drag your luggage around with you? Yeah, do that too.

And how are you supposed to know all this?

I have no idea.

The three days I decided to roam the countryside by train were a logistical nightmare.

Amsterdam to Brugge, Belgium

The day before I was supposed to leave, I went to buy a ticket at Amsterdam’s Central Station from the company that runs the HiSpeed rail service. I was informed that there were no more seats on the HiSpeed train, and that I would have to take a local train, that would add another 40 minutes to my trip – but – the cost would be half of what I would have paid for HiSpeed service ($43.80 euros vs. $97 euros for HiSpeed.) O-kay…

But, I was told, you have to change trains multiple times. That’s right: there is no train between Amsterdam and Brugge. There is train service, but you have to go from Amsterdam to Rotterdam, then from Rotterdam to Antwerp, and then go from Antwerp to Brugge.

Freaking hell, I thought, but what other choice did I have if I wanted to see picturesque Brugge?

So on the morning of my trip, I got onto the train in Amsterdam as planned. Half-way between Amsterdam and Rotterdam the train broke down. Dead. Stopped in place for more than 40 minutes. During the ticking of the clock, I missed my connection for Rotterdam to Antwerp.

Uh oh.

Skylights above the Antwerp Train Station, upper platforms

 

I could go through the hell I experienced in detail, but I will spare you and tell you this: I had to change trains five times before I finally got to Brugge in the pouring rain. And instead of taking 3 hours, or even 3.5 hours, the trip took me over six hours to get from Amsterdam to Brugge.

You can already guess, correctly, that all that changing of trains, waiting on platforms, purchasing of tickets and transfers and the rest of it… was exhausting. By the time I got to Brugge (in the pouring rain) I had little strength left to see the town. I walked around for two hours in the rain, and then went to my hotel and collapsed.

So much for Brugge. Which is beautiful, by the way, but not a “real town.” I mean to say, Belgians call it an “amusement park” because everything there is geared to tourists. Yes, it’s a Unesco World Heritage Site, and it’s a phenomenal example of medieval architecture and worth seeing. Once.

Travel Tip: Brugge is a very small town, so my recommendation is don’t bother staying there overnight to pay tourist hotel rates and instead stay in Gent and do it as a day trip.

Brugge to Gent

I don’t recall the trip from Brugge to Gent being that arduous, but it was time consuming. You’d think it shouldn’t take a few hours to get to a town that is really close by, but the stuff that takes up your time are all the little tasks you must attend to in order to get where you have to go.

For example, once I got to Gent I had to find out which Tram would get me nearest to my hotel. Then I had to go outside the train station and find an out-building where they sell the tram tickets (harder to find than you might think.) The trams in the Gent station are numbered, but even when you know which one you need, you have to make sure you’re getting on the right one, going in the right direction and you need to know the name of your stop (which they’re going to announce in foreign accent you probably can’t understand.)

So yeah, it took me all morning to get from Brugge to Gent due to all the little things.

Gent to Delft

I had had it by the time I tried to get from Gent to Delft. I had to do the reverse order crap I did before and change trains in Antwerp, then Rotterdam then… somewhere else I can’t remember because there is no direct train from Rotterdam to freaking Delft.

Travel tip: If you are going to see Brugge and Gent, SKIP DELFT. It’s smaller than both of those places, and just as touristy. It’s not worth it, especially when you consider the hassles of getting there by train, which are considerable.

I think I mentioned this in my other post Going Dutch, that it was freezing cold and windy the day I traveled to Delft. What I didn’t add then, but will add now, is that it took me from 9am until 1:30pm to get to my hotel. That just plain pissed me off.

Like in Brugge, between the horrible weather and the ridiculous arduous trip, it knocked me out from enjoying the sights for the most part. I walked around Delft and I’m sure I saw most of it, it’s a tiny place… but the near-gale force winds chased me inside to my hotel.

And finally…

Delft to Amsterdam

Yeah, that’s right… you can’t get to Amsterdam from Delft. You have to go to the Hague, where I did not visit because I was not going to take even one more tram, bus, train or horse drawn carriage ride to ANYwhere by the time I made it to Delft in the middle of the afternoon. So, sorry Hague, I could have spent some tourist dollars there but you’re train system sapped me of my willpower to get to you.

Ironically, and this is ironic to me… the train service between the Hague and Amsterdam is fast and nearly non-stop.

It was a quick and efficient trip.

Too little, too late.

Oh… yeah… the views of the countryside out the train window(s) are pretty. Lots of green space, cows, sheep and not much else.

For hours.

And hours.

Still More Dutch treats: Bourbon St. Blues and Jazz, Amsterdam

The stage set up at Bourbon Street Blues & Jazz Club in Amsterdam

If you’re looking at the photo (above) of the Bourbon Street Blues & Jazz Club in Amsterdam and you’ve noticed a disco ball hanging over the center of the dance floor and wondering, do they really use that thing? The answer is Yes, They Do.

On my last Saturday night in Amsterdam, my wish to hear the blues was finally fulfilled by Reuben and the Jets. That is not a real band name by the way, but those cats played some phenomenal blues anyway. It was a group of four musicians who happened to be available to play together that night and they totally rocked the house.

Reuben (Klebbers) played lead guitar, and the drummer and bass player I had seen play before on a previous night I had stopped in to check out Bourbon St. They also had a French harmonica player, which Reuben admitted to the crowd he just met. But when the four of them put it all together: WOW, they put out a very original set of blues interpretations for the four or so sets I stayed for during that final Saturday night. (I listened to them until the wee hours… 2am!)

During one of the breaks between sets Reuben came down off the stage and I requested “Got My Mojo Workin’” which they played during the next set. He did a call back with the audience that was so much fun, the entire crowd kept singing “got my mojo workin’” calling back to Reuben as he sung his heart out, and then the harp player blew a mean streak on his harmonica. The guy made it sound like a freight train. I was really knocked out by their performance!

Bourbon Street Jazz and Blues Club (Amsterdam) has a “reputation” as being the place where people go late into the night, after they get drunk somewhere else. I can tell you that the crowds at Bourbon St. are larger than those at Alto or Maloe Melo because the place is bigger, and just in front of the stage it’s not uncommon to have a dozen people dancing (oddly, they are usually dancing by themselves… especially the guys.)

But even if the place does get a little rowdy, which it can, it’s still an extremely fun venue. If you show up before 11pm you don’t have to pay a door fee. I don’t know the door fee because I always showed up before 11… before things really got started.

A funny thing about clubs in Amsterdam is that they bill themselves as jazz or blues or whatnot, but they don’t always PLAY jazz or blues – but offer the whatnot (see my post about Maloe Melo). The exception for me was Alto, because they only played jazz when I went, but I was only there twice. (I’m sure it would have been the same if I had made it to Bim Haus, which is the Amsterdam equivalent of Jazz at Lincoln Center and seats 200+. Bim Haus is located behind Central Station, which is sketchy late at night … one reason I decided not to go on my own.)

Anyway, another thing I loved about Bourbon Street was the bartending staff. They were so friendly, bopped along to the music, clapped and sang along and participated in creating a fun vibe. There was one particular bartender, a black guy who wore a bow tie… I wish I had gotten his name, he was so nice to me every time I came in he made me feel particularly welcome.

Bourbon Street Jazz and Blues is located beside a canal, and just around the corner from Alto Jazz Cafe, near the Leidseplein. They are open 7 days a week. I highly recommend this venue, it’s got a large space to spread out, an ample dance floor, rocking bands, and a super friendly staff that adds up to a guaranteed night of musical fun!

More Dutch Treats: Maloe Melo Blues Club, Amsterdam

Maloe Melo is a club famous for showcasing Blues acts in Amsterdam. In fact, it’s known as a hard core Blues joint for blues fans, and regular readers of my blog know how much I love the blues. So there was no way for me to miss Maloe Melo while I was in town!

Finding the club was a challenge. It is tucked in a residential neighborhood, alongside a canal called “Lijnbaans gracht” – the word “gracht” means canal in Dutch. This area gets kinda spooky at night. It’s not a bustling neighborhood; the streets are empty after midnight. It might not be a great idea to go alone, or if you do, have a transportation plan mapped out beforehand.

But, I was so excited to hear blues, and having learned my lesson at Alto Jazz Cafe (where I showed up at 9pm and sat for an hour before the music started…) I found my way to the front door of Maloe Melo at 10pm.

In front of the door, or should I say, blocking the doorway, was a bruiser of a Dutch guy, with mini-mutton chop sideburns, chomping an unlit black cigar. (It turns out this bruiser is a sweetheart…and…the bartender. His name is Patrick. Still, I wouldn’t want to piss him off. )

“Are you open?” I said.

He looked at me and stepped aside, letting me see that the bar behind him was empty.

“Oh! What time does the music start?” I asked.

“Eleven o’clock,” he said in a thick Dutch accent.

“Damn it!” I slipped, I was so surprised. He laughed at that.

I just couldn’t believe I’d been stumped again by showing up an hour early – and on a Tuesday night no less. Amsterdamers must be party animals to start that late during the week, I thought.

“Well, I guess I’m here to keep you company,” I said and flashed him my most charming American tourist smile. He smiled back.

We went inside together.

“Tonight’s my birthday…” I added, “and I really want to hear some blues!” I said, feeling happy at the thought.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, and stepped behind the bar.

I ordered a “Coca Light” (Euro-speak for Diet Coke) and he produced a tiny bottle with about six ounces of soda, like the ones I’d been given at all the cafes.

(Travel Tip: These midget bottles cost between $2-3 euros, typically… somewhere between $2.50-4 US dollars. In all the music clubs I went to there was no drink minimum. No one will bother you if you want to hang out and listen to the music while you nurse a drink.)

I took a moment to look around the bar, which I noticed smelled kind of smoky. Posters for European and American blues festivals and guitar legends plastered the walls and ceiling. An Aunt Jemima bust sat perched behind the teensy “stage” where barely two people could stand, with nowhere to put a drum kit.

The postage stamp sized “stage” in the front bar at Maloe Melo

Hmm, I thought.

“What kind of blues will they play tonight?” I asked the bartender. “Chicago style, country style, something else?”

“The band tonight is really good,” he said, “but they don’t play blues.”

“What?!” I said. “Oh no!”

“They are really good, you’ll like them,” he said.

I nodded, but sighed heavily. No blues at the blues club. I put on the best face I could, and said quietly, “I guess it’s too much to want to hear some Buddy Guy on my birthday…”

He gave me a Cheshire cat smile, a big wide grin, and popped a tape into the bar’s audio system. Buddy Guy belted out “Damn Right I’ve Got the Blues” over the loudspeakers.

I laughed and thanked him; I figured recorded blues on my birthday is better than no blues at all.

And then… the guitar player showed up. He was a petite fellow, very thin, with the worn lines of a rocker who has seen a lot in his years etched on his face. He introduced himself as “Kevin, but I prefer Kev…” with a pronounced British accent, although he told me he’d been living in Amsterdam for decades.

We began to chat, and the bartender mentioned to Kev that it was my birthday… and that I had come to hear blues. Kev told me that he and his two band-mates were going to do some low-key original stuff, no microphones, no drums.

Soon the other two band mates showed up, looking similarly well-worn from the lives they’ve led as experienced musicians. The second guitarist (who was the lead vocalist) was a Dutch guy, who reminded me a lot of Ronny Wood; he wore a black vest with white skulls all over it and beat up sneakers. Then the bassist showed up, and he reminded me of Gene Simmons, with dyed jet black hair in a ponytail, thick lips and olive colored skin. Kev was something of a Mick Jagger type, I’d say.

Unfortunately, as the band began their set-up for the evening, “Ronny Wood” and “Gene Simmons” decided to roll their own cigarettes (big, fat ones) and to smoke (tobacco).

When I asked about it, Kev told me that yes, it’s technically not legal to smoke in bars in Amsterdam, but that some bars have a lenient policy towards smoking (of both cigarettes and pot) and that in Maloe Melo, smoking was tolerated. I wasn’t happy about this development, because I knew my clothes and hair would reek after a few minutes of being in that cloud, but I was there to listen to the band… so I stayed.

At about 11:15pm, the trio began their first set… even though it was still just me and the bartender in the place. They played a personal performance for me for about a half hour. Kev kept saying it was fate that brought me there to hear them on my birthday. Maybe so.

I clapped appreciatively after each song and chatted with the band in between, mostly with Kev, who I think took a liking to me. I say that because when Kev went to the bathroom during one of the breaks, “Ronny Wood” came over to tell me, ‘Kev may look like crap, but he’s a really nice guy.’ That made me laugh, but I knew I wasn’t there to be a groupie for the evening! In any case, all three guys were amiable, but I could tell “Gene Simmons” wasn’t too happy about having an audience of one. I can’t blame him.

I didn’t know any of the tunes they played because they were all originals. The lead singer (“Ronny”), who was also the lyricist, liked to sing about love and romance, chasing girls, good friends, and hanging out with the boys in Amsterdam. All the songs were variations on those themes. “Ronny” and Kev did decent two-part harmonies; it was enjoyable but a bit mellow for me, especially considering I was looking for foot stomping blues.

Eventually other people came in, several who were good friends of the band, and they sat at the table nearest the ‘stage.’ A highlight for me was when one of their friends took out a pair of drum sticks, got up and stood next to me and used the vinyl covered bar stool as a drum and played along with the band on one of their songs. It was a fantastic impromtu performance.

The bar didn’t wind up with more than 20 people in it, but the heavy cloud of smoke hovering below the low ceiling was starting to get to me from both the band and many of the patrons, so I decided to leave after two sets (I heard one song twice, not sure if that was an accident)… around 12:40. I figured I would have to walk back to my hotel because of the time.

I did the proper thing and waited until the end of the set to go, and Kev came over and gave me a big hug and kissed my hand. He wished me a happy birthday again. “Ronny” also shook my hand, as did “Gene.” I was starting to feel like family in there, but it was time to go.

When I got out to the street, I ran into a couple on bicycles chatting under a street light. They were the only people around.

“Which way do I have to walk to get back to Central Station,” I asked them, dreading the long walk back in the dark and too-quiet neighborhood.

“That way,” the guy said, pointing.

The girl looked at me, “But if you hurry, you can probably catch the last tram. It doesn’t leave until 12:45…”

“I thought the last tram was midnight?” I said.

“Yes, the last trams leave Central Station at midnight,” she said, “but they get out here later before they circle back.”

Amsterdam: full of its own mysterious ways.

I quickly thanked them and started running toward the corner. I kept running, hoping that if the tram came down the track, that I would be on it.

When I was three quarters of the way toward the corner, the tram pulled up. I pushed myself to run faster before the tram doors slammed shut.

I flew into the open front door of the tram, breathing hard, but in just enough time to swipe my card, and take a comfy seat back to Central Station.

Blues Play List

It’s about time I posted some links to YouTube videos for some truly fantastic, amazing, mind blowing LIVE BLUES by some of the greats.

Enjoy at your own risk… once you listen to these, you will be addicted to the Blues!

Stevie Ray Vaughan and Albert King – Pride and Joy

Joe Bonamassa, Derek Trucks, Dusty Hill & Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top) – Going Down

BB King, Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton, Jim Vaughn – Rock Me Baby

John Lee Hooker, Eric Clapton, Rolling Stones – Boogie Chillin’

Susan Tedeschi – Back to the River

The Original Blues Master – Robert Johnson – Sweet Home Chicago

Blues Jam Session – Sweet Home Chicago (see if you can name all the musicians!)

Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band – Deja VooDoo

.

All comments welcome!

New Story: Ozone, accepted by Camroc Press Review!

I’m extremely pleased to announce that my short fiction work, Ozone, has been accepted by Barry Basden, the editor of the Camroc Press. This is the very first appearance of any of my work in Camroc, although I’ve been trying for quite some time.

Camroc Press is especially known for intense emotional work, and for me Ozone was an attempt at a level of emotional honesty made public that I find uncomfortable. It was not an easy piece to write, and bit by bit I’m coming to terms with how to “reveal” this part of myself to readers.

Barry has told me the publishing que is backed up about six months, so the publication date on this piece is tbd; it’ll be much later this year. When the piece comes out, I’ll put up a post with the link so you can see what I attempted. In the meantime, a placeholder will go on my Published Stories page as a reminder it’s on the way.

Thanks.

P.S. As a follow up to my previous post, I’m nearly over my second terrible cold in two months, although I admit my appetite hasn’t returned yet… I fly west today and have already packed all my vitamins!

Twice Bitten

A few weeks ago I wrote a post from the road called When the Bug Bites, because I got sick while traveling. This post is called Twice Bitten, because I got another bug… and yes, I can’t believe it, but I’m sick again.

It’s a good thing that I’m at home this time around.

I went to the doctor last Friday for a regular check up, and I was perfectly healthy. The woman a few seats away from me in the waiting room was not healthy, and she contaminated the whole waiting room with her cold / flu virus. As soon as she sat down, I moved away from her… but I didn’t move far enough. Two days later I was really sick, and I’m still sick despite the regimen of zinc, echinacea, vitamins, and water.

I wish doctors would have two waiting rooms instead of one. One should be for healthy patients who are not sick, and then there should be a quarantined area where people who know they are sick should go sit… in an enclosed room. I know that cold germs spread rapidly and it’s extremely hard to contain contamination, but what else can be done? You shouldn’t have to sit next to someone whose face is red and puffy, their nose is running, they sneeze and cough… it’s not fair to everyone else in the office.

.

The thing that happens to me when I’m really sick like this is I get delirious. I ran a fever the first few nights, and the wierdest thoughts float through my head… imagined conversations with people I haven’t spoken to in a while, thoughts that come up from the depths of my psyche, a variety of unbidden images and I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality at certain moments. It’s an “in between” state where the body has taken over everything and does not allow the mind to function in it’s usual way.

It’s very unpleasant to be so incapacitated that I can’t get up out of bed, or only with an extreme level of effort to motivate myself to get a drink of water, or get tissues (the box of tissues is in bed with me now.)

For some part of the time I have been in bed I wondered how I could turn this misfortune into something creative… but the body has been stubbornly refusing to give me relief…

In this brief moment I’m taking out of bed I wanted to say “hi” to everybody, and I’m not going down without a fight, but for right now the cold is winning…

Jr. Mack at Terra Blues!

Sometimes you see live music and you’re so blown away you have to tell everybody.

Tonight was one of those nights.

After having dinner with a friend, I decided to head over to my favorite Blues club in Manhattan (actually, it’s the ONLY Blues club in Manhattan) … Terra Blues. They attract the best local and international talent around, and Jr. Mack and his band proved again tonight why Terra has the stellar reputation it does as a showcase.

Jr. Mack just got back from Amsterdam, he told the crowd, and he said he was a little jet lagged. If this is how he plays when he’s jet lagged, I can’t imagine how he plays fully rested! He and the band repeatedly brought the house down with his renditions of Born Under a Bad Sign, Melissa (he sits in with the Allman Brothers when they come to NYC) and original tunes like I Believe I Need to Make a Change.

Clip of Jr. Mack playing I Believe I Need to Make a Change:

Not only does Mack play the blues, he is also a jazz musician and sprinkled in jazz riffs throughout the night. His band backed him up every time, and the second guitarist (Bobby Bryan) did an amazing job alternating the lead parts with Mack and then singing a few tunes too. The bass and drums were also impeccable.

Oh yeah, did I mention Mack was just nominated for a Grammy? Yep, his album And Still I Rise, with the Heritage Blues Band was nominated for Best Blues Album in 2012. He’s really the real, real deal.

If you’ve never been to Terra Blues and you are in the New York City area and like live Blues, you absolutely must go. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to hear talented guitarists like Jr. Mack wail out the blues with such emotion and force, you can hardly stand up when he’s done.

 

New Story: For Art’s Sake Accepted by Word Riot!

Huzzah!!

My flash fiction work, For Art’s Sake, has just been accepted by Kevin O’Cuinn, fiction editor at Word Riot.

This is a new milestone for me, a third piece of flash being pubbed in the same journal: Woo Hoo! (Deep endebted thankfulness to Kevin, as always.)

The pub date has not yet been determined but when it’s published I’ll let you all know with a joyous announcement and link for your reading pleasure. For now, a placeholder will go on the Published Stories page…

Thanks!

The Turn Around

Right to left, east coast to west, then turn around and come back again…

I’m finally back on the east coast in my beloved New York City. I was supposed to spend two weeks in California, but plans changed and I wound up staying a third week. After two weeks on the west coast I started to feel homesick, and by the end of three weeks I nearly danced onto the plane to get home.

When we landed at Newark airport, and I saw the city in the window, my heart leapt up to meet it.

One thing that’s surprised me is how short term vs. long term memory works as it pertains to my travel schedule. What I mean is… after being away from home for three weeks, it feels much longer. I start to lose my day to day familiarity with the places I haunt regularly when I’m not there.

I know this because when I return home and go to my regular diner, for instance, they seem surprised to see me. “Hi!” they say, “I haven’t seen you in a while!”

Yes, they sense it too. I’ve been gone just long enough to seem really gone, and when I come back, it is surprising and somehow feels new. My first diner meal when I got home? Greek salad with toasted pita. East coast diners know how to do that right.

And on the west coast, I’m developing a set of go-to places too (a survival tactic). I found a diner, well… let’s call it a diner, but it’s a California diner which is not really a diner but it’s as close to a diner as I’ve found out there. It’s got chrome on the outside; inside it has a counter with swivel stools; a dessert case with eclairs the size of your head; and strange low-slung booths covered in vinyl; plastic plants: all the accoutrements of what is known as “diner.” The menu is decidedly west coast though. Most omelettes come with salsa and sour cream, which is just wierd; and the waitresses don’t call you hon. (I hate that!)

Yeah, Silicon Valley is a massive, sprawling suburb. The towns are intersected by large 10 lane freeways and 6-8 lane expressways and busy four lane “local roads.” The traffic there is oppressive. It is not unusual to be completely stopped on a 10 lane freeway, and when traffic begins moving, you’re doing 10 miles an hour for miles and miles. A trip that should take 10 minutes takes 30 during the morning rush hour. (The price of one gallon of regular gas was $4.35 when I left, incidentally.)

Ahh, it’s good to be home. I can jump on the PATH train for 2 bucks and be in New York City within minutes. I can stroll around my Manhattan and enjoy the early signs of Spring arriving (I’m choosing to ignore the weather prediction for light snow showers tomorrow…)

The thing is, I’ve spent this weekend doing a lot of laundry, paying bills and doing my best to catch up on all the tasks, large and small, that need doing but can’t get done if I’m not home.

For example, the handle broke on my heavily abused suitcase when I yanked it off the carousel at Newark baggage claim. So part of my weekend was spent in the search and acquisition of a replacement.

As I brought the luggage to the checkout, I casually mentioned to the cashier that I had just come back from California and the handle broke, so I needed a new bag, yadda yadda yadda.

She said, You were traveling in California? That sounds so glamorous.

That was the word she used. Glamorous. And I said, well, traveling for work isn’t glamorous, trust me.

But it sounds that way to me, she said.

I asked her, Do you have family here?

She tilted her head quizzically. Yes, she said.

Okay, imagine leaving your family for three weeks and living out of a hotel while going to work everyday, I said.

Her brows creased a little, Oh, she said, I guess I see what you mean. That must be kind of hard.

Yeah. That’s what I mean.

And soon I’ll be hitting the road again. And by soon, I mean tomorrow. I’d better enjoy the minutes and hours I have left while I can…

In the meantime, I’ve got to throw the laundry in the dryer………….