A podcast about books & life — not necessarily in that order
According to this article, the police have foiled a plot to blow up the Red Light district here in Amsterdam:
Muslim extremists, the paper said, were allegedly furious at . . . the lack of morals in the prostitution zone.
I’d better go check it out to make sure it’s alright. Back soon.
So I took a train to Amsterdam this morning, where I would rendezvous with some foreign investment personnel and interview some pharma people for a possible article. I booked a 30-euro ticket last night for a 2.5-hour trip from Brussels to central station (with that all-important stop in Antwerp).
Half the seats on the trains face “forward’ and the other face “backward,” so that 50% face forward either direction the car is traveling. So I sat in the middle row, with a set of seats facing me, so that I’d have more leg room than in a seat that faces the back of another row.
Pretty empty train; comfyish seat. The guy in the row behind me spilled his coffee, but I noticed in time and lifted my bag from the floor so it wouldn’t get wet.
Two stops into the trip, leaving Brussels, a bunch of passengers boarded. This included pair of Thai women with fake boobs and rock-hard bodies. They decided to sit in the two seats facing me, and began groping each other. I smiled, laughed, went back to reading Stephenson and listening to the iPod. They kept trying to catch my eye, every time that I looked up to check out the landscape. (For the record, I got to see the sun for a 2-minute stretch outside of Brussels. This marks the first time since Saturday that I’ve seen the sun. I’d go on a kill-spree if I had to live with that weather.)
The women continued to flirt with each other and stare at me, which made me laugh. Everytime a man would walk through our car, they’d do the same thing.
At Rotterdam, they got off the train, and the football fans (Island Defenders) who had boarded a few stops earlier congregated in my row, so they could all hang out, facing each other, and drink some beers.
Oh, not just drink some beers. One of them also broke out a bag of weed and started rolling a massive joint; he was only stopped from lighting up when one of his compatriots pointed to the “no smoking” sign on the window.
So that was my morning: Thai prostitutes and soccer fans rolling a bone on the commuter train. It’s going to be an interesting two days . . .
At the conference on Wednesday, I passed by a small group of attendees from the Ukraine. We all have our nationalities listed on our name badges. Even if they don’t get our names right (my press badge read “Mrs G Roth”), they always get our countries right.
There were two men and one woman. The men wore orange handkerchiefs in the breast pockets of their jackets. The woman wore an orange scarf. My publisher didn’t notice, since a lot of our concentration at trade shows is devoted to identifying which celebrities the various attendees look like. (I pointed out an Indian version of Uncle Junior today, to much praise.)
But I noticed, and I thought about the protests in the Ukraine, the loss of face Putin’s suffering, the desperation of the Kremlin to resort to such heavy-handedness as poisoning the opposition candidate. This morning (Thursday) at our booth, I noticed a length of orange ribbon that was used to tie a bow on the complimentary box of Leonidas chocolates that all the exhibitors received.
I went to our next-booth neighbors to borrow scissors (can’t really take those on a plane), and cut a shorter length. Using a safety pin from a badge-holder, I fashioned an orange ribbon for my lapel.
My publishers and my fellow editor goofed on me for it. Which is fine. They have families and more imminent concerns than I do.
* * *
I took some pictures on Thursday, my last night in Brussels.
These first two are of the massive main hall of the conference. The interesting thing about this big-ass building is that the fog here is SO thick that I couldn’t see this place from 30 feet away. No shit. Every day here has been cold and misty, but on two of the mornings, the fog went to insane proportions.
There’s also this giant molecule-edifice nearby, a remnant of the 1958 World’s Fair. But I couldn’t see that either, due to this ridiculous fog. I was surprised on Tuesday evening, when we left the show, to see both the molecule and the huge art-deco building in front of me.
Rumor has it that there was actually sunlight for a few minutes yesterday, but I don’t believe it.
Like I said, Thursday was my last night in Brussels. So, in my secret identity as Captain Excitement, I visited the Tintin store to get a couple of presents for friends, then hopped a subway line to get to this distant station in which, according to my guidebook, Tintin cartoonist Hergé painted long murals along the subway walls.
So, yes, I took a trip to a subway terminal and took some pictures. Here are the results, because you’re special.
My photos were only part of one wall. The whole motif is a parade of Tintin scenes. Picture 1 is the front of the parade. The other wall was obscured by my subway, so you’ll have to come out here yourself and take it in sometime.
That’s enough of Brussels, cold and damp as it is. I’m headed out to Amsterdam, where I hope to provide more entertaining pictures (but not get stabbed to death in the attempt).
That cathedral I mentioned a few days ago? It really does look better at night.
I took a couple more pictures of the Christmas setup at Grand’ Place on Wednesday. My publisher, associate publisher and I took our European sales rep out for dinner near there, and meandered around in the cold after (whence the following pictures). The rep, from Switzerland, had no idea how to deal with the dynamic that’s developed among the three of us in the past five years.
Of course, there are times when we don’t know how to deal with that dynamic, either. Which is what makes it dynamic, I guess.
On our way out of the restaurant (Aux Armes des Bruxelles) that evening, the rep, who’s from Switzerland, pulled me aside and quietly asked, “So, were the three of you for push or carry?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know: push or carry?”
I pondered the metaphorical implications of that question, thinking it was some sort of referendum on welfare reform, before it hit me: “You mean Bush or Kerry?”
Sigh.
In the past few days, as I’ve witnessed the decimating effects of the weak dollar on my travel budget, I’ve developed a theory: Pres. Bush doesn’t want a weak dollar because it spurs U.S. exports. He wants a weak dollar because it makes it tougher for Americans to visit Europe. It all makes sense now (unless he actually wants a weak dollar so as to get more Europeans to visit the U.S., in which case my wacky psychologizing is out the window).
Anyway, happy Chanukkah to the Jews in the audience. I’m headed to Amsterdam tomorrow morning (Friday), but I have some neat pix from Thursday to process and post. You’ll be sorry . . .
I’m starting to think I’ve seen too many European cities lately. I realized today that I may’ve reached a point where I’ve gotta cut back on the Euro-travel, and find other places to go. I’m giving myself the benefit of the doubt, assuming that it’s more a function of work-stress, travel-aggravation, the cold, overcast weather, and general exhaustion, that’s left me walking around this city like a shadow. Or like it’s the shadow.
I try to find little differences in the cities, how this place differs from Stockholm and Copenhagen, Paris and Milan. Unfortunately, the weather’s a big factor in how I perceive this place. Everyone’s bundled, hustling. I can’t tell if that’s just a function of weather, or if there tends to be a lot of hurrying in this city because of its business-status.
I’ve seen more bookstores for children than bookstores for adults, and it makes me wonder if there’s a “child-friendliness” to this city.
Just a word of advice: Never go to an Internet cafe in an Arab quarter, because you don’t want to look over at someone else’s screen and notice that he’s Google-up images of suicide-bomb attacks. I’m just sayin’, is all.
They sell Cherry Coke in these thin, tall cans, like Red Bull. They’re so cute.
There may be an inferiority complex among the bandes desinees sellers, as regards Parisian BD stores.
I’ve been pretty enervated this whole trip, but I had some wonderful moments in the evening. Here are some pix from the day, with a little commentary.
My conference starts tomorrow, so I probably won’t get to write more for a little while.
I’m a Jew, and the holidays don’t mean all that much to me, but I was affected by the sight of the trees, the lights, the soundtrack of gently laughing children, and all the people milling around. It was otherworldly to me.
It made me happy that I came here, despite this burned-out state of mine.
The Gil Roth World Tour keeps on rolling! I landed in Brussels this morning for the CPhI/ICSE conference, discovered that my hotel (Residence Florence) isn’t a full-service establishment, and had no way to check in. Since the conference is pretty big, almost all the hotels are booked up starting tomorrow, so I couldn’t make any alternative arrangements. Fortunately, there was a room available at the NH City Center, where I’m staying tonight. And my original hotel, after a couple of curt phone calls, will have someone on hand tomorrow to check me in.
Getting to the hotel, groggy from another trans-Atlantic trip (fourth in 5 months), and finding that I was locked out, was a downer, esp. as it was 9am on a Sunday morning, cold and damp. And I was still a little rubbery from the vicodin I took to mellow out on the flight.
On the plus side, I went to a little hotel down the street from my original one (the Agenda Louise), and explained my plight to the girl at the front desk. I walked in bedraggled, unshaven, etc., and said, “This is going to start with a story. There’s always a story.” I told it.
She followed it pretty well, and helped make a few phone calls to the Residence for me, in hopes of getting me into my original destination. That was fruitless, but she was willing to let me stow my luggage for a few hours, while I looked for a place to stay (her hotel was booked).
She also offered me some coffee in the breakfast room, which I took her up on. Then, while I sat with my coffee and formulated how I’d find another place in the general area, she walked up to my table and whispered, “You can use a room here till noon. I’ll give you a key.” And so she did.
I was immensely gratified by her kindness. I only needed the room for a few minutes, to shower, shave, and change, but I was amazed at how forthcoming she was with help for a pretty natty-looking stranger with a dodgy story about not having a hotel. I’d have been happy enough if they just held onto my luggage while I scouted out other hotels.
There’s not much point or punchline to this story. It was just awfully nice of someone to help me out like that.
It looks like the weather’s going to be pretty blah while I’m here, but I’ll try to take and post some good pix.
Also, I’ll be spending next weekend in Amsterdam, where I’m really hoping that people are just as kind as the girl at the Agenda Louise.
A year ago today, I embarked on a 15-day trip to New Zealand (click over to the 11/03 and 12/03 archives for the wacky details). At the time, I was struggling pretty badly with a broken heart. During my two weeks on the other side of the planet, I discovered how the memory of joy and love can make a person whole. Before then, I’d always been the type to fixate on the past, on absent loves and blown chances. But 32 years of looking back was giving me a crick in my neck.
So, for two weeks, I got to rebuild love without having to center it on another person. It helped that I was in a different world, doing crazy-ass things — jetboating through a river canyon, helicoptering onto a glacier, table-dancing to AC/DC’s Thunderstruck, taking The Leap off a 160-foot platform with a rubber band attached to my chest, drinking Flatliners with Australians — that I never would’ve done in my familiar environment. Since then, just about every day’s been a wonder, a constant miracle.
After re-finding love in myself, I found it in someone else.
I’ve made great friends (but seem to have lost some others).
I’ve seen more of the country and the world than I expected to in the year since that trip: Las Vegas, Charleston, Orlando, Annapolis, Boston, the San Francisco-San Diego drive, Budapest, Stockholm, Copenhagen, London, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and numerous trips to NYC, with Brussels and Amsterdam coming up next month. Sometimes the travel wears me down, but I’ll take it over sitting at home week after week.
Sorry to sound all boring and unsnarky. The anniversary of the trip (which was really the first trip I ever took that didn’t involve family, friends, or work) got me thinking about all that joy, so I figured I’d share it a little.
Drink a Flatliner for me this weekend.
On second thought, don’t; you’ll just curse my name for the rest of the week.
Today, I had time to go over some maps and figure out some landmarks, before setting out. I love to just go walking in cities. I must make sure to thank my publisher for turning me on to Rockport DresSports, which are the comfiest dress shoes I’ve ever owned.
Anyway, I looked at the tourist maps over breakfast, and re-traced some of yesterday’s steps. At some points, it felt like the old days of the internet, when you’d download an image and it’d show up rough at first, then increase in resolution as more data came through. Yesterday was a rough sketch of this part of the city. It turned out I’d passed a lot of things that I simply wouldn’t have found without this map (like the Jewish Museum, below).
The weather was also beautiful, which improved my mood a little. And I had a conversation with a clerk at that museum, which helped me talk out some of my impressions of the city, and how it differs from other places I’ve been. Conversation (and it really is two-sided, despite what you readers who’ve actually spoken to me might think) is important to me. “Talkin’: it fixes things,” as Tony Soprano once said.
Here are a ton of pix:
Rosenborg castle, where they keep the crown jewels.
The Danish National Gallery. Unfortunately, the Turner exhibition doesn’t open till tomorrow. Grr.
I love the color of these houses. Dunno what it is. I might paint my guest room in those shades this fall. Turns out that there are rows upon rows of houses like this. They’re so darn old, it’s tough to imagine them being right in the middle of the city. I’m not sure if the scale is conveyed through the two pictures, but there’s no way on earth I could walk through any of the doors without seriously slouching, and I’m 6’1″. So it sorta made me wonder about the ability to keep a city’s history firmly in place, and how difficult it makes modernization. And it made me wonder if modernization is necessary for everyone. And that would be me on vacation, thanks.
Saint Paul’s church. I just liked the color against the sky. It’s really a beautiful day: mid-60s, nice breeze, lots of sun. I’m pretty happy.
The entry to a military garrison called Kastelet (might be a generic name for garrisons). It’s an island base, still functioning.
A monument to the Danish soldiers who died in World War II.
Just a picture near the entrance to the base. I liked the stillness of the water, and the reflection of the grass hill above it. I was hoping it’d mirror well, but the breeze nixed that plan. I still think it’s a nice photo.
Evidently, the little mermaid was not invented by Disney.
Amalienborg, the winter home of the royal family. It consists of four palaces surrounding a square. Here’s another pic of it. It’s got some history.
Frederick’s church, as seen from Amalienborg, and closer up.
The fountain at the Royal Library (Bibliotek, okay?). I like the way the drops are caught in the light. Same shit, different angle.
The doorway to the Jewish Museum. The museum is designed by Daniel Liebeskind, the architect whose plan will be (mostly) followed for the new building on Ground Zero in NYC. It’s a neat museum, explaining the history of Jews in Denmark. I remember hearing years ago that they helped their Jewish population out during the war, but I didn’t know how extensive it was.
Evidently, more than 7,000 Jews got to safety in Sweden after the Germans decided to implement their Final Solution in Denmark, and less than 500 were sent to camps (85% of whom survived to return to Denmark). There’s a little theater where they show short movies about the history of the Jews here, the museum, and Liebeskind’s design. One explained the history of the immigration and acceptance of Jews in Danish culture. By the 19th century, they were pretty well assimilated into Denmark.
But then the Russian pogroms came, and thousands of Jews fled Russia. Well, a lot of them settled in Copenhagen, and were pretty resented. According to the video, the assimilated Jews were taken aback by a collection of refugees who were socialists, Zionists, or hyper-orthdox. And I have to admit, it struck me as sorta comic. I mean, here are these people whose families have spent 200+ years working out their relationship with a country, finding freedoms they really didn’t have in many other European countries. So they’ve assimilated. I’m not sure how observant these Jews were, but they seemed pretty comfortable in the culture.
Then you’ve got this wave of immigrants showing up, spouting any one of three very discordant things (the aforementioned socialism, Zionism or orthodoxy), throwing the status of “normal” Jews into question. As one of the figures quoted in the video said, “Before you got here, we were Danes with a Mosaic faith. Now we’re Jews.”
Oy.
After the museum, I started walking home. I passed over Holmen’s canal, and really liked the composition of colors.
This shot is from the bridge that you see in the last pic, and the archway leads to the Parliament building.
And that’s when David Byrne sings, “I’m tired of traveling / I want to be somewhere.”
On Tuesday, I made a comment to my PR guide/liaison/contact that it’s a pity I won’t actually get to see Copenhagen during this trip, as I’d be getting in around 7pm on Wednesday night, and departing 7am Thursday morning.
I discovered that different cultures have different ideas of polite conversation. My idle musings were translated as, “Make it so!” and, on Wednesday morning, I was told that my trip had been rescheduled, and that I’ll now depart Copenhagen on Saturday morning, so I have Thursday and Friday to spend here.
On the downside, I didn’t pick up a guidebook for Copenhagen, so I’ve been meandering around without a map all day. As a result, I don’t know the context of most of the buildings and sights that I’ve photographed (see links below).
In fact, I’m finding this city very weird. I’m trying to figure out how much of the weirdness is a result of my not knowing anything about it, and how much is intrinsic. What I mean is, the city (as I’ve wandered through it) doesn’t resonate with me. It has plenty of “old world charm” and architecture, but there doesn’t seem to be any aspect that jumps out and sez, “This is Copenhagen, bitch!” Stockholm at least had all sorts of neat design-touches, sorta evoking the future even when surrounded by the aforementioned “old world charm.” But Copenhagen, at least, this part of it, is very much about the fancy retail shops.
With Budapest, there was the tension between the old buildings and the ugly-ass Communist-era stuff, as well as that overwhelming weight of history. Here, it’s more about the human culture (not the static aspects of the cityscape), the fashion, the beautiful women (the guys make me feel pretty inadequate, by the way), the ubiquity of bicycles, the everyday mysteries of people walking down the street. I guess the problem is that I’m here on my own, and English-speaking tourists aren’t as much a rarity as they were in Budapest. With no opportunity to talk this strangeness out with anyone, I’m left with you, dear reader.
If I was a different man, I guess I’d be scoping out the club scene, or sitting outside in a bar/café, getting schnookered and starting conversations with people, in my broad American accent. Instead, I have some virtual memories: girls bicycling in 3-inch heels; black birds with white wingtips; Swedes saying, “Hey!” to greet each other on the phone; a teenager with a “Kurdistan national soccer team” T-shirt; echoes of church-bells; tamper-seals on the bottled drinks not breaking off, the way they do in America, but remaining partly attached to the cap; a kiosk with stacks of Belgian waffles; the thin power-lines strung overhead, streetlights suspended from them. There are a million more of these, of course, but there’s never enough time to write them all down.
Shwarma Police
One more thing: Any idea why there are so many kebab places in Europe? I’ve seen a ton of them in both cities, and my hotel room in Paris (Oct. 2002) was on a street (Rue De La Harpe) which included seventeen kebab joints! I know there are a lot of mid-eastern and Turkish immigrants, but it’s pretty weird, I have to say. And I wanted to use the pun in the header above . . .
Other Stuff
I’m sorta glad that, between this trip and July’s vacation in Budapest, I’ll manage to miss both parties’ political conventions. However, I’m still keeping in touch with the news at home, and this item scares me shitless.
This column in WSJ Europe about the Islamic Arab world’s inaction at the atrocities in Darfur is pretty good. I’m convinced the writer’s using a pen name (Leon de Winter? That’s almost as good as Norm D. Plume), but he makes some good observations about the compulsive need to scapegoat in absolutely cosmic ways.
Cope Dip
Here are some pix:
People sitting at a fountain.
I wish I’d picked up a guidebook. This square’s a nice meeting place, it seems.
Contrary to their jerseys, these people are not Brazilian. I have no idea what they were doing. Earlier, I saw a bunch of other people in a circle, singing some rousing thing in French. It’s not World Cup time, so this is completely flummoxing me.
Some pictures are better left captionless.
I liked the color of the buildings, here by the water.
“You look like the piss boy!” Okay, I’ve got an infantile sense of humor.
Some boats, some water.
Sure wish I had that guide book. Sigh . . .
See what I mean?
The spires are strange to me. A lot of them have those squashed, oval toroids, rather than the long vertical lines I’m used to seeing. I’m not sure what influence that’s supposed to demonstrate.
I mean, this spire’s a corkscrew, and I can’t remember noticing anything like that (not that I pay TOO much attention to this stuff).
Lots of copper roofs, as you’ve probably noticed.
That corkscrew spire again. Hmm.
I think this is some parliamentary building, but it’s probably a royal palace, so I hope I don’t make any royalty mad. This country and Sweden both kept their monarchies, and it seems they take it all pretty seriously. Did I mention how glad I am to be missing both political parties’ conventions?
Around the corner from the last pic. It’s something related to King Christian VI, according to the inscription over the door. Given that the second statue from the left is Athena/Minerva, maybe it’s a defense ministry or justice hall.
The Thorvaldsen Museum, which houses sculptures (according to the website) by the eponymous sculptor. He evidently raked in enough dosh from this occupation to finance building the museum, back in 1838-1848
I thought it was a nice shot. However, you may be able to tell that I took the picture from the middle of the street, which is not a smart idea. Danes (I could call them Danishes, but that wouldn’t be nice) seem very uptight about crossing the street against the light, even if there are no cars in sight. The Swedes, on the other hand, were more prone to barging through intersections, at least in Stockholm.
“Let’s go (oh-oh-oh) Glyptotek (uh-huh)!” Okay, so it’s a reference from a bad U2 record. Here’s the Glyptotek, a sculpture museum (under renovation) built by the guy who started Carlsberg beer, “probably the best beer in the world.” Seeing the logo everywhere around here reminds me of a guy on the New Zealand trip I took last year, Stuart. He wore a Liverpool football jersey (I mean, “soccer jersey”), which features the Carlsberg logo. I goofed on Stuart somewhat severely, but that sonofabitch had much bigger balls than I did, making a bungee-jump about 3 times higher than the one I made. And he did it for charity.
An entrance to Tivoli , a pretty famous amusement park / garden / etc.
Another entrance to Tivoli. I figure I’ll go in tomorrow and see what it’s like (no point doing EVERYTHING today).
Additional joke: What? No pearl necklace?
I’m just not in much of a writing mood. I’m enjoying Stockholm (on to Lund/Malmo tomorrow, before crossing the border to Copenhagen), but interviewing all these people is kinda running me down.
Took some pix this morning, but they didn’t come out great. So I put some jokes together instead.
I guess the problem is, the big picture of Stockholm is sorta old-countryish, but the beauty of it is in the little touches, in the way that crazy design sense plays itself out all over the darn place. Like in this lamp on my night-stand, which I thought was askew first, but turned out to make a perfect cone of light on my book. I wish I was here on vacation, because I’d ramble on for hours.
Anyway, here are some other pix:
The university building that houses the bioprocessing group that I interviewed this morning.
An intersection.
Didn’t Tim Duncan foul out of the Olympics because of one of these?
With Sly & Robbie?
I was very disappointed not to find a Randy Moss jersey in here.
