After leaving Frederik in Utrecht, I headed up to Amsterdam for a couple of days. Amsterdam is one of my all-time favorite cities. I have been here several times in my life, and always manage to feel at home here. I can easily get around this city as if I’d grown up here. I used to have quite a few friends that live here, but unfortunately, I fell out of touch with most of them over the years, something I regret. A new friend, Linda, who came with Miet to Andiamo back in Utila, lives in Amsterdam. However she was not quite yet back from Guatemala, so I’m sure I will see her on my next swing through later this summer. I nonetheless managed to hang out in town, do a little bit of shopping. More than anything though, just generally hang out and relax, Amsterdam style. Lodging was a bit of a problem, since the town was jammed with tourists and backpackers. I managed to get a bed onboard an old dutch freighter called the “Marietta” in the North Harbor. It had been converted into a funky floating hostel. It proved to be interesting yet comfortable with a good crowd of backpackers. A clean, cheap, place to stay.
Since getting to Europe, I managed to catch up with Nathalie, an ex-girlfriend of mine from about, oh, 18 years ago! Nathalie and I met when she was in Daytona working as an au pair for a Dutch family who lived part-time in the US. I was in the Navy at the time, stationed onboard the Saratoga out of Jacksonville. But I was spending alot of time in Daytona, my hometown (I HATED Jacksonville that much). Nathalie and I met a few times at a local nightspot, and started seeing each other. By the time all was said and done, we had spent almost three years together. I did come to Holland for the first time ever to meet up with Nathalie and her family during that time, and really got to know Holland thanks to her. Her family was incredibly gracious to me during that first stay and I never forgot that.
Nathalie got really homesick, went back to Holland, we fell out of touch, as it often goes. Then out of the blue about 9 or 10 years ago, we regained contact thanks to the net. Over the years since then, we have been in and out of touch sporadically via email.
I figured since I was wandering the continent for the summer, I could at least stop by for a visit. I knew Nathalie was in a longtime relationship, and had a daughter and a stepson. I was really curious to catch up. So after a couple of emails and a couple more phone calls, we managed to get a day nailed down where I can come by her hometown of Veneendaal to meet up. So I grabbed a train to there from Rotterdam.
She was at the train station with Marcel, her beau, when I arrived. She hadn’t changed all that much, I recognized her straight away. It was really good seeing her after all these years. Marcel, a working musician, seemed like a pretty casual, cool guy.
Back at their house, I met her daughter Melody, who is 10, and her stepson, Danny, who is 16. We had a few drinks, talked a lot about everything that’s happened over the years. They also took me over to see her parents, which was really something. Her dad had gone through some pretty serious health problems over the past year, but was doing much better, and he looked really good and fit, which was indeed a relief considering everything he’d gone through. Her mom was as sweet and hospitable as ever.
After having dinner with Nathalie and her family, and then spending a night in Veenendaal at their place, I caught a train to Rotterdam the next morning. I was going there to go hang out with Lotte and Pauline (aka the self-proclaimed “Dutch Bitches”), who were now back from traveling in Central America for about a month. They met me at Rotterdam Central Station. Both looked great and very “Dutch” again. I guess they re-acclimated themselves, and their wardrobes, back to Holland mode. But both insisted that they were not happy to be back. Surely that’s normal after traveling abroad for 8+ months.
It was a bit strange for me though, being back in Rotterdam. See, this is where Mahi and I first lived when we got together almost 15 years ago. After our initial meetings in Rome and Greece, respectively, while we were traveling, I told her I would come to Rotterdam to visit. I was due to pass through Holland before heading off back to the states and St. Thomas, where I was living at the time. It was supposed to be not much more than a week or so long visit, with the hope of seeing each other again sometime in the future. I ended up staying with her in Rotterdam for almost three months before finally having to go back due to being totally broke. We did meet up again in St. Thomas three months later, and got married. Those days in Rotterdam were happy, special times. At least until I had to deal with all the destructive “stuff” that can really spoil or kill even the good memories you wish you can keep good. Well, guess that’s what I had to deal with on this visit to Rotterdam.
It was just strange being back here, where it all began. It felt like just yesterday that we were bopping around town on the bus and the metro. Walking through the Lijnbaan, which is essentially a huge shopping district in the heart of Rotterdam. Walking along the harborfront, hanging out in cafes, drinking beer, and so on. It didn’t help that the first 2 places Lotte and Pauline took me to were places Mahi and I used to go! I guess it was therapeutic, and inevitable that I return here at this still changing, sometimes painful, stage of my life. There was surely alot of pain and funkiness involved in doing so. Just find myself wondering how things turned out the way they did when you think of the wonderful times that preluded. More so when during our “glory days” in Rotterdam, the future looked so very promising and wonderful for us. Guess things aren’t always what they seem.
Ok, enough lamenting…
So Lotte had to go and do a babysitting thing the night I was there, so once the afternoon gathering had to end, it would be just Pauline and me. I got to meet Pauline’s whole family, who invited me to stay at their house that night. Pauline and I then went and got some dinner, have a few drinks, and then go see “War of the Worlds” (I thought it was just “ok”, btw). After the movie, Pauline and I proceeded to hit some local dance spots to get caught up on our crazy dancing. We even found a cool latin club! Things went by so fast, and before we knew it, it was past 4 AM! We walked back to Pauline’s house as the sky got light with dawn.
For my next stop, I really wanted to get to Copenhagen for a few days before heading back to Belgium. I didn’t have to get back to Hasselt until Thursday at the latest to meet up with Mietsie so we can go to Paris. Miet (the other Miet), was due to arrive back in Hasselt that coming Wednesday from Guatemala, and I was invited to her welcome back party. While still at Pauline’s, I desperately tried to find a cheap and fast way to get to Copenhagen to fill in those few days. I couldn’t nail anything down from Pauline’s house on Sunday, so I decided that I would head back to Amsterdam and try from there.
So I said my goodbyes to Pauline and her family, and grabbed a train to Amsterdam Sunday evening. I figured at the least I can look at my options for trains and the Eurolines bus from there on Monday. I got a bed back at the Marietta, the floating hostel.
The next morning, I first tried to line up a Eurolines bus to Copenhagen, then a train. The whole thing turned out to be a fiasco, and not worth the time or the money. Further compounding things was that rooms and hostels in Copenhagen appeared to be pretty booked up, as I couldn’t confirm a single bed online. So I regrettably scrapped my Copenhagen plans, and decided to head back to Belgium a little early so at the very least, I can make Miet’s party 2 nights later.
So I got a good couple more days R&R from riding the rails and living out of my bag, courtesy of my “Belgian connections”. I hung out with Mietsie and Raf for the time, then of course made Miet’s party, which was great fun. It was really good seeing her again, although I’m not sure how thrilled she was to be home. Same thing as Lotte and Pauline, I suspect. Except for a minor “accident” that Mietsie had while we were driving around town, things were pretty quiet and relaxed. We did go out a couple of nights to meet up with some local pals, but that was about it.
Then, last Thursday, I got first wind of the news out of London while I was online answering some emails. It freaked me out as I mentioned in my previous post, considering that I was just there. I couldn’t help but feel for the Londoners, knowing that their sense of security was now blown apart. I was super-relieved to hear back from all my London friends that they were ok, though. I had to admire the way the Brits took the whole thing in stride, without excessive drama and such. It showed them at their best. Despite the horrors of what happened, they essentially just picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and went on. Sure, they took the necessary time to grieve and mourn the incredible loss of life, but they kept going. Gotta love em for that. Now I really understand why the Nazis couldn’t bomb London into submission.
So on Friday, Mietsie and I headed off to Paris. We grabbed an obscenely early morning train to Brussels, and then the high-speed Thalys train from there to Paris. We were in Paris early enough for breakfast. After checking into the hotel, we ventured out. The first day was pretty relaxed. We bopped around town, found a cafe to people watch from, and laid low. We took the metro down to Centre Pompidou, where we hung around a bit. Then, Mietsie had this idea to have an incredible french dining experience, at PIZZA HUT, of all places.
We had the idea to go back to the hotel, freshen up and head back out for the night. But once we got back to the room, we ended up crashing. The next day, we headed over to the Eiffel Tower. Despite the fact that Mietsie had been to Paris before, she had never been up the Eiffel Tower. Unbelievable. So even though I had already been there, done that, and gotten the t-shirt, I obliged.
Being that it’s the thick of the summer tourist season, and that the Eiffel tower has this uncanny way of attracting, oh I don’t know, every tourist in Paris, the place was packed. There were lines a mile long for each of the two running elevators. We thought we found the shorter line of them, but it ended up being for the access up the first floor of the tower via the stairs only. Well, we were already in the line, and it was moving pretty quick. So we stayed with it. The climb up wasn’t all that bad to the first level. Once there, we were able to walk around, enjoy some of the view and have a coke. Then, for a couple more euros, you can buy your way to the top via the elevator. Lucky for us, the weather was awesome. The view was really something. That view can humble and awe-strike even the crustiest, sullen, and jaded traveler, no doubt about it.
After that, we walked up to the Jardin des Tuileries. We had some snacks, and lazed around in the park. Mietsie had this burning urge to go to Rue de Rivoli, where all the “beaucoup-bucks” stores are. So we did that for awhile, gawking at horrendously overpriced stuff. This place was worse than Rodeo Drive I tell you! The walking got a bit old, so we took a break, but not before getting on the huge ferris wheel back at the Jardin des Tuileries.
After hitting a couple more cafes, we headed back toward Centre Pompidou, where we found a great Greek restaurant for dinner. Again, we had the idea to go back to the hotel, clean up and head back out. But that didn’t happen yet again.
On our final day in Paris, I wanted to check out Perè Lachaise. This is the famous cemetery that is home to the bones of some very impressive people. Oscar Wilde, Chopin, Simone Signoret, Edith Piaf and of course the Lizard King himself, Jim Morrison, are all planted here. The last time I was in Paris (which was actually about my third time there overall), I thought I spotted Pere Lachaise from the Eiffel Tower. I told Mahi that after coming down from the tower, we should go over to it to see if we can find Jim Morrison’s grave. Well, it turned out to be Montparnasse. And while it was the final resting place of lots of other French people, even some famous French people, it wasn’t where Mr. Mojo was buried. Guess I should have just checked a guidebook. So alas, this was my chance to right that horrible wrong.
We got to Perè Lachaise by just about lunchtime. I knew we were at the right place this time because the place was packed with mostly backpackers (surely to see Jim Morrison’s grave). But there were lots of other tourists, and families to view the many other graves there.
It was good and somewhat significant for me to see Morrison’s grave. Call it a pilgrimage if you must. Though I’d hate to be lumped in with all those crazy fans who spend way too much time hanging out at a gravesite. Once was enough for me, thanks.
Unlike the mostly 20-something kids checking out the grave while I was there, I was actually alive during the Doors’ short career. I know it sounds silly but the very first 2 45’s I ever bought on my own were The Doors’ “Riders on the Storm”, and “Maybe Tomorrow” by the Jackson 5. I was five years old. I remember bugging my mom everyday that summer until she finally took me to Woolworth’s at Ford City shopping center in Chicago to buy those two records. I played them until I knew every note, every rest, every nuance.
And here is the funniest thing. After listening to the 45 of “Riders” for weeks after buying it, I heard the album version of the song on the radio one day. It was considerably longer, and much much more fascinating to me than the 3-minute “radio-friendly” version I had! I was pissed! I felt like I had been totally gipped! The album version was the one that I really wanted after that. I didn’t get it until I was about maybe 15, a good ten years later.
The Doors was just one of those enduring players in the soundtrack of my life. When I hear certain Doors songs, I go back to a specific moment or event of my life that is captioned by the particular song. I hadn’t thought about that for awhile, a long while, until I was actually standing in front of Jim’s grave. I was brought somewhat full circle when I take my life into account. It was better that I had waited until this particular time in my life to actually be there. There was a reason that this “pilgrimage” needed to wait. These are the things that you begin to understand with age and experience, I guess.
We did get to see all the other “famous” graves by the way. Amazing how much greatness you can get into one cemetery. Even the people who were not famous to me, were impressive, and you can tell that they lived interesting lives. You can tell by their headstones, crypts and sometimes incredibly ostentatious mausoleums. They and their fellow family members buried with them bore some kind of important significance. And there was a reason why, for at least a good chunk of them, other than money, status, and even sheer geographics, they were buried at Perè Lachaise.
I got a peculiar vibe being here, because mortality had been a the order of the day as of late. About the same time I was perusing graves at Pere Lachaise, my sister Judy was in Brazil burying Pop’s ashes next to our grandmother’s grave per his wishes. It took awhile for Judy to cut through the red tape, and to get a good travel window. I would have liked to have been there for that. But logistics were not in my favor, and maybe I just wasn’t ready. Then there was the death and destruction that hit relatively “close to home” due to my connection with London just last week. So, mortality was undeniably a prevailing theme.
After checking out of our hotel, we had a few hours to kill, so we walked along the Seine, ate sandwiches on the river bank, and watched the tourist boats go by. We walked by the Louvre and found the production site for the filming of “Da Vinci Code”. I got the kooky idea to call my brother in law Craig in LA to see if he can get us on the set. Craig’s a big-time hollywood writer and columnist, who knows pretty much everybody in the biz. He said he could try to get us on, but not anytime soon. So that adventure would have to wait for another day, I’m afraid. Wish I’d have thought of it earlier.
Before long, it was time to catch the train back to Belgium. Tomorrow, we will make our way to Barcelona, which is yet another place I had been to in a previous chapter of that thing we call life.