It didn’t feel like Thanksgiving at all this year.   Well, it usually doesn’t, obviously, as I’m in the UK.  But it was especially so this year since I was even further away from any sort of American connections – despite being with American friends!! – in Amsterdam.  A beauuuuuutiful city with mazes of canals, thousands upon thousands of bicycles, and fantastically quirky and very ‘European’ architecture and general layout.  Oh, and also some great coffee shops. (Ugh, I said that in a really lame and loser-y way, I know, but it’s also a fact.  We did partake and it was fun! Totally legal and ‘not something I plan to do regularly so don’t worry Mom and Dad’ fun.)

The trip to Amsterdam was brilliant… and I particularly enjoyed the time spent with Stephanie, Brandon, and Travis.  Yes, we were there to sight see, but it was more relaxed than was the London ‘we must see everything’ frenzy.  We had some good talks and a lot of laughs.

Once we were shuttled to our hotel and settled in, we just meandered around the city and semi-familiarized ourselves with what was where.  (Or rather, Brandon and Travis did.  Steph and I followed.)  After a couple hours at La Tertulia, we stopped for dinner where we all tried a new dish – bitterballen.  It was yum!  We were sufficiently pooped after a long day of walking and headed back to the hotel.  On Thursday morning, once we were all up and ready to go, we went for a super delicious breakfast at a super cute little cafe and then to the Anne Frank House.  And next, as a complete reversal of shall we say tone, we headed over to the Red Light District.  Just for the sake of viewing (as opposed to experiencing, mind you) the other of the two major tourist draws that Amsterdam has to offer.  It didn’t take long.  One stroll down an alleyway and we’d seen enough! We also visited the Rijksmuseum, had a late lunch, and did some more wandering and window shopping.

We got back home around 11:30pm and Friday at work involved plenty of caffeine!  But I survived.  Photos to come, although they’ll be Stephanie’s, not mine.  I took one picture in Schipol airport and then my battery died. OOPS.

Anyway!  Back to Thanksgiving.

I’m genuinely thankful for so much it’s impossible to try and organise it all into words.  The usual of course – my family, my friends, our dogs, our health, our financial security.. Their status as ‘the usual’ absolutely does not lessen their value to me in any way shape or form.

I’m thankful in bold, italics, doubleunderline, and all caps.

are viv + i?
“hallo…” from amsterdam, netherlands!

definitely an interesting place… especially after the scenic, country-side feel we experienced while in southern france. amsterdam is well known for many things: it’s historic churches/buildings, great public transportations: trains, trams, buses + bicycles, windmills and beautiful canals… and probably equally known for their, er… ummm… well, open views (like hatred of google, recreational drug use + prostitution, just to name a few).

steve balmer's favorite t-shirt (had to censor the 'F' word for the younger viewers)...

I AM-sterdam-it!

viv had heard about their “special” brownies so we decided to take a stroll towards the dam square (yeah, i chuckled in disbelief when i first heard this square was actually called “dam square”). anyway, we ran across no shortage of “special” coffeeshops that offered these delectable delights. and in the immortal words of former president ‘slick willy‘: we ‘did not inhale‘. j/k…
viv nor i, partook in any of these delirium-inducing desserts… besides, there were PLENTY of other delicious pastries/treats to munch on… one of my favorites: stroopwafels (thanks for the heads-up on this one, julie)! 

"stroopwafels" - they are AWE-friggin-SOME (and i just found out trader joe's sells them... whee!)

we managed to visit many of their local cafes and eat some killer food. our favorite place was recommended by several of the locals:

viv + i having our hazelnut latte + cafe americano at tisfris cafe...

and our corresponding lunch, a roast beef + avocado samich, a sausage, cheese + tomato samich and the best tomato basil soup i've had!

dam square was dam nice. a mash-up of modern + medival sites and sounds. a bit too touristy for me though.

bikes, bikes and more bikes... heading towards "dam square".

oh so picturesque! i couldn't have staged it any better...

sunset (that's the reflection of it in the building's window) at dam square...

when in amsterdam, do as the amsterdam-ians… we decided to rent a tandem bike and stroll around the city streets.

look how happy viv is to go biking in amsterdam!

and wouldn’t you know it? being rain-less (albeit a little cold) our entire stay in amsterdam, the day we decide to bike, it rains and is super windy! like a gentleman, i was in the front seat and took most of the rain and wind to my face…  :|

viv showing how bummed we were b/c the heavy rain + super wind/gust prematurely ended our biking adventure...

and what is a visit here if you don’t see the infamous ‘red-light district‘? it was quite a shock as viv and i walked and discovered our first bay of windows occupied by women right across the street from the ??? church. and as we strolled more, we found that no matter what street we turned into, we found ourselves facing more banks and banks of these windows.

the infamous red-light district...

it launched viv + i into a discussion about these women, their profession, how they got into this line of work and countless others. these women are someone’s daughters/sisters/and some… even mothers!
wanting to be a father (hopefully soon if the Lord’s willing!), i told viv how my heart was just crushed and deeply saddened by what we were witnessing. this led me to think of countless millions who are trafficked and sold into the sex-industry. it renewed our desire and commitment to the great organizations that are out there wanting to bring justice and liberation to those oppressed (www.ijm.org + www.thesoldproject.org just to name a few).
wasn’t expecting to get on a soap box, but i guess my heart needed to vomit this out. it is something viv + i will continue to wrestle,pray and dedicate our lives + resources to help make an impact for God’s kingdom and His people.

- amsterdam.
  places visited:
    – 9 streets shopping district:  some pretty cool stores. you can definitely spend hours/days walking around and enjoying what each unique place/store has to offer.
    – anne frank huis museum.  
    - van gogh musem.
    – rikjsmuseum “national museum“:  an absolutely beautiful museum… but much of it was under renovation. it featured many european artists’ collections alongside a group of dutch master paintings. 
    – red-light district:  you just have to experience it.
    – canal cruise.

the view from our seat while we did the canal cruise for the day...

another beautiful amsterdam/canal shot...

flight itinerary:
- amsterdam
- gatwick london
- back to -> marseille
- back to ->paris
- back to ->hong kong (total travel time = 27.45 hours… ugghhh)

tot ziens (for now)…

for more reading:
- where in the world… (part 3)
- where in the world… (part 2)
- where in the world… (part 1)

Photo of a drag queen at a parade in Amsterdam:

If you are overweight and bad looking you may need to resort to a red light district to live it up. Or you can stop eating so much.

What is a red light district really?
A red-light district is a neighborhood where there is a concentration of sex shops, strip clubs, adult theaters . In some red light districts there may be legal prostitution, in otheres there may be illegal.

The world’s most famous RLD is in Amsterdam, followed by Hamburg’s Reeperbahn.

BTW: Check out fontlab, a great forum for those who do not enjoy comic sans italic.

Inhale the air mixed up with the smell of weed while walking down the street and round the corner to the red ligth district. The sky appears like a moldy peice of meat, grey and thick of gases. Now I’m here, in Amsterdam. Been here for 3 days now and nothing have happend really. Some walls are covered with beautiful graffiti and it makes me smile, wondering how the heck they managed to paint the whole 12 meters tall wall.

The pigeons are everywhere and are very alike the beggars in Berlin, Greedy and with big staring eyes. In this very moment I am sitting in a big library, the biggest I´ve ever seen with it´s four floors and big amounth of not just books but also people and computers. Writing in english is easyer than in Swedish on these keyboards.

Budjav lebac, a song I recently fell in love with, cheers me up a bit. But not enught to smile. I´m getting tired of traveling to places where I don´t feel wanted. I want to find people doing music, fireart, philisophy, spiritualism… or just being. All I want right now is to get my flute in London, then go to Spain and see what I can find there, peace or love at least, I hope.. I wanna find myself, not just sitting in a warm forest playing flute, but find myself within. I´m so tired of walking without knowing who this strange personne is, whom cries loundly about the past, sitting on rooftops at nighttime.

Well, I think I just have to struggle on,  soon I will be there, and hopefully, be friend with the little clown inside.

Dear bewoners,

There is much I havent told you about this pretty place, Here people are letting go of themselves and putting up the sails. They goes on journeys they couldnt even imagine and ends up at a coffeeshop full of men. Others travels to other planets no one else ever been they turn insideout and make a map out of their skin so they can find their way back and again, find their way in. Dont  think you enden up at the wrong place.  Now it´s your turn to find your inner space.

Part of Amsterdam’s red light district has been recreated at the National Gallery, London, in an installation by American artists Ed Kienholz and Nancy Reddin Kienholz. In The Hoerengracht, visitors to the gallery are invited to walk around two blocks of Amsterdam brothels, while mannequins peer out of the windows looking for customers.

The Hoerengracht was created during the 1980s and preserves many day-to-day details of life at the time. At first, the piece reminded me of an exhibit at the Geffrye Museum, which specialises in recreating domestic interiors from earlier eras. My eye was caught by period details such as the old radios, a Joni Mitchell cassette and a plastic hanger in the shape of spread legs. While these items were interesting in themselves, the way Hoerengracht has aged now distracts from the serious subject of prostitution and even makes it appear slightly quaint.

The absence of men in Hoerengracht is very noticeable. In part, the intention seems to be to unsettle visitors by implicating them in the scene. However, there is also something dignified about showing the women separate from the men who define their lives. Standing alone in shop windows, the women look like religious icons –with glowing red lights and cigarettes instead of candles and rosary beads.

Trapped like animals

To start with, the piece felt weaker because of the absence of any direct reference to the women’s relationships with their male customers and pimps. When I looked closely, however, I became more affected by the loneliness and isolation of the women, trapped like animals in the windows of pet shops.

Photos in the introduction to the exhibition show the artists making casts of prostitutes in Amsterdam, which they used to create the bodies of the women in the installation. To emphasise the idea that the prostitutes in Hoerengracht are commodities, however, the artists put mannequins’ heads on top of the bodies. The blank faces of the mannequins staring out at us from the windows are surprisingly strong; they convey the tedium and numbness which must come from selling your body for sex on a daily basis.

Dripping with glue

The most striking feature of the installation is the transparent glue which has been dripped all over it. Coming down the sides of the buildings, the glue looks like rain and contributes to the cold and depressing atmosphere of the scene. On the inside of the windows, it might be interpreted as steam -a reference to what is happening in the bedroom, as well as emphasising how trapped the women are.

On the bodies of the prostitutes, however, the presence of this sticky glue can only be interpreted as sexual. Running down their faces and all over their clothes, it is the most powerful evocation of the misery, indignity and abuse of life as a sexual worker. The message is very powerful, but I am not sure that it affects viewers in the way which the artists really want.

The Kienholzs obviously felt sympathy for the prostitutes they met during their trips to Amsterdam in the 1980s. In the introduction to the installation, Nancy is quoted as saying: “I would only hope that The Hoerengracht is a kind portrait of the profession and that eventually the profession will be legal and the girls can get police protection rather than prosecution.”

Hoerengracht effectively evokes the misery of life as a prostitute and would discourage anybody from participating in it. But the Kienholzs have made the women in their installation look repellent by covering them in icky, sexually suggestive glue. Their intention seems to have been to improve the lot of prostitutes by rousing sympathy for them. In fact, the Kienholzs have further stigmatised and marginalised prostitutes, by putting so much emphasis on the idea that they are diseased and unclean.

Ed and Nancy Kienholz’s installation, The Hoerengracht, brings Amsterdam’s Red Light District to Sunley Room at London’s National Gallery.

The installation represents the district’s notorious “whore’s canal” and is not a particularly attractive sight.  Dutch alleyways are filled with plain-faced female life-size figures posing in  Brothel windows.

Taking 5 years to complete, The Hoerengracht is a dark and compelling piece that reveals the realities of prostitution as it was in the 1980’s. Nancy Kienholz described the work as a catalyst which “opened up discussion” about the issue of selling sex in the Western World.  She claims that, “it’s certainly something that is there in every major city in the western world,” and that, “any taxi driver in any city can tell you where it is.”

It is very rare for the National Gallery to display such a contemporary installation.  However, the curator Colin Wiggins describes the method in this madness.  The Hoerengracht can cast a significant light on the other works present at London’s prestigous gallery.  Many of the works displayed (dated from the 17th century) reflect on prostitution, but most of them look “safe and pretty”.  Godfried Schiecken’s A Man Offering Gold shows a woman sitting on a bed while being given money by a man as Cupid overlooks them.  The purpose of The Hoerengracht is to force upon the spectator a three dimensional representation of the 1980’s Red Light District, provocative and dominated by the sex industry.

The Hoerengracht installation can be  seen from 18 Nov 2009 – 21 Feb 2010 at the Sunley Room, National Gallery.

For more information: http://www.nationalgallery.org.uk/whats-on/exhibitions/kienholz-the-hoerengracht

Amsterdam is the perfect European city for Americans. Almost everyone speaks English, and making it even better than London, the accents are more exotic. We arrived at Amsterdam’s Schipohl Airport early on a gray Friday morning, dragging our luggage to the light rail line that would take us from the airport to the city’s Centraal Station. We had agreed to try and do our unaccompanied, seven-day, two-city, Amsterdam and Paris trip without resorting to taxicabs.

The initial confrontation with the complexities of public transit in a strange city is almost always a painful process. It usually takes me several hit and miss encounters with ticket kiosks, exact fare rules, or pressing buttons to open subway doors. While we did manage the light-rail connection into the city. Finding our hotel, just blocks from the station, proved a minor ordeal with the inadequate, schematic tourist maps we were carrying. Jet-lagged, confused and over-packed, we wandered around trying to figure out where we were until a busy woman setting up a produce market stand grudgingly pointed us in the right direction.

The hotel, modern and crisp, was located in, gasp, “the Red Light District.” Ah those liberal Dutch. While it was still the morning rush hour when we wandered in search of our hotel, I noted that the numerous “Coffee” shops we passed were in full swing, with customers lounging on sofas, and I suppose, inhaling to their hearts’ content. I thought, “hey is this a great town, or what?”

Refreshed after a brief nap, we went out to discover the charms of Amsterdam. The rings of tree-lined, interconnected canals, the bow-to-stern barges and houseboats, the eccentric, centuries-old Dutch architecture, cobbled streets and the bicycles everywhere combine to create a wonderful sense of being in a one-of-a-kind place. In a comfortably down-to-earth café, I ordered my lunch, a roast-beef sandwich with egg and mayonnaise, and a large draft of Heiniken. We’d been told that Dutch cuisine was less than stellar, but with my comfort-food palate, just about everything we ordered suited me well. Thus fortified, we began walking, a process that barely stopped for any of our waking hours during the three days we stayed in Amsterdam.

The canal-side streets, block after block of them, flow with the canals themselves in concentric rings defining and demarking the old city of Amsterdam. Each turn of the head is another photo-op, another perfect Netherlands motif. I began snapping and had to exercise a force of will to cease, to say “enough.” The day was sunny and there were shopping streets, book-stalls, street musicians and cafes with outdoor seating for coffee, pastries or wine. We were in search of the St. Nicklas’ Boat Club, a non-profit, cooperative canal boat tour service, an open-air alternative to the larger, glitzier glass-covered canal tour launches. But like so many cooperative ventures, the enterprise had run aground and was no longer operating. More wandering, more pastry, more wine and back to the hotel for a break before dinner.

One residual piece of three centuries of Dutch East Indies colonial history is Amsterdam’s array of Indonesian restaurants, a cuisine I’d never experienced. On a recommendation, we selected a “Rice Table” offering at Indrapur, one of the tonier Indonesian eateries. Rice Table meals are an Indonesian version of Chinese Dim Sum or the Iberian Tapas. In deference to my Irish heritage, we chose a “mild” (a misnomer) selection of over twenty different and exotically flavored small dishes, every one of which was a treat. Returning from our East Indies meal, we caught a tram to a mid-town carnival and rode a giant Ferris wheel up and over the lights of the city. There was a brightly lit, ten-story swing with seats for two that swung out over the carnival below. I dared my wife to no avail. Two nights later we were on it.

Our second day in Amsterdam day came on cold and wet. With rain jackets, umbrellas and our new competence at navigating the city’s tram lines, we arrived early at the already crowded van Gogh museum. As a lifelong fan, I was thrilled to discover, along with so many favorites, a couple of stunning landscapes I’d never before seen. More walking in the drizzle through a half-dozen block street market, more tram riding and then a surprisingly good lunch in a pretentious restaurant with annoyingly indifferent service. Much more walking, window and actual shopping, until exhaustion and the proximity to our hotel got us back to our room for a break.

Relatively restored, we headed back out into the rain for dinner. We were to have a meal of traditional Dutch cuisine, another recommendation. When we arrived at the address, the Dutch eatery had been replaced by an Italian restaurant. At a more Dutch place down the street, we were told we could be seated in fifteen minutes and that we could wait in the bar. After a half hour, we left. Back out in the rain and several streets away, we passed a small bistro named Prego. Why not? We were seated and began what was to be one of the best meals of the entire trip. Two aging gays were running the place and the vibe was a pleasant as it was unostentatious. The food was first rate and creative. I had wild boar, my first ever, and my wife a fish dish. Everything was just right and the dessert more than just right. After warm farewells from our host and our waiter, we headed out once again into the chilly drizzle and toward our king-sized hotel bed.

Sunday, our last full day in Amsterdam, began with the Hotel’s inclusive and first-rate buffet breakfast. Then, a one-hour canal tour on a glass-covered boat accompanied by a large group of Chinese tourists. Strangely enough, my canal photos taken from water level proved less pleasing than those taken ashore. The loop of the city by boat and the accompanying sound track was instructive.

One of the sights from the boat was the lineup of visitors waiting to tour the Ann Frank House, an Amsterdam attraction as famous as the canals and the van Gogh Museum. For better or worse, I opted to pass on the Ann Frank house, feeling as I do that I’m already too well aware of the horrors of the all too recent past. Prior to this trip, a friend had given me tourist information on Amsterdam that included a brochure from the “Dutch Resistance Museum.” The brochure rightly celebrates the heroism of those who dared to actively resist one of the most brutal terror regimes in human history. On the other hand only a single allusion notes the existence of the NSB, the Dutch National Socialist Party, the active collaborators with the Nazi Occupation. Over 100,000 Dutch Jews perished during the war, the highest death rate per capita in the occupied Western European countries. That and the fact that 100,000 Dutch citizens volunteered to serve in the German armed forces, mostly in the Waffen SS on the Eastern Front, speaks for itself. And finally, the Frank family, like so many of the resistance heroes, was betrayed to the Nazis, it seems, by a fellow Dutch citizen.

More shopping, a lot more walking, some lunch, dinner, more photo taking and finally back to the hotel and bed. On our way back through the Red Light district, I noted that by comparison, the coffee shop scene with its stoned college kids and dreadlocked skateboarders appeared downright wholesome.

In the morning, I managed one last stroll around the canals before leaving to meet our noon train for Paris.

“One night in Bangkok and the world’s your oyster. The bars are temples but the pearls ain’t free!” – Murray Head

Labeled as one of the biggest Red Light Districts in Asia, Patpong Night Bazaar offers way more than you would ever imagine! Turned by the blind eyes of the Bangkok Law Enforcement anything and everything goes in this part of the city let alone most the other parts too. The night scene starts around 6PM and “Happily Ends” around 2:30AM. No more than two steps onto the Night Bazaar grounds you’ll be hounded by dudes trying to get you into “shows”. If you’re with a female they’ll respect your space just a little bit more, not much but enough. I think I heard “Ping Pong Show” more than a hundred times! Not going to explain that show but I think you’ll figure it out! Just remember, there are no Ping Pong tables anywhere! If you want to see it you can see it! (hence the name in the above image).

Along the two streets (that we saw) is a market filled with bags, watches, souvenirs, belts, clothing, throwing stars, brass knuckles, stun guns, jewelry and much more. All imitation but looks crazy real. Really, stun guns?? Pick your weapon and do your thing. A little freaky! Beware of the “Ladyboy”! They are everywhere! They’re the only “Thai” shemen with the huge boobs! Very easy to pick out. Just be sure you’re not too intoxicated or they will take you down!

Don’t get me wrong at all. Patpong Night Bazaar is a must see for the tourist. It’s easy to filter out the dirty noise coming from all directions. A couple hours to check it out is all you’ll need. It’s enough time to shop, have a beverage and a serious laugh.

Annual Halloween costume parade and contest in the red light district of P. Burgos Makati, in spite of heavy rains brought about by typhoon ‘Santi’ on the eve of Halloween 2009. Over 200 showgirls and entertainers participated in the parade hoping to win a cash prize for the best costume of the night. Makati, Philippines, 30/10/2009.

The following evening we moved to the Hamburg YHA, and were separated into girls and boys rooms. We showered, shaved and met up in the foyer, ready for a night out in the famous red-light district, the Reeperbahn.

“Curfew is at 2am. If you miss it, you can’t get back in until 6am”, they told us as at reception as we handed in our room keys for the night.

This seemed a little early to be back, but since we were still knackered from a big couple of nights we just nodded, I fastened the clip on my faux fox fur jacket, and we headed out into the crisp January night.

As we dined on schnitzel, and drank red wine, we still planned to back for 2am.

Noel was telling me how excited he was about going to Berlin tomorrow, how we were going to do this great walking tour, and how it was probably good we were going to get a good night’s sleep. I was quietly wondering why my period hadn’t come yet. Surely it was due today? I didn’t say anything to Noel. It would come tomorrow.

As we wandered the meandering streets lined with bars, strip clubs, flashing lights, and hundreds of people, we still planned to be back for 2am.

We tried a few places, knocking back bacardis and beers, looking for Hot Germans. We found a bar playing fun music, which had lots of people dancing. Noel said that he hoped they’d play “99 Balloons”.

As we ordered shots of tequila, which they served with cinnamon and orange, we still planned to be back by 2am.

We chatted to the barman, and then some locals. They played “99 Balloons”. We whooped and hit the dancefloor.

We were starting to think we might not be back for 2am.

When we decided to take the herbal ecstasy I had in my coat pocket, just for kicks, thinking it probably wouldn’t do anything, and ordered another shot of tequila, we neglected to notice the time was 1.45am. When we actually checked our watches it was 2.30am. Bugger!

Well, obviously fate had clearly decided for us. Til dawn then!

I wanted to go to the Kaiser Keller as I knew it was where The Beatles had played when they were in Hamburg. I thought it might be a cool rock band venue, and we’d have a chance of finding some Hot Germans. We somehow found our way there, paid our €5, and walked right inside before either of us bothered to look around us.

Heavy industrial dance music pounded, as we began to notice the place was thronging with Goths, theatrically dressed in corsets, fish nets, top hats and Dracula cloaks. Shit.

The reality – that we were going to be out until dawn – began to sink in, along with a sense of fatigue, and foreboding – the latter probably due to the prevalence of Goths, and hardcore beats. We realised we were going to need some real drugs, and maybe the dancing white faced, black lipped revellers all around us could be the solution. However, neither of us had enough cash on us.

Noel offered to head back out onto the street and find a cashpoint, if I would do the legwork, and with my “kleine bisschen Deutsch” find a new black-clad friend who might have the goods we needed.

And so Noel left me all alone in a sea of Goths. The music pumped. I searched the faces, only to feel more alone, and a little afraid. I tried chatting to a couple of guys who looked slightly less Goth, and a bit more rock, but they couldn’t help us. I began to wonder if anyone in here was even on drugs. Maybe they just dressed like this, and gathered together to dance until they reached frenzy point and sacrificed the drunken Australian. The music seemed to get louder, and even more industrial.

Noel returned about half an hour later to find me in the corner, hiding under the staircase on a stack of chairs.

“What are you doing under here?”

““Thank God you’re back! It’s too scary. I think we should go somewhere else”.

The next place I remember being was a little bar, down a small side street, where Noel thought the bar tender was hot. I remember he gave us shots. I remember I lit the wrong end of a cigarette, and danced on a table. I remember going to the toilet, and noticing that the stock room was unlocked and ajar, bottles of beer begging me to take them, I put as many as I could in the pockets of my fox fur.

It is at this point I now realise I had become a rarely seen creature – Evil Me. Pockets lined with beer bottles, she returned to the bar, where Noel was chatting up the barman. She whispered loudly, “I just fucking stole loads of beer”, which I’m told the barman heard, but I don’t remember. I don’t know what time it was by this point, Evil Me may have danced on some more tables, and she definitely had more shots.

The only other thing I remember about that night was leaving the bar, and as my evil self reached for the door, one of the beer bottles fell on the floor and smashed.

“Fuck! Shhhank you and goodgenight!”

We got into a cab, and apparently when we reached the hostel we had no money to pay for it. Evil Me said something awful. I have no clue how we resolved that situation, or why I would have ever said anything that terrible. I can only absolve myself with the knowledge that it was Evil Me, not real me, and the sentence didn’t even make sense.

2 hours after arriving back at the hostel, at 9am, Noel went out to reception. “You’d better go get your girlfriend,” they said, “She’s causing a disturbance.”

He came into the girls’ room and to find me passed out, fully dressed in my fox fur coat, my sparkly earrings, and the fake diamond bling ring Noel had given me for Christmas. (We were planning to use to pretend we were engaged and get free shit when we got to Eastern Europe.) There was a little puddle of vomit on the floor. He cleaned it up, and tried to wake me.

“Fuck off cunt!” Said Evil Me, and punched him in the face with my bling ring.

He packed up my bag, and got everything ready to go, and then tried to wake me again. This time I rose, and he dragged me to the train station, which took us to a bus station, where we were getting a bus to Berlin. It wasn’t until I had napped on the bus, and awoke to feel calm and sane that I realised Evil Me was finally gone.

Maybe those fake pills worked after all.

Today has been something of blog stat anomaly because this post is getting some traffic. The reason it’s unusual is the linked post is an article I wrote years ago that went unpublished (I got a kill fee from the publication that contracted the piece) until I posted it this past January. The post is on Dallas’ “Frog Town,” a red light district in early 20th century Dallas given an official imprimatur of sanction by the city council in 1910.

Why today is an anomaly? With no other way to determine when the weekend arrives, I could check my blog stats and see that post getting plenty of hits. And judging by the search terms used to find the post it’s mostly people — I’m guessing men — searching for prostitutes in Dallas. Of course some legitimate historical searches figure into the mix as well. Here’s just a sample from the last week or so: “prostitution in dallas,” “red light district in dallas,” “prostitution boundaries 1910 dallas city,” and the most searched-for related term this year, “dallas prostitutes.”

From the link:

A 1910 city ordinance adopted by Dallas city commissioners designated new boundaries for the prostitutes in an area just north of the Old Red Courthouse. Three of the commissioners wrote a report rationalizing the ordinance and in “Big D” Payne quotes the report, “We find that under the existing conditions bawdy houses and bawds are promiscuously scattered throughout the City, greatly menacing the decent neighborhoods and offending decent and respectable communities and parts of the City … We feel that the measure hereby suggested by us will entirely eliminate such objectionable characters from the decent neighborhoods of the City.”

Payne writes about the location, “This was immediately east of Lamar Street, from Cochran Avenue on the south to the MK&T railroad tracks on the north, and bounded on the east by a small stream known as Dallas Branch.” Payne points out three areas of particular interest in the district, “The 2100 block of Wesley Avenue, the 1000 through 1300 blocks of Broom (recently changed from Audrey), and the 2100-2300 blocks of Griffin Street.” The designated area was known as “Frogtown,” likely because of the calls of frogs that came up the stream from the Trinity River. Once the area became a designated red light district it was also referred to as “the reservation.”

Frogtown’s location relative to the downtown Dallas of today is an area straddling Woodall Rogers Freeway, beginning just east of the West End historic district and running north toward the home of the Mavericks and Stars, the American Airlines Center. One feature of early 1900s Dallas faded away and was resurrected in 1989, the McKinney Avenue Trolley. Payne points out that streetcars would pass by Frogtown and passengers would rubberneck to look down the streets of the reservation with curiosity.

Frogtown, Dallas' red light district in 1013

]]> http://markinaustria.wordpress.com/2009/10/14/all-about-marijuana/ Wed, 14 Oct 2009 13:21:02 +0000 polisci03 http://markinaustria.wordpress.com/2009/10/14/all-about-marijuana/

Last month I spent a few days with my sister in Amsterdam, where I confirmed my suspicions about what happened to that poor city. I noted that the city had nearly completely devoted itself to the exploitation of marijuana and its other marketable commodity—prostitutes.

Confirming this stereotype is the reaction from the WordPress blog statistics, who have begun to inform me that many people are finding my blog by typing in the keywords “amsterdam weed” and “amsterdam red light district” and “amsterdam and sex.” I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that most of these searchers come from college towns in the United States, and most of them completed their search at times where they were supposed to be in class.

Well, it has been a couple of days since the last post.  Things are good, but apparently cold and flu season hits this side of the world too.  Shucks.  Although a little run down, we are surviving.  Over the last couple of days, we have been able to see some of the poorest parts of Kolkata.  To say that it is a surprise would be untrue, for we have heard of the sorrow.  However, this knowledge makes the reality of the city’s frailty no less real or desperate.

We may be used to cows at home in the confines of a well operated dairy farm.  Nothing can totally prepare you for the sight of these four-legged beasts deemed holy, wandering the streets with pride and an air of entitlement.  It is a sight indeed.

Joel was able to visit a shelter at the train station, full of kids who are being fed and taught truth.  They are so starving, not only for food in their little bellies, but for love and hope.

Brandi spent some time in the red-light district, where around 10,000 sex workers are trapped in a lifestyle that will lead to death and humiliation.  Obviously no pictures can be shown, but the streets are filled with people who need something to hold onto.  There is an innitiative in the works to help give these women practical life skills that will sustain them into a new life.

Well, that’s all for now.  Thanks for stopping by, and please keep posted on our travels.

(Why do many of my posts relate to me being in the car? I spend more time there than I want to sometimes, even though I love my car—being the chief chauffeur, errand runner, go-to girl finds me there for what seems like hours a day…hence the beginning of this next post…)

Red Lights. The obvious first, the traffic signal. I am convinced that I have some electrical current, that is opposite of what is programmed into the signal, as I approach, the signal changes—to whatever the opposite color it was 20 seconds before—no matter the time of day, the location of the signal, the intersection where it happens to occur, what the guy in front of me gets, whether I am in a hurry or not, if I have my fingers crossed. I am bound to get a red light. What is it about that traffic signal that doesn’t like me?

The first four-way, three-colour traffic light was created by police officer William Potts in Detroit, Michigan in 1920. The colour of the traffic lights representing stop and go are probably derived from those used to identify port (red) and starboard (green) in maritime rules governing right of way, where the vessel on the left must stop for the one crossing on the right. The universal standard is for the red to be above the green, and if there is also an amber it is placed in the middle. If the three-set lights are mounted horizontally, the red will typically be to the left of the green. The standards apply whether the country drives on the left or the right, but the placement of the mountings on the road would be mirror images of the other. (from Wikipedia.org)

The full run-down on the signal light (at Wikipedia) is impressively long, and if you are so inclined, please read on at the following link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Traffic_signal

But, we are now brought to other kinds of red lights…

A “red light” is also known as a safety light in photography language. The safelight is used in the darkroom as the source of illumination, it does not have the wavelengths of the light spectrum that would damage the photographically sensitive material affected by normal lighting. There are some films and papers that have different color sensitivities, but for the most part, a darkroom has a red light as it’s safelight.

There is a game we used to play as kids, Red Light/Green Light. We were always the smallest/youngest, either with our cousins or with kids when we traveled, so this game was not much fun—little legs just don’t run fast enough!

Snickers (the candy bar) has a great commercial with “Red light, Green light!”

Red lights are used in New York State as police lights (or has this changed in the past few years?!). A really good warning to slow down and watch out for what is going on around you! You surely don’t want a ticket in New York anyway, they can be very expensive!

Ambulance lights are red, and most nowadays are quite obnoxiously so! Especially at night! Can they get any more distracting? We even have the British-style big diagonal stripes on the backs of our ambulances in our county, I think each one of those big boys costs more than my ultimate dream house!

Another type of red light is the infamous “red light district.”

Described quite well at Wikipedia.org…

A red-light district is a neighborhood or a part of a neighborhood where businesses connected to the sex industry (sex shops, strip clubs, adult theaters etc) exist. In some red light districts prostitution may legally take place; other red light districts are known for their illegal prostitution scene. The term “red-light district” was first recorded in the United States in 1894, in an article in The Sentinel, a newspaper in Milwaukee. Other mentions from the 1890s are numerous, and located all over the United States.

The origin of the “red light” term is considered to be the red lanterns carried by railway workers (which were left outside brothels when the workers entered, so that they could be quickly located for any needed train movement) or the red paper lanterns (which were thought to be sensual) that were hung outside brothels in ancient China to identify them as such. The color red has been associated with prostitution for millennia; in the Biblical story of Rahab, a prostitute in Jericho, aided the spies of Joshua and identified her house with a scarlet rope, which saved her household from the massacre that a successfully besieged city usually suffered. During World War I, there were many brothels in Belgium and France; blue lights were used to indicate brothels for officers, red lights for other ranks.

One of the many terms used for a red-light district in Japanese is akasen (赤線), literally meaning “red-line”, apparently of independent origins from the English term. Japanese police drew a red line on maps to indicate the boundaries of legal red-light districts. They also have the term aosen (青線), meaning “green-line”, for a non-legal district.

They even have a listing of the red-light districts, again, if you are so inclined… (you can find that link yourself!)

There is even an album by Ludacris called Red Light District.

What red lights am I forgetting? Please, feel free to comment! Tomorrow, while you are in the car, count the number of red lights you sit at (remember you are spending precious time, of your life, which you will never get back just by the way!) and I will do the same, I bet I can beat you!

]]> http://nansan.wordpress.com/2009/10/05/bzkleta-shelf/ Sun, 04 Oct 2009 18:21:49 +0000 nan http://nansan.wordpress.com/2009/10/05/bzkleta-shelf/

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

There is a man who looks like Vincent Van Gogh at the table next to me. He’s wearing a forest green pull-over sweater. His thinning reddish hair is slicked back haphazardly so that parts of it are sticking off to the side or  straight out behind him. He is smoking Marlboros and drinking white wine. He is talking earnestly, gesturing with his cigarette holding hand as he focuses his argument at the curly-haired woman he is sitting with. I wish I had a camera. But – I am in Amsterdam. This is a fascinating city. If Wassenaar is where my inner princess would live, Amsterdam is where my inner hippy/artist would make her home. Forget the buildings, the people themselves are overwhelming and amazing. It’s hard to take it all in.

Moped Rentals

Today, I braved both the bus and train system. Neither of them were too scary, but I will say that I’d prefer to ride my bike over taking the bus any day. Maurien and I are going to an American book store tomorrow so she said that I could go ahead of her and stay the night in the city if I wanted to. So here I am, sitting in the Shelter City Christian Hostel dining room eating Thai cooked chicken liver and fried bananas. I’ve had good and bad experiences with hostels, so I wasn’t too excited about staying in one tonight, but so far I think this is the nicest (and cheapest) hostel I’ve ever stayed at.

City Shelter Hostel Cafe

While I was eating my food, a girl came up and invited me to a “Bible Discussion.” So at seven thirty I joined seven other strange people for a discussion of Luke 5:1-12. That is such a good passage, and I was just happy to be there talking about the Bible with other believers. Afterwards, two of the girls and I went to a cafe down the street for dinner. One of the girls was from New Zealand and the other was from Bristol. Spending the evening getting to know people from all over the world is one of the great things about the hostel experience. I still don’t trust the bathrooms though.

American basketball player showing off his skills to a crowd

With 2.4o euro for the bus, 10.50 euro for the train, 12 euro for the hostel, and only 30 euro received in exchange for my $50, I found myself walking around Amsterdam with ten euros and a little change in my pocket trying to figure out what restaurant would give me food for ten euros. Even the budget restaurants recommended in the guide book weren’t within my range. In the meantime, I decided to sit at a cafe with a glass of the house wine until I figured out what to do. At the very least, I knew I could buy a baguette at the Albert Hein that would tide me over til the hostels free breakfast in the morning. After watching my friend, Vincent,  for a while I started walking back to the hostel, passing the Albert Hein while mourning the fact that I am sick of bread. At the corner before the hostel’s street, there was a small Asia take-out shop filled with relatively healthy looking people. There is where the teenage boy behind the counter convinced my to buy chicken livers and fried bananas for the great deal of 5 euros. It wasn’t bad.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Bakery

If you’ve been paying attention to my money tally’s, you’ll have already guested that I woke up this morning with almost no cash. I got a five euro locker deposit returned when I checked out this morning, three of which I promptly spent on a cappuccino and scone at this adorable bakery in the red light district. At least I think I was the red light district. But, mom and dad, don’t worry. It was early morning and there was not much going on besides the garbage pick up.

If any of you have been to Amsterdam in recent years, or are fans of “America’s Next Top Model,” you’ll know that there has been an attempt on the part of fashion designers to reform the red light district. They have rented several windows to display an alternative, more fully clothed, girl or mannequin modeling their most recent designs. I thought it was ironic that one window displayed a white ballgown/wedding dress. I think the designer was trying to make a statement.

Red Light District Designer Window

Shoe Display

It was time to show mum the Netherland’s star attraction: Amsterdam! As a tourist, you visit to see the red light district and coffee shops, but once you live here you realize Amsterdam has almost nothing to do with all of that debauchery. I like it for the endless number of beautiful canals and bridges, the older Jordaan area, the Chinatown and the hundreds of old bars and beer cafes. This is the side of Amsterdam I was more excited to show mum.

Once we arrived, we went to our favorite cafe: Small World. It’s run by a guy who’s actually from Melbourne, so it’s nice to go in there and order an Australian style coffee and talk in a stupidly occa way to the dismay of other Dutch customers (although most of the customers are Australian/Brittish, I used to think it was silly when people would move to another country and then find a favorite pub or cafe because it was like one at home, but now I can totally understand.)

So we ate some delicious foccacia sandwhiches, met our friend Amanda (from Canada, living in Amsterdam) and headed over to a local food and clothing market where you can feast on small samples of cheese, bread and sweets.

At the local markets with Kaushik and Amanda, mum took the photo. Need I say, not our hats?

It was time to do a few “touristy” things with mum, so Kaushik went off with Amanda, knowing very well he would be seeing the same touristy things a few more times with other friends and family when they visit.

Our main agenda was to see the Van Gogh museum. Having read Lust For Life (a biography about Van Gogh, written in romanticized way) I was pretty excited to be seeing his largest collection of paintings. We were also very lucky because they had a special exhibition on where you could view one of his most famous paintings, Starry Night. This particular painting is often touring around so it’s often unlikely you would see it if you came to the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam.

Let me tell you though, I feel so lucky to have seen it. Tears actually welled up when I saw it for the first time. Seeing his actual brush strokes, all at once I felt emotion and empathy for him, living such a tough life, feeling unappreciated for all the passion he put in to his work. The beauty of this painting up close in real life is immense. I looked over at mum, I think she was pretty much feeling the same.

I even took a sneaky photo of it while upstairs:

Starry Night, Van Gogh

Ok ok enough wanky art talk, it was time to meet up with Kaushik and our friends, but mum bumped in to an old friend along the way!

A shocker of me, but the only one of us in Amsterdam together

Pretty mum on a pretty canal

So we all met up at The Cotton Club which is a gorgeous old bar in Amsterdam which has live jazz bands playing. We had a few drinks there, listened to some live jazz and had a few laughs, then headed over to Chinatown for some dinner.

Adam, Grant, mum, me and Amanda

After dinner it started to get dark, so we decided to have a quick walk through the red light district. Regardless of how I started this blog entry, you can’t really bring someone to Amsterdam and not show them the spectacle of half naked women in windows!

However, having gone through this area a few times, the novelty wears thin and it becomes quite depressing. Mum didn’t need to go through a few times for it to have this dark effect on her. To quote from her holiday diary she kept:

“….suddenly the beautiful Amsterdam of daylight hours was transformed into a seedy, plastic side alley of sex & sadness. The girls standing in the doorways had faces devoid of emotion, maybe thats how they cope with the river of staring eyes that flow past their doorsteps. I was left sadly wondering what had lead them to the time & space that they now occupied.”

The good thing about the red light district set up though is the fact that the women have actual legal rights, insurance etc which you wouldn’t receive in a “normal” prostitution setting. I don’t know what will happen to them when the red light district is eventually shut down all together, which looks like is on the cards.

Gah, I don’t want to end on a dark/weird note! We had a beutiful day regardless. The weather was perfect for walking around taking in the sights and it was great for my mum to meet some of my friends.

   Un raport intocmit de Comisia Prezidentiala pentru Analiza Riscurilor Sociale şi Demografice a inflamat spiritele puritaniste din societatea romaneasca. Patriarhia a reactionat imediat la raportul Comisiei. Discursul laic si cel religios se intrepatrund in condamnarea acestui atac la adresa moralitatii publice. Discutia este noua doar pentru spatiul romanesc. In Occident, tocmai considerentele de ordin moral au condus la institutionalizarea prostitutiei. In Florenta renascentista,  municipalitatea a luat decizia inca de la 1415 sa finanteze construirea a trei bordeluri pentru a supraveghea mai atent distractiile celibatarilor si pentru a canaliza desfraul inerent oricarei societati intr-o directie controlata. Morala ar trebui sa primeze si in cazul nostru, dar in sens contrar sensului B.O.R. Eradicarea prostitutiei este practic imposibila. Sub o forma sau alta, va continua sa reprezinta o realitate stanjenitoare de necontestat. In acest moment, cadrul legislativ nu permite existenta de stabilimente oficiale si astfel majoritatea “pasarilor de noapte” prefera sa-si vanda “farmecele” la domiciliu. Focare ale concupiscentei, apartamentele fetelor se afla de cele mai multe ori in proxima noastra vecinatate. Tocmai pentru a feri “instituţia sacră a familiei şi moralitatea publică” (formulare preluata din comunicatul Patriarhiei – n.n), ar trebui ca “vanzatoarele de placeri” sa fie localizate intr-o zona delimitata a oraselor. In cazul Bucurestiului, zona din imediata vecinatate a Garii de Nord, ar fi ideala pentru un Red Light District dambovitean. Cladirile de patrimoniu aflate in paragina, de pe Stefan Furtuna sau Calea Plevnei, ar putea fi salvate printr-o asemenea initiativa municipala. De asemenea, banii negri brusc scosi la lumina de legalizarea prostitutiei institutionalizate, precum si sumele de bani provenite de pe urma turismului sexual ar fi extrem de benefici bugetelor locale. Supravegherea medicala a acestor stabilimente va determina reducerea riscului bolilor cu transmitere sexuala. Pudibonderia afectata sau dogmatismul religios nu-si au locul in aceasta discutie specioasa care ar trebui sa fie de competenta unei Comisii guvernamentale de specialitate. Ipocrizia cu care acceptam dezmatul generalizat de pe micile ecrane, insa condamnam exercitarea libera a “celei mai vechi profesii” e un simptom clar al perpetuarii dublului limbaj comunist.

Un sofer de tir intra intr-un bordel de pe traseu, pune 500 de dolari pe masa patroanei si spune:
- Ai aici 500 de parai, da-mi cea mai grasa si nasoala femeie pe care o ai si trimite-mi in camera si o portie din cea mai arsa, lipita si fara gust mincare de la bucatarie.
Patroana :
- Iubi… dar de banii astia iti dau cea mai misto femeie de pe aici, plus ca te hranesc 3 zile cu cele mai fine mincaruri.
Soferul :
- Honey, n-am chef de sex, mi-e dor de casa…