Finally, finally I have found a place to write, a massive internet cafe in the heart of London Central Square. My intellectual and cultural world is rocking out hard. conversation abounds, sights dazzle, the world extends its gifts. But I must start from the beginning.
Day one, Amsterdam. I havent slept n nearly three days when I arrive, caught up in the excitement of leaving, but the energy and beauty of the city fuel my adrenaline, and I quickly forget my fatigue. I havent seen Jen in months, not since she last rolled through Philly--a classic fly by. She met me in the airport and we exchanged snipets of stories as we navigated the airport's transit system, laden with backpacking clowns, hipsters, european debutantes and aged travelers. bonafide. people dont take themselves seriously. they wear very oversized glasses, shoes that are two different colors or styles entirely, colorful hats with spinners on the top, and everyone seems to have either a mohawk or a mullet. no joke. impressive really. rat tails galore. Dready mullets too--biz in tha front, ganja in the back. I'm enthralled already.
We get to the centraal station and I store my stuff. Outside, the biggest bikelot I ever seen emerges, each of the four stories revealing itself one by one as we begin to walk into the city, past a much more manageable one. I take a picture. The (relatively) few cars that drive by are so small they look like toys. In fact, the more we penetrated the city, the more I realized how the whole scene sort of tickles reality. Since the buildings are built on beds of sand, they lean ever so slightly, flanking boathouse-lined canals through which white swans elegantly glide. Beautiful people ride bikes laced with fresh flowers across intricate, old skool bridges in the shadows of immense churches, government buildings or museams that exude history. "roxanne" plays onto the narrow alleyways as we stroll by, passing art galleries that make me think that Amsterdam is like Europe on acid. Artists will take themes from Beethoven, Back, Mozart, Van Gogh, Vermeer, etc etc etc and deuce them with a psychedelic originality, embedding "Ode to Joy" for example in black and white, urban freeform. We seem to pass from square to piaza to square, wherein jugglers, unicyclers and breakdancers dazzle layers of encircled spectators. This one guy kept hitting a tennis ball tied to a stationary weight. he was there everyday, everytime we walked though this square trying to sell these rather boring looking toys. it became comical...
Around nine, we step out of one of the "coffee shops" where we sat in a hue of red light. Mosaics decorated walls in spaces filled with personality, artwork, and many many heavy eyelids. people looked strangely familiar. We had met up with two Penn alumn, Jordan and Renee. They'd been here for days and just finished the "Heinekin Experience." They entertained us with stories and showed us the "toys" they'd acquired during their stay. We caught up too. Ironic. They're in law school. Time floated exquisitely by. At times, I found myself tremendously humbled, in complete awe of my surroundings. I have a feeling this will happen alot over the next six months. I hope I dont get used to it.
Twilight in Amsterdam brings in a beautiful dark blue, glowing hue. Each of the little buildings seems to be radiating, and no, i didn't smoke anything... in the backdrop, sillhouettes of immense Gothic church steeples penetrate an orange sky as we walk back to the station.
Jen and I talk and talk and talk! She tells me all about her masters program and the dissertation she's writing on the neo-liberal resistence movement, through the lens of the World Social Forum, a growing international referendum wherein organizations unite, network and pledge their commitment to its anti-capitalist ideals. I ask many questions. Shes changed alot since her days of philosophy and religion at Penn and has developed her global ideology now through her work at the UNEP and school at the University of London, Soaz where she studied African and Oriental development. I ask many questions. This ignites a conversation that doesn't stop. I'm so so happy to be talking about these things, these hard questions. Everyone's engaged. Everyone knows all about America despite their distance (or perhaps because of it). Maybe when we're in it, we cant see it. There's a certain perspective the Europeans have, a clarity. They're awake. Every conversation reflects it. Small talk is rare.
We meet up with her boyfriend, Geis. He works in Amsterdam proper as a Cocoa Trader and tells me all about his studies in Geneva, his childhood in France, and his work. He's spoken five languages during the course of the day. He's very polite, very cultured, totally humble, gracious, mature and generous, and totally in love with Jen. I'm elated to see her so happy! and so the dream continues. We get my stuff, board the train and head to their apartment in the Hague about an hour away. I'm exhausted now, broadsided by that crippling fatigue that hits all of a sudden. I'm happy to finally arrive at their flat for a night of sleep, and I coast out of consciousness in a wave of gratitude.
