Oooh, drove through Beverly Hills today. We didn't make it right over to the beach, but even so, you could smell the money. Huge houses, Maseratis and Rolls Royces, palm-lined streets, etc. Had a look in a great store called Whacko (maybe spelt differently) that had so much cool-looking stuff likes toys, books, paintings and miscellanea. Unfortunately we were a bit short on time and with SOO much stuff to look at I would never have made a decision on anything. Had a bite to eat at one of the better Mexican foodchain stores, did some shopping at Amoeba records, and am back here to finish packing and head to the airport. So really, this is my final post for the trip, wow. That's kinda freaky, but I've been ready to come home for a while, so it's not an unpleasant realisation. See you soon!

Staying with Dain is great! It's like staying in a hostel a bit, as there are so many people, but different to a hostel, they're all locals and cool. Though, most of them are actually from Texas (as is Dain). There's a great cat called Shamrock, too, that acts a bit like Krupnik but is twice the size. Anyway, something I've been meaning to write about but keep forgetting, is my weight... oh, fascinating, yes... but, my weight hasn't budged in years, yet in Tokyo, I started losing weight! By about the end of our stay there, I had lost 2.5 kilos, which as you're probably aware, is not something I need to do. After four weeks in Europe I finally had a chance to weigh myself again... and I had put 3.5 back on, haha. Yeah, anyway...
L.A. is weird... I'm not sure what I expected, but, it's not what I expected. I also didn't realise that it's only two hours drive from Mexico. So there's a lot of Hispanics around where Dain lives (Echo Park). I'm pretty sure that on the bus home tonight, I was the only Caucasian, odd. So yesterday went out with Dain's friend Jason, who has a penchant for very unfashionable clothing like wool-knit sweaters with patterns of reindeer or something. Had a look at a Frank Lloyd Wright house and a couple of others by other famous American architects. Bought some great CDs plus a couple of duds yesterday, going back to by more. :\ Hmmm... tired... going out to the club that Dain works at tonight. He keeps promising to take me to all the dodgiest food venues of L.A., and we hit one last night on the infamous Walk of Fame, a pizza joint of very dubious quality. My intestines lived through it, though. The Walk of Fame, yeah, blah! A bit seedy, as the prostitutes and crack dealers work at one end of it, so there's numerous `lingerie' shops along there. And whilst I remember, WHY can't Europeans engineer a simple, decent shower-head to save their life??? My god, the agonies I've gone through trying to take a shower with funky shower-heads that spray water in every direction, or have no wall mount, or, arghrgh! Dain has some cool musical equipment... a big ring oscillator unit, and this little box that I'm not really sure what to call but there's a mass of cables going between them and _really_ bizarre sounds come out when you twiddle the dials! Mmmm, twiddling. Had a funny thought in a cafe today... this couple sitting in front of me... the guy has his hand on her back, and he is stroking and patting her. And it struck me how similar it appeared to be the way one strokes and pats a dog. One of the guys that lives here, Don, said the other day, "Man, we gotta get some more chics to move in. I'm sick of doing the dishes." Oh, and we had a drink last night at a little bar in China Town called Hop Louie's.

Ok, I guess the "previous post" did work. Anyway... in Los Angeles now, staying with Dain in a house dominanted by sound engineer/musicians. There is an army of acoustic, electric and digital music equipment here, so although I am sharing the (huge) living room with a smelly pet mouse, I think I'm going to enjoy myself.
L.A. though, is a hole.

Bugger, my last post didn't work, though I thought I published it before the computer shut down. Anyway... heard Francisco Lopez last night as a support act to DAT Politics. His composition was based on clocks, and it was great! I spoke to him briefly during the intermission, and he said that the performance in Melbourne a couple of years ago was one of his most special! Even better news, he will be back in summer! In traditional Lopez style, his piece was performed in complete darkness and blindfolds were handed out. It really felt like the rhythmic ticking, churning and cycling of the clocks was in my head. And then the bass at the end... oooooh, the bass! heheh. DAT Politics were ok, kind of noisy pop.
Still in Amsterdam, but will be getting the high speed train tomorrow for Frankfurt, where I have to stay overnight to get my flight to L.A. in the morning. The train will travel at around 140km/h in Holland, then 200km/h in Germany, and finally 300km/h from Cologne to Frankfurt! I am looking forward to it. :) Maybe I'll pull the emergency brake at top speed...

Heard Francisco Lopez last night, and it was great! A piece composed entirely from the sound of clocks, but of course, there were many sounds that sounded nothing like clocks. Performed in his traditional complete darkness, the sounds really felt like they were inside my head. And _huge_ bass at the end. I spoke with him briefly, and he remarked that the Melbourne concert was one of the most special he has ever done! And that he will be back in summer, woohoo!
A very funny email that Sophie sent me a week or two ago said, that since she was missing me, she got Amelia to put one of my CDs on quite loud, so that she could scream "Turn that noise off!" Must book some Frankfurt accommodation, ciao.

Visited the Staalplaat shop on Staalkade yesterday, where of course they have a very nice range of stuff. Listened to a number of Muslimgauze albums and bought two of them, "In Search Of Ahmad Shah Masood" (reissue on Nexsound) and "Alms for Iraq", one of the most recent, and on which there are some crazy sounds! An ultra modern Muslimgauze. Didn't really do much else, I'm just sort of a bit aimless at the moment... saw a sex show in the evening, which was amusing. It's just like a regular theatre with a stage, except that it also features a dancing pole at each side, which is full of water and they can control the bubbles floating up it, and of course a circular rotating podium in the middle. First there were a couple of strip shows that were fairly ordinary, then a couple did a bondage-themed sex show, which, also was ordinary, though it was amusing to watch the couple as they occasionally said something to each other or grinned or chuckled. Then there was a really boring sex show couple, then a more entertaining strip show where the stripper got a few guys on stage to "dance sexy" with her, which they did with gusto. Then as she led them around the stage in a `locomotion' fashion, someone in an ape costume with an attached penis appears from off stage and joins on at the end, occasionally prodding the guy in front in the arse. heh, then at the end, the ape acts a bit ape like and pretends to masturbate, ejaculating something over the audience. The final stripper started off well, clad as the grim reaper on a descending podium, but became ordinary quickly, and finished off with her, ah, immitation of a candle-holder. :)
Amsterdam is beautiful, there are lots of lovely canals and alleys and such... I'm going straight back to a bar that specialises in Belgian beer and features a very slinky black cat that comes down the stairs and looks around furtively. When I was there yesterday it started to climb onto the shoulders of man who was stooped over just next to the stairs.
Oh right, did I mention when I return? 11th February, yeah. Cool, that's all, ciao.

Wow was I stoned last night on one space cake! It took well over half an hour to take effect, but then all of a sudden... tingly, tingly, light-headed quasi-lucidity. You know that advertisement for some expensive alcohol, shot on black & white stock I think, scene at a bar, man spies a lone woman, orders a drink for her from across the bar... Cointreau, I think? It's illegal to serve alcohol in a cafe that sells marijuana, so I started pondering equivalent scenes in the same sort of classy bar, so the same footage, sounds of a noisy bar, image of man talking to bartender but you can't hear what they're saying, bartender looks across at woman and back to man, nods, goes and does something, brings woman a drink... woman looks at it and asks, "What is it?" ... bartender shrugs and says "A hot chocolate. From the gentleman." Man gives her the eye whilst woman looks quizzically from hot chocolate to man and back again. Hmmm. Another one, but this time when the woman asks, "What is it?" the bartender replies "A rohypnol-spiked vodka cocktail." It was terribly amusing when I was stoned last night. I was in the Bulldog cafe at the time, a very "hezeleg" (? wrong spelling) place, ah, free time almost over, ciao!

Still regurgitating my written diary from Prague, no, I think this is the first day in Berlin, doesn't really matter, as it is just a note about an amusing remark that Bernard, the guy that ran the military antiques store made after he had had a few drinks... as I said, we were in U Flecku with his young daughter, and I was telling him that I was going to hear Dvorak. He was so impressed with the way I pronounced "Dvorak" with a rolled `r', that he said, "You are the king, I am the rook." Hilarious, though I was a little embarassed. Little did he know that I was merely repeating how I have heard it pronounced it on ABC Classic FM!

19th January, 2004
11:20pm It is very lonely, celebrating one's VTAC offer acceptance, alone in a restaurant, where everyone around you is speaking another language. It's about as much isolation as I can take. Earlier today I visited the Erotik Museum of Beate Uhse. I have never before looked at so many illustrated cocks and cunts in one viewing!
[Later, on the train.] Even in Berlin I evidently attract attention, the bartender from the restaurant tonight followed me out onto the street to ask where I was from, saying "We were curious." Walking away from the restaurant, thinking about visiting a bar but realising that it would only increase my feeling of isolation, I succumbed to feeling sorry for myself, two rolling droplets to show for it. However, the African dude opposite me on the train pretending to fellate his banana soon cheered me up. This group of Africans opposite me aren't speaking in German or English, but I can tell that they're talking about penis sizes. Their good humour is infectious. Perhaps 'cause I've had a few.

20th January, 2004
1:40pm Another coffee in Cafe Einstein. Much less busy and less impressive staff. Much happier than I was feeling last night. Left the other three to book our flight to London, as I find it excruciating to watch someone else flounder in the web. The cheesecake here is not bad at all. A tension between the barista and the waitress? He reached to touch her hand after some slightly strained words, which she seemed to jerk out of his reach. An exchanged look between the the waitress and another.

21st January, 2004
4:50pm Ahhh... Barcomis! A mixture of homeliness and trendiness. I could tell from across the road, my heart lept (boing) at the promising atmosphere, betokened perhaps by the bean roaster in the window and the walls, that rough effect where plaster is scraped on and then glazed smooth.
I have just noticed what I believe to be an Australian with a backpack covered in patches from different European countries: something tackier I have not seen for some time! I'm so glad that I didn't follow through with my threat to do the same thing. I see lots of people with dogs and babies; it seems to be the culture to take them everywhere with you, and public services are set up to cater for it. Shit! I just got a cafe laté served in one of those French fucking bowls. The couple in front of me look more Italian than German, and definitely yuppies. He looks like he is wearing almost as much makeup as her, his face looks so perfect. Not particularly attractive, just seamless. Plucked, tanned (fake?) and styled.
8:45pm Having dinner now in Dur Letztes Instanz, the oldest pub in Berlin. Located in Waissenstrasse, just behind the Podewil [where I had just seen a large exhibition of modern art, including some very funky assault rifles decorated in sequins, velvet, diamonties (?), leopard print, etc].
10:10pm The Englishman that joined my table just left, after an enlightening conversation about culture and politics in Britain and Europe.
This pub is quaint and fairly cosy; dark timbre [err, timber, heheh] chairs and benches and picture frames filled with kitsch German images [of countryside, kitchens, etc]. Hanging leadlight lanters protrude along the wall at two-metre intervals. The tables, however, are of a pale timber, the floor is `brick tiles'. An old circular staircase with decorative iron-work in the body of the railing ascends to the next floor. German kitsch is dotted everywhere. Two Japanese at the table behind me remind me that this place is invariably a tourist attraction, though the other clientele I have noticed seem to be locals.
North Sea Oil, newly formed parliaments, one nationality.
11:30pm Now I am somewhere nice, the Cinema Cafe on Rosenthaler Strasse, sitting in a highbacked, somewhere worn red velvet couch, collections of b&w portraits taken in the cafe on the typically pale cream walls. I love it when people speak German to me without realising that I have no idea what they're on about. I just smile politely and sort of nod, unless they persist and seem to expect a response, in which case I pull out the practised "Ich spreche kein Deutsche." It seems that café style drinking and socialising is more prevalent than bars here.

22nd January, 2004
6:50pm Kurvenstar, that's where I am now, convinced by the charismatic boss, Matteo, a Polish dude in spanking new hip hop gangsta clothes, ala Ali G without the bling. The wine is South African apparently; whatever it is, it's as smooth as silk.
"Marques de Almonacid" Cariñena (Crianza). Spain. Ok, so it's not South African. Now today... no sign of Heuy, Duey and Louie. Haha, the other night, the same day that Peter [Peter Simon, our landlord] had told me his story about his early days with Mobil Oil, or actually it was at the end of that same conversation, Peter remarked "And next time you come to Berlin with a more attractive woman!" and held his finger up to his nostril to indicate Mel, who has a large ring in her nostril there. Haha! His story, avoiding the army by going to university a second time and studying `boat engineering', even though he hates being on them, haha! But then he was called up again only to be rescued by his uncle in Hamburg who gave him a job with Mobil Oil, organising the replacement parts for ships rather than docking them. Then his Mt Fuji story, the wrong clothes, the girl with the anorak, the summit, the quick slide down, the bare arse, the respect on the train for his staff, the American company using a German to infiltrate the Japanese market... fwoah. Hmmm, the fussy Australian strikes again... I just showed the bartender exactly how to replicate my favourite rum cocktail from Misty bar. Went to the Pergamon and Deutsche History museums today, the latter being the first museum creation of I.M. Pei. Who? He designed the Louvre, sweetie!
9:40pm Had a very pleasant dinner and drinks at the Kurvenstar, especially with the bartender, who lived in East Berlin before the wall came down. I see a real variety of `polizie' here. Ones in black, green, now plum! More, I'm sure. But I don't get the impression that they are looking to harass people like Australian cops have the reputation of. [stupid gaijin! not that anything happened, but really... what a stupid observation]

23rd January, 2004
1:45pm Just had my first "whinging pom" experience in a French patisserie, but rightfully so if his complaints about his breakfast being forty-five minutes late and cold are valid. However it was the tone of voice in which he expressed his displeasure and his emphasising it with "Oh dear, oh dear" that made it peculiarly English. I was thinking of having the same breakfast here tomorrow, but perhaps I will stick with the "ready to eat" baked goods.
11:40pm Somewhere called Elbow Room now, a bar/pool hall. Young, a bit try-hard, a bit `boob'. Red Stripe here tastes nothing like what I've had in Melbourne: it just tastes mediocre. There it is again, mediocrity. [I won't bore you all with my ramblings of angst about mediocrity.]
My flight over here was only €45, compared to the €80 or so the others paid for theirs. Staying with Jerry, the Italian going for a job at the casino, and "Ilovich"(?), the French dude that lives and works there. [And two others that I had not yet met.]
It's kind of cute how everything relates back to the monarchy here. Even this pint glass has a crown on it with the number 16; is that 16cl?
[Ramblings about how crap the bar I'm in is and how I miss Muslimgauze.]
Some fucking Pom just harassed me in unintelligable Pommy-speak [giggle], wondering if I was from some fucking band and writing songs. I honestly thought he was speaking German initially. It's not so bad sitting here; inspirational in the same way sitting in Southland is, except I can get drunk here! [Much rambling about how mediocre the venue is, right down to the carpentry.]

24th January, 2004
2:25am [At the bus stop. You can tell that I've been flying solo since Berlin by the frequency and detail with which I am writing!] Ahh, the moustache strikes again! Crowds of post-adolescents gather to inquire and compliment. One girl was sure that I was an astrologer with a website of some sort. Bizarre.

25th January, 2004
6:15pm Large chicken shawerma for £3.95 coming right up. Probably didn't need to order a large. Visited cool record shop, These Records, near Elephant & Castle the other day, where a very chatty Muslimgauze fan worked behind the desk. He was quite interesting to chat with, and/or listen to as he was very capable of carrying on the conversation single-handedly. Learnt some of the history of :zoviet.france: amongst other things. He happened to have on loan from a friend, an _extremely_ early Muslimgauze vinyl!! Called Buddhist on Fire, it is perhaps his first actual album. It was terrible. :) hahahh, I had to ask him to take it off, it was early '80s industrial dance stuff... really, not, right.
Later on met up with Tam, who I hadn't seen since he was in Melbourne... a few years ago. Went out to a bar called Crazy Larry's; which was mostly full with conservative yuppies. So, terrible music, but very amusing. Again, much attention for 'tash, people trying to grab it to see if it was real, grrr. Met this guy, Barclay, who practically took me by the arm upon seeing me and said, "John Galliano?" [A fashion designer that I apparently bear a striking resemblance to.]

27th January, 2004
2:10pm Fwoah, now I know what it is like to rush for a plane in a huge airport! Not much fun. God, what a schermozzle this morning was. The night before, I accidentally left my crucial diary at Rob's place. So I got up early(ish) this morning in order to go and pick it up before returning to collect my pack and go to the airport. Uh, the tube... it can be good, and it can be bad... I end up taking four trains to get to Rob's. I call him from the station and... his phone is off, argh! I don't remember how to get to his place from the station! I walked up the street, concluded that I didn't know which way to go (even though I was practically standing across the street from his place), walked back to the station and called him again. By this time I realised that time was... not to be wasted. Ok, Rob answers, cool, meet me at the station, cool. Ah, waiting. Ok, Rob arrives, cool, where's the diary? At home? What? Argh! Ok, back to Rob's. Get the diary and pen, realise that I'm not going to be back at the hostel in time for checkout. Find the number in my diary, call them up, explain this, they misunderstand and say "Your luggage will be removed", "nonono, I'll only be half an hour to an hour!", "Oh that's ok", you bet it fugging is. Right, that's ok. Gotta go, ciao, Rob. Back to the station [oh this is all on a single ham+cheese croissant, no coffee or shower or anything, so I was feeling pretty vague and half awake], get the train one stop from Kentish Town to Camden, get off to change trains, cold, put hands in pockets... no diary. Pen, but no diary. How? No diary. But, pen, pen goes with diary, always, no diary. How can there be no diary? I just picked up diary? Check all pockets, no diary. Check all pockets again, no diary. Inside pockets! No diary. But... no diary. F*#K!!!!! Don't think, get on train back to Rob's. [Somehow I blindly found the platform back in seconds.] How no diary? I went to Rob's to PICK UP DIARY FOR F*#K'S SAKE!! Deep breath. How long till plane departs? Hmmm, still a few hours. Hostel checkout? Let's hope they're not impatient. Diary, diary... AHHHH... took it out to find number for hostel. Ok. Back to Kentish Town... ohh... ticket... my tube ticket is a return... from A to B and back to A... not A to B to B to A... will the station let me OUT of Kentish Town, let alone back IN to Kentish Town a second time, as I apparently never went anywhere from there? Will the Transit Officer think that I am trying to jib the system and detain me, making me miss my flight? [The prospect of buying another tube ticket (which is not cheap) seemed unfair.] Ahh... at Kentish Town, there is an exit gateway stuck open, I don't have to validate my ticket on the way out... safe! Kinda, sorta. Back to Rob's, get diary. Back to Kentish Town, check that I have diary, check again. Ok, last hurdle, how to get IN to the station without validating my ticket... a commendation to the London tube is that there are numerous staff at, well, all the stations that _I_ visited. Walking IN through the stuck open exit is a little obvious, but I really don't want to have to explain why I deserve to, or buy another ticket. Walk into station and... the transit officer dude... is tying his shoelaces... with his back to me... so I walk swiftly through the exit and on to freedom. A minor victory in the scheme of things, but what a massive hurdle it seemed at the time. And how naughty I felt, realising that all those station entrances have CCTV, and the thought that I am `on tape', somewhere, apparently committing blatant fair evasion. Amusing.
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And that, brings me to the end of my written diary for now, and to the present moment. Which is, at the end of another relaxed day in the house of Wim, my exceptional host here in Leusden. Today... well, really, we did very little, it was great. In the afternoon we visited another great uncle of mine, Wim's brother, Pleun. These guys are from my mothers side of the family, they are the brothers of her father, Dirk Wilhelm, who was the eldest. Pleun has a lovely house in Gorinchem, which is just twenty minutes drive from here. It is with Pleun that we stayed a while when Sophie and I were here ten years ago. Pleun made some joking remark, I think about my moustache, saying that he thought a Dane had arrived... I'm not quite sure...! Pleun is 80 now, pretty impressive, and far from infirm or invalid. He's still contracted by, I'm not sure who, local governments or such I think, to perform, as he calls it, "calculations" for them, as he is an engineer (civil) by trade. And he makes damn good coffee, Indonesian style. It's vaguely similar to the Vietnamese style of making coffee, from memory, but not sweetened so much on serving. I actually recognised his street as we drove into it, and his house on arrival, and even some aspects of the town.
Soon we went to pick yet another brother, Johanne, who is not fairing so well as the others. We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant in Gorinchem, which was pretty bloody good! Pleun, testing his venerability on me and showing where his son Marten gets it from, stirred and teased me about my long hair and moustache. In hindsight (staircase wit, eh, Peter? what is that word?), I should have suggested it was past his bedtime, as he was also joking about how polar opposite his and my waking hours are.
It has been quite nice to spend a few days doing nothing after what I only now realise is _five_ weeks of travelling! Though yesterday when I got up, I felt weird not doing something, not in a rush to see something. Oh well, I will be back in the fray tomorrow when I hit Amsterdam! What a line-up I have ahead of me; there is a great venue it seems, called Paradiso (http://www.paradiso.nl) that shows a variety of musical performances. I think I will be there on Friday, Sunday and Tuesday nights, you can see the details why for yourself. Then on Monday night there is a performance at the Frascati Theatre featuring DAT Politics, whom I have never heard, and... Francisco Lopez! How nice. :) I have my accommodation, in the heart of the red light district, booked. Now to take on Amsterdam single-handedly I just need, hahah... Dutch courage!!! hahahhha...

Ahem. Sorry, it must be the Chimay. Living adjacent to Belgium means that 750mL bottles of Chimay are about... less than $10. Hmmm, I seem to have crept back to the topic of alcohol.

I intend for my return date to be 12th February, but at the moment it is still slated for the 16th, I think. I miss you all, as although travelling is a blaze of stimulus and experiences, oh forget it, I'm not going to get all sentimental. Ciao.