HAmsterdam and Paris.
greetings from Amsterdam.
me in Paris. photo by John Rosania
October first, 2003
I go to Amsterdam today. Eight-hour train ride, through Brussels. I'm done with the UK now until I fly out in a month from London. I'm doing all Germany and France from here on out, many shows, much travel. No more relaxing for me!
OK. It turns out it’s a seven-hour train ride, because there’s a time zone change. I’m on the train now, the Eurostar. It’s WAY classier than the English and (especially) Irish within-country trains. It’s smoother, quieter, much faster (300 KPH= 187 MPH!) and it doesn’t smell like the Hanson brothers. (Although the old man I was seated next to did. And of course he was French. I moved, despite the fact that this train has assigned seating. If questioned, I’m gonna quietly say, "That guy smells", and stay where I am.)
The train is not very full, and the clientele is much classier. Many businessmen, many laptops, few stinky drunks. (Although in Brussels Belgium I switch to a different train to go to Amsterdam. I assume there will be some smelly pot heads, whores and junkies on that one). Several languages are being spoken at the same time here. This is the first train I’ve ever been on in my life where I not only had to show a passport but had to pass a airport-type security complete with metal detectors to get on.
We’re under the English Channel in the Channel Tunnel (or the "Chunnle" as it’s called.)
Later. Yup, the second train was a little more down to earth. Traveling from Belgium to Amsterdam there were less businessmen, and more junkies, pirates and whores. And the trash cans actually looked like Sharps containers (the things that doctors—and some well-prepared junkies--use to dispose of used syringes).
two cats in paris who love me. I petted them both a lot.
paris church
Willam and Denise.