It begins...
Welcome all to the diary of a Langer on Tour. Hopefully, at some stage i will manage to get photos on here but for the moment you are stuck with my musings. Also, due to the infernal azerty keyboard in la Françe, you may have to overlook a number of spelling errors.
Please feel free to e-mail me at shanek25@eircom.net, its great to get the news from home. Please also feel free to pass this link on to anyone else who might be so mind-numbingly bored at work that they might also consider a read. If you have any tips on places i should visit or see in any of the areas i am visiting please do not be shy with the recommendations. The guide book i purchased last week covers the entire Medditeranean and is not very detailed.
And so to the blog....
The Dam
My first three days of freedom were spent along the canals of Amsterdam. You may or may not have visited. For those of you that have not, let me tell you that it is a city filled with danger. First there are the bicylcles. They obey no rules of road or footpath. A tinkle of a bell is apparently sufficient legal warning that you are about to be run over. Then there are the trams (or as one young lady with a Dublin accent shouted, "Look, they got a Luas too!") with their own distinctive "You are about to die" bell. Also watch out for scooters, buses, rickshaws and the regular traffic, which all meld into one melange of late nite terror. If the barges could leave the canals they too would be singularly bent on pedestrian destruction.
The first two nites in Amsterdam i spent in the company of a good friend. My final afternoon was intended for figuring out how and when i was going to get to Paris. Staying in mo leaba until circa 2:00pm did not assist. That Liverpool were playing Reading on the box at at 4:00pm that afternoon assured nothing useful would be accomplished. I took to a small bar not far from the hotel and settled in with a beer. It was soon apparent that there were 7-8 Northern lads sitting at a table overlooking mine. They were wataching the Scum (Man Yoo) game. They were talking loud - the bar was loud - and in strained, harsh Norn Iron tones. Midway through the first half one of them enquired loudly if the others remembered "that poor wee Catholic bastard" that got killed a few years back. A few nods of acknowledgement and some guffaws. The next snatched bit of conversation involved how one of the guys had been charged with possesion of a stanley knife, but not to worry as "the fuckers will never make it stick."
At that point i put my head down and noticed my People's Republic of Cork t-shirt. It was five minutes from half-time and as soon as that whistle blew, so did i. Who needs death by bicycle, scooter, tram, bus or car when Ryanair fly from Belfast.
Brugges
Having spent Saturday afternoon eluding the Shankhill Butchers, on Sunday i needed to figure out where to head next. A twenty minute google search at the train station threw up Brugges. Its a pretty wee place - cobbled streets, cathedrals and canals - and a great contrast from the Dam. All in all a good place to take the missus or the folks for a weekend. Not a great place for a party - the town does not posses a single niteclub. Not that i was bothered. Following the assault on the senses that is Amsterdam, Brugges was custom designed for my requirements.
Brugges may not have a nite-club but it does have numerous bars. The reputation of Belgian beer needs no embellishment. Suffice it to say that it is justified. My first nite was spent in a local bar drinking one or two very reasonably priced Hoegaarden (€1.20 for a half pint) and watching FC Brugges get spanked on the box by a team i have never heard of. The locals were unimpressed - with the football.
An interesting (perhaps) aside is that according to a local, Brugges is the most expensive place in Flanders to take a leak au natural. If you are caught peeing outside late at nite the fine is €152 (or approximately €750 per litre). Given the vast quantities of Belgian beer in continuous circulation and the fact that Brugges has only one public toilet, this could be considered steep. Please note that the aforementioned public toilet closes at 6:00pm as i discovered to my cost (not financial) after a long leg-crossed journey to find it.
The Bauhus Hostel in the Brugges was my first hostel experience on this trip. I opted for a single room to ease myself into a new lifestyle. There were a few notable adjustments from the four-star hotel in Amsterdam:
1. The walls were paper thin. I was treated to a late, loud, running conversation between at least two and perhaps three (hundered?!) Spanish girls in the room next door. This was topped by an even later, louder and longer conversation between three Italian lads in the room on the otherside.
2. Cold shower. Nuff said. It was cold. Freezing, ice cold.
3. There were holes in the floor, ceiling and skirting. Images of furry little rodents haunted my sleep.
The Holy Blood
One final note on Brugges for all you Da Vinci Code people. The Church of the Precious Blood in Brugges has the real thing. The Blood of Christ. No jokes. Every day for two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening you are invited to "venerate" the Holy Blood (for a small donation). Apparently the drops of blood were brought back from the crusades by a local man. We are not told how he came by them. It might have been the black market in Danascus. The relic has been defended and promoted by the Bortherhood of the Precious Blood ever since (i have seen photos of them - its all very Monthy Python.
I went along. A small gold encrusted vial is placed on a red velvet cushion at a side alter of the church. A solemn looking priest prays over it for the entire time it is exhibited. I observed the multitude of signs in six languages (and recorded message on the church speaker system - again in six languages) to make a donation before "venerating" the relic. To be fair, and without wishing to offend any sensibilities, its a mouldy piece of cloth inside a gold encrusted glass vial. I hope the Brotherhood doesn't come to get me.
Onwards to Paris and the first nite in a shared hostel dorm. Woooo, exciting...
Please feel free to e-mail me at shanek25@eircom.net, its great to get the news from home. Please also feel free to pass this link on to anyone else who might be so mind-numbingly bored at work that they might also consider a read. If you have any tips on places i should visit or see in any of the areas i am visiting please do not be shy with the recommendations. The guide book i purchased last week covers the entire Medditeranean and is not very detailed.
And so to the blog....
The Dam
My first three days of freedom were spent along the canals of Amsterdam. You may or may not have visited. For those of you that have not, let me tell you that it is a city filled with danger. First there are the bicylcles. They obey no rules of road or footpath. A tinkle of a bell is apparently sufficient legal warning that you are about to be run over. Then there are the trams (or as one young lady with a Dublin accent shouted, "Look, they got a Luas too!") with their own distinctive "You are about to die" bell. Also watch out for scooters, buses, rickshaws and the regular traffic, which all meld into one melange of late nite terror. If the barges could leave the canals they too would be singularly bent on pedestrian destruction.
The first two nites in Amsterdam i spent in the company of a good friend. My final afternoon was intended for figuring out how and when i was going to get to Paris. Staying in mo leaba until circa 2:00pm did not assist. That Liverpool were playing Reading on the box at at 4:00pm that afternoon assured nothing useful would be accomplished. I took to a small bar not far from the hotel and settled in with a beer. It was soon apparent that there were 7-8 Northern lads sitting at a table overlooking mine. They were wataching the Scum (Man Yoo) game. They were talking loud - the bar was loud - and in strained, harsh Norn Iron tones. Midway through the first half one of them enquired loudly if the others remembered "that poor wee Catholic bastard" that got killed a few years back. A few nods of acknowledgement and some guffaws. The next snatched bit of conversation involved how one of the guys had been charged with possesion of a stanley knife, but not to worry as "the fuckers will never make it stick."
At that point i put my head down and noticed my People's Republic of Cork t-shirt. It was five minutes from half-time and as soon as that whistle blew, so did i. Who needs death by bicycle, scooter, tram, bus or car when Ryanair fly from Belfast.
Brugges
Having spent Saturday afternoon eluding the Shankhill Butchers, on Sunday i needed to figure out where to head next. A twenty minute google search at the train station threw up Brugges. Its a pretty wee place - cobbled streets, cathedrals and canals - and a great contrast from the Dam. All in all a good place to take the missus or the folks for a weekend. Not a great place for a party - the town does not posses a single niteclub. Not that i was bothered. Following the assault on the senses that is Amsterdam, Brugges was custom designed for my requirements.
Brugges may not have a nite-club but it does have numerous bars. The reputation of Belgian beer needs no embellishment. Suffice it to say that it is justified. My first nite was spent in a local bar drinking one or two very reasonably priced Hoegaarden (€1.20 for a half pint) and watching FC Brugges get spanked on the box by a team i have never heard of. The locals were unimpressed - with the football.
An interesting (perhaps) aside is that according to a local, Brugges is the most expensive place in Flanders to take a leak au natural. If you are caught peeing outside late at nite the fine is €152 (or approximately €750 per litre). Given the vast quantities of Belgian beer in continuous circulation and the fact that Brugges has only one public toilet, this could be considered steep. Please note that the aforementioned public toilet closes at 6:00pm as i discovered to my cost (not financial) after a long leg-crossed journey to find it.
The Bauhus Hostel in the Brugges was my first hostel experience on this trip. I opted for a single room to ease myself into a new lifestyle. There were a few notable adjustments from the four-star hotel in Amsterdam:
1. The walls were paper thin. I was treated to a late, loud, running conversation between at least two and perhaps three (hundered?!) Spanish girls in the room next door. This was topped by an even later, louder and longer conversation between three Italian lads in the room on the otherside.
2. Cold shower. Nuff said. It was cold. Freezing, ice cold.
3. There were holes in the floor, ceiling and skirting. Images of furry little rodents haunted my sleep.
The Holy Blood
One final note on Brugges for all you Da Vinci Code people. The Church of the Precious Blood in Brugges has the real thing. The Blood of Christ. No jokes. Every day for two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening you are invited to "venerate" the Holy Blood (for a small donation). Apparently the drops of blood were brought back from the crusades by a local man. We are not told how he came by them. It might have been the black market in Danascus. The relic has been defended and promoted by the Bortherhood of the Precious Blood ever since (i have seen photos of them - its all very Monthy Python.
I went along. A small gold encrusted vial is placed on a red velvet cushion at a side alter of the church. A solemn looking priest prays over it for the entire time it is exhibited. I observed the multitude of signs in six languages (and recorded message on the church speaker system - again in six languages) to make a donation before "venerating" the relic. To be fair, and without wishing to offend any sensibilities, its a mouldy piece of cloth inside a gold encrusted glass vial. I hope the Brotherhood doesn't come to get me.
Onwards to Paris and the first nite in a shared hostel dorm. Woooo, exciting...
posted by Supertramp | 12:45 PM
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