"You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know"

-Oscar Wilde.

Intro:
Where do I really begin?

Staring at my Oscar Wilde mug with that quote strewn across the sides, thinking about how I put my lips on his grave for good luck in an enormous, immaculate cemetery/celebration of death in France called "Paire LaChaise", I guess that quote actually holds some bearing in my life now. Yesterday I kissed his grave and saw his chiseled, rock, testicle remakes, the day before that I had visited Jim Morrison's grave in the same cemetery...still looking fresh and cool as if drunken rock had just died and been buried a few minutes earlier.
That night I sat alone under the Eiffel Tower directly in the center and watched the lights change from the cold, wet, grass, as lovers and thieves walked by, both offering me the same feeling of paralysis regardless of their intention.

Before that night I had climbed the Eiffel Tower, and lit a candle in Notre Dame.
The night before that I looked at the constellations while strung out on hash and time from a hostel in Holland, Amsterdam , identifying the star patterns and planets Ramy taught me to identify when looking up at the skies. Thought about Ramy saying "You can see the outline of the milky way tonight, just under the moon". I repeated that to new people. I repeated that to new people.

I spent an hour in Anne Frank's house and breathed when I walked outside.

I rode a bicycle all over Amsterdam. I saw a pretty girl selling herself in a window.

I saw an old man sing a song late at night by himself at a Celtic Bar in Dublin, I was by myself too. I sang along.

I don't know how I'm going to "write down" these past two weeks for myself, or for anyone reading this blog. I lived it, I spent a lot of time in my head, company with my thoughts, clever comparisons and witty words won't help you understand what it feels like to inhale life the way I have the past two weeks, not without coughing or choking at the end anyway. But I wrote some stuff down by hand as I traveled. This blog will be a mixture of that, my current input and reflection, and hopefully, not a well written or accurate portrayal of events, but, at least an honest one. Re-reading the blog I wrote last week on Dublin, it is a totally different tone and style than I think I would write this now.

My Trip Backpacking Across Europe. "A long blog"
Notes from Dublin. Day 1.


Sad, Beautiful, Lovesick, Dublin.

So I have reached the apotheosis of my life. Backpacking through Europe, living in a hostel, showering with grown men, sharing a room with twenty people that has white bunks,and still,feeling sort of alive.

Note: No one reminded me to bring flip flops. If you plan to shower in a hostel, you need flip flops.
Gross.

We excitedly took the train out of New Cross Gate to Gatwick on Saturday. I think we were all really excited to be leaving London for a little bit, you know, onto something new. I've been waiting a long time for this, to completely leave behind everything I've ever know about living. (note I really didn't know what I was getting into, in reflection).
Once at Gatwick airport, walking quickly, I had all of my clothes and a few things to stay clean, and this notebook, in a bookbag. All I would need for basic survival. Before boarding the plane, I found a place that sold milkshakes. I than took a shot of baileys and a shot of whiskey from the free trial stands...guess I was a bit nervous, I do hate flying you know.

OK, so we leave Gatwick airport and get on the poor Ryan Air Plane, that had no assigned seats and only cost us 5 pounds to fly to Dublin from London. I figured if there was anytime to die, t was now. I felt better.
The plane ride to Ireland was quicker than it would take me to drive to my apartment on Franklin Street from Old Bridge. I felt like it was over in three seconds, and as we descended over Ireland, we saw green fireworks in the sky signifying that we were definitely there.

We took a cab over to our hostel, which was called Brown's Hostel on Gardner Street in Dublin. It was cool to ride in a car again, I sat in the front seat and tried to picture what it would be like to accelerate on a gas pedal again. The driver was so Irish I could barely understand what he was saying but we said "cool, thanks" in a friendly way in response. Finally we arrived at our Hostel, paid him the Euros (which felt foreign in our pound-spoiled fingers), and walked in. As soon as we were inside I saw a shirtless dude walking around. The Irish kid behind the counter checked us in while he was singing along to some Irish band on the radio.

A hostel is a weird place. There is a common room with a kitchen and a fridge, and than there was like a pool table, sofas, a TV, and a complimentary guitar and some other shit to keep you entertained. It's not nice though, don't be confused. It is one step above living in a homeless shelter. It is a petri dish, a bacteria trap, a cage for sick travelers and people who have abandoned the idea of home.
It was cool to see the people of all these different nationalities sitting around and chatting.
Our room is smelly. 20 Bed backpacker haven. It looks like the room of an orphanage in a movie. got a top bunk, put my book bag on it and sat and contemplated. It was time to go out and celebrate Halloween in Dublin.

This was Dublin. Guinness signs and old style pubs. Murphy would be in Heaven. After getting a little lost, we found this giant pole that you can see from all over Dublin, so i twas cool that I actually used to find my way back later that night.

We went to a pub crawl, which we means we start at one pub and go around to a bunch of different ones after an hour of drinking. Everything was all decked out for Halloween. At the first pub, there was an Irish Band playing and I ordered a "Slaughterhouse Red", which tasted like Guinness. One thing about Dublin, it is twice as expensive as England, and England is twice as expensive as America.
I got drunk quick. At our second pub I had my first Guinness in Ireland, which was good, but honestly, not better than any other Guinness I've ever had on tap at a pub (sorry, bar) at home. Kate rejected her Guinness and poured hers into mine whilst I wasn't looking, I continued to get drunker.
By the time we got to the third place, I was bombed. The Irish go hard on Halloween. To be honest, I don't even remember the third pub. I just knew I was running out of money.

By the time we got to the fourth place, I was shouting "I'm in Dublin, I'm in Dublin!" and I was legit wasted. This place was some freaky dance club so I decided to do my signature move, and go get lost in the streets of Dublin alone.

The streets were nuts. Crazy Irish people drinking and going ballistic in the road. It was the kind of thing I would have been ENTHRALLED by when I was 18, but now it was just amusing. I found an awesome street band and drunkenly watched and shouted for a bt, than I walked around Dublin.
Oh yeah, I stopped at a pizza place and ordered a slice, and I was SHOCKED to find that the pizza was actually fucking excellent, like, it tasted like Old Bridge Pizza at home (not Krispy heheh) and it was GLORY to eat it.
After that I followed the big pole back toward Gardner St, and I found a real Irish pub called, "The Celt". I went in there and it was perfect.
Old wooden walls, stools, and tables like the "Irish pubs' in the states try to imitate. It was the real thing. Old man bartenders, drunken, sad, swaying Irishmen, and a weird feeling of being all together even though I was sitting alone.
I ordered a Guinness(this one was perfect).
This Irish people dimmed down the lights, got out a microphone, and started singing old, beautiful, sad, Irish folk songs a Capella.

They all took turns over and over again, singing the saddest love songs I've ever heard. Pure beauty in Europe.

When I got back to my hostel, I was sitting in the common room playing guitar and a kid from Brighton came up to me and asked me to play him a tune. I strummed a couple chords and than I wound up going outside with him to order a pizza. Outside we met an older man, probably in his fifties, and me, a kid from Brighton, and an older man talked about ex wives and girlfriends on a stoop in Ireland. The man told me that he had three wives but he only loved his first. He asked if I understood what it's like to see a beautiful girl, and I told him it takes awhile, beauty is something you see after you've settled your stomach.
The guy made me feel sad.
Sad, beautiful, lovesick, Dublin.
I went back inside and met a kid from Brazil. It was funny because I was communicating with him in basic high school Spanish, but we actually had a small conversation equivalent to the ones I practised at Brookdale. We shook hands and I called it a night.
The next day I woke up in my bed, realising I was in a room with twenty other people, feeling a little strange.
We got dressed and decided to walk around Dublin. Dublin looks different in the day. It was raining and freezing cold, and I forgot to pack a proper jacket.
Feeling dirty and hungover, we got breakfast at an Irish Cafe. I ordered cabbage, pork, and potatoes for breakfast, not the best idea considering my bodystyle, but I had to.
After breakfast we walked the streets of Dublin and I saw an awesome Irish street band called MUTEFISH. I bought their CD for 10 Euro. They were seriously great.
We stopped at Trinity College and walked around the greens for a bit. It's amazing how I've become accustomed to beautiful architecture. We went back to the hostel to get ready for the night.
Showering in this hostel is quite possibly the worst thing in the world. Picture, sweaty, dirty showers, with lots of naked dudes and no where to put your clothes except the disgusting floor while you try and wash. I had a reality check in the shower, like, holy shit, I'm in a hostel in Dublin. Hostels are a place of no privacy. You shower with people, you eat, sleep, and live in a big dirty house and everyone speaks a different language.
After my shower we headed out to the pub, I had Kerry Beef and Potatoes.
We pregamed at the hostel. It was cool because the Brazilian kid I had met the night before was there and we had a a few more conversations.
I had a bit of a jam with these dudes I met from Italy, they banged on pots and pans and a cheese grater while I played an amateur version of Best Feeling.
We essentially just went barhopping again that night, but one of the bar singers closed with No Woman No Cry. That song has been following me around my entire life.

The next morning I woke up feeling good. Today was the day we would take our pilgrimage to the Guinness factory. We grabbed a quick breakfast. I had toast with strawberry jam and espresso, which was one of the best espresso's I've ever had.

Ok. Guinness Factory.
When you are walking up to the Guinness Factory, which is 250 years old, the air of the surrounding neighborhood smells like beer....everywhere. People live in this area outside the factory, smelling beer everyday of their awesome lives. We walked up quickly and made our way inside. It's just a huge factory. Arthur Guinness signed a 9,000 year lease 250 years ago. I tasted barley, I saw how it's made, and I even learned how to pour the perfect Guinness.
Drinking Guinness in Dublin from the factory was bliss. First of all, it was literally the greatest beer I've ever had. It tasted like, pure heavenly, suddy, milky, bliss. I drank it with my friends and savored every sip. I thought about all the Guinness I had shared with Gerry and Doug back at home...I remembered Gerry saying "Now that's a Guinness" , a million times after we discovered that conversation over a Guinness was much better than coffee. I remembered all the times me Doug and Joey spent Saturdays at the Game Room drinking Guinness, eating Chinese food, and not doing our jobs.

That night we ate at a pub. I had traditional Irish stew, and a pint of Bulmer's Irish Cider.
Just as a sidenote, I don't know if people in the states realize that in Europe Cider is just as if not more popular than beer. You get it on tap. We drink cider just as regularly as beer, it's a huge part of European drinking culture and they have lots of different kinds. It also has more alcohol.

Dublin was an interesting city to say the least and a great place to drink.
Right now I'm on a Green Plane with shamrocks all over it heading towards Amsterdam. I'm writing these blogs on paper. Wild. I feel like shit from living the hostel but I can't wait to get to Amsterdam.
Time to smoke some Chronic.

Cheers.
Andrew

Amsterdam; This is the Place for Us. By: Andrew Ginsberg.
Blog 2.

This is where I stopped writing. I have nothing to copy onto this blog text box. I don't really know what I want to say about Amsterdam, about traveling through Europe. I feel like I learned something that I can't really talk about, or it would be wrong to talk about.

I'm losing my mind.

Lets see. We arrived in Amsterdam, another short plane ride. I felt like shit. Walking around I noticed that this was the most beautiful city I had ever seen. I loved it. I loved the condensed buildings and spaces, the canals, the style, the vibrations, the smell in the air. I love Amsterdam. We took the, uh, actually, I don't even know what it's called. We took this thing that like goes through the whole city, I guess it's a trolley/bus to our hostel. We got lost just a little bit, because Amsterdam is the most bugged out city in the world (nelson), but I mean I myself didn't get lost because I never volunteer to help with directions because I'm an incapable, passive, leech who just lets everyone else figure things out.
Anyway we got to our Hostel and it was great. Finally a nice hostel. Nice, clean, comfortable beds. Free internet. Friendly service. Room to ourselves. Ample-sized Bathroom. I was so happy with this room. I felt like I had a fever so I knew I wanted to get out into Amsterdam and make myself feel better.
I feel like through out this whole trip I kept getting lost in my head. I was thinking so much that it was like interfering with reality. We'd start walking places and I would be so lost in thought and we would arrive and I would realize I didn't talk or move my own legs or anything I just looked up and wound up places. I asked the desk clerk at the hotel for a nice place to smoke marijuana and eat fried food, and he directed us to some place that we didn't make it to.
The first cafe we went to was called " The Otherside". I ordered a coffee, a bag of white widow marijuana, two pre-rolled joints, and two bottles of apple juice. You see. This is what I don't know how to explain to you about Amsterdam. I don't know how to write this, like I'm laughing as I write this. Mom, Dad, if you have access to this blog, sorry, but uh, yeah.
So I mean this is literally Amsterdam. You just smoke pot legally in really nice coffee shops. You can see Weed Menus with all the lists of weed, hash, brownies, or mushrooms, and all the different highs they give you. The bags are huge, and they are cheap. The buds are green and perfect. It's a circus. Amsterdam just exists. It's beautiful man.
Everyone there is so friendly, they have no laws but low crime, everyone is happy.
Before that I forgot to mention we ate dinner at an Italian place and the guy who owned it was the friendliest man in the world. I ordered a Calzone and it was the size of my head and I ate the whole thing and it was fucking delicious.
Later that night we just went around to different coffee shops, uh, trying out different, uh, coffees.

We went to the Red Light District.
There are beautiful women in the windows that you can fuck for 50 Euro. These prostitutes aren't loose, old hags, a lot of them were absolutely gorgeous. Some of them were young girls that typical guys would try to get drunk at a party. No, I didn't pay to have sex with a prostitute in Holland, but I do think it's amazing that these women actually do this with their lives. They stand in a window like animals and try to convince strangers to have sex with them. While its unnatural, and disgusting to me, I couldn't help but be fascinated by the sheer fact that this sort of thing is real, real in the natural, spiritual world. Like, this is what they do. It's part of their culture, and as I try to lose my pre-conceived and brainwashed American notions about what is right and wrong in society, I guess I can see the beauty in it. These women are so beautiful that selfish Johns will PAY MONEY to FUCK them. That's pure dominance, and good for them. I just wonder when the last time they had sex was. I wonder if they're happy and if someone loves them at the end of a shift.

There is lots of sex in the district. You can watch sex shows, buy weird stuff to take home into your bed, and just any way you want to celebrate your body like some kind of modern day Etrucian fucklord... you can.

More coffee shops...more coffee.

The next morning I had a waffle dipped in candied sugar with ice cream all over it for breakfast. Like I said. Amsterdam, shouldn't be real. We rented bikes.
Renting bikes was the bests part about Amsterdam. Amsterdam has bike lanes that go through the entire city and it was beautiful to ride through feeling free,smelling weed and fries and just going around the city really fast on our Dutch bikes. I felt really close at this point to the people I was with, I was in love with this city, I really was.
We rode around all afternoon, goofing around, just having fun. I didn't feel like a guy who has to move out of his house this summer anymore, I felt like a guy who has everything going for him, young and ready to go. I felt great.

We went to Anne Frank's house. This was surreal. We spent an hour in there and we wanted to leave. Think about her, two years, eventually just to to die in a concentration camp. It was weird to see her posters on the wall, the lingering feeling of sadness was tangible to me, I feel these kind of things. I feel people's sadness.

Not gonna dwell on Anne Frank House.

I ate a giant hot dog with everything on it...it was great.
Than we went to Grasshopper Cafe to eat a brownie.

There are some things I honestly can't tell you about. Not because I'm embarrassed or anything, because I don't know what to say. I honestly, don't know what to tell you that would make you understand.
We ate the brownies at 4:20pm and by 9:30pm all of us were in the bed, lights off, sleeping. That's all you really need to know, but if you ever want a really good story, lets drink a couple beers one night and I'll tell you about what happened between 4:20pm and 9:30pm in Amsterdam.

The next morning we woke up and got a pancake breakfast. Like I said, fan tasty world. The Pancakes were enormous and covered with whatever the fuck you want. Ice cream, chocolate, brownies, bananas, ham, bacon, eggs, it DOESN'T matter. We walked by the donut shops after that and later that day we eventually ate fries with mayo all over them.

We went to the Amsterdam market, and bought some weird chocolates and such.

Later that day I went to the Heineken factory. It was sweet, I drank two Heineken's at the factory give me a break. They didn't taste anything like they do in the states.

That night me Chris and Emily ate at a traditional Dutch restaurant. The menu was completly in Dutch and I didn't know what I ordered but it was spicy, sweet, and absolutly delicious.
We spent the night in more coffee shops, trying more kinds of coffee.
We went to a bar called Gollum which is like a trillion yearss old and has these monk beers we were looking for. I met a guy from California who said he went to Amsterdam on vacation and never went back home.

Later that night, I sat on our porch by myself and looked at the stars. I was stoned but I remembered how much I looked at the stars with Ramy. Pretty much every night at home, to top off the night. Me and him are pros at identifying the planets and constellations and stuff. Long talks about aliens. I wish he could have been there with me. I really, really do. I remembered the night I left looking at the stars in the sandbox in Country Place park. I now saw them from a ledge in Holland. I wished Ramy could have been there.


That was Amsterdam.
We ditched our leftover weed in a garbage can before heading onto the Bus for Paris.


Blog 3:

Paris:

Seulement la chose belle comme Paris vous est
...really.


Coming Soon. Paris Blog not finished. Stayed Tuned Readers!!!!!!