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Early morning trekked across town and I followed the cats to the Coliseum. I was disappointed it was a ruin. I would really have enjoyed if it had been rebuilt and had the opportunity to see mock gladiatorial games or mythological dramas within its walls. When I was young my exposure to that type of history was either through reading books or viewing movies but to actually stand in such a historical site awakened the senses of my imagination. I could almost make out the roar of the lions and the cheer from the crowd. …
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I knew we had reached the Netherlands when the standard blue or green trains turned multi-colored. Two guys had hit us up in the train station soliciting us to take a room on their boat. I preferred being in the heart of the city where access was easier and I could be closer to the coffee shop I decide to write in, but Jenni kind of liked the idea of being on a boat. I was leaving in a few days and felt that getting her acquainted with another group of people was also a priority. …
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I woke up in the middle of a desert of reddish clay painted orange by the rising sun. As the ride wore on the sun converted our compartment from a cozy bed into practically an oven. Each hill looked the same as the one before it rolling one after another past my window. If one didn’t know any better it could be assumed that my window was the backdrop to a movie set. …
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There were no hedges, nor fences, in the bare and uniform countryside leading into the Netherlands. We were heading back into the crossroads of traffic back into the circus they had named Amsterdam. I could see no natural boundaries that separated the courtyard from the jester. …
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We divided up the day between Rembrandt and Van Gough. Sadness is Van Gough’s greatness and without his blood and wed of failures, such masterpieces perhaps would have never been put to canvas. I can relate to the color and texture of his turmoil and find myself too at times walking around in a daze. In contract his colors were bright and unique. …
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The clouds were telling no lies, this time they opened up and delivered rain. Bicycles were now out of the question, so we planned on thumbing our way south. We were hardly out of town when Jim started whining again. He’s like one of those thimble banging monkeys. Once his key gets turned there’s no way to turn him off, until his springs loosen. …
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We found ourselves a small room above a bar not far off the main square of Brugge, claimed ourselves bed, dropped off our stuff and hit the local canals for a little sightseeing. We roamed among the flower vendors, chocolate shops, lingered behind a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette while standing on a humped-backed bridge. I enjoyed the mood of the weeping willows and gazed endlessly at the reflections painted by the water. …
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We had planned on seeing Urgup and the Goreme Valley and headed out into the streets in search for the tourist office. It was still very cold but it was like a reversed microwave, my bones were colder than my skin. We located what we believed was the tourist office but there were no brochures or posters to confirm that we had found the right place. Everybody inside was huddled around a small stove trying to keep warm. They explained there were no buses or organized tours this late in the year and suggested we find ourselves a taxi driver. …
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We rose early and spent the entire day wandering the pedestrian streets and central squares popping in and out of small cafes and trendy boutiques. That’s right, trendy boutiques. The young ladies that gather in these places are quite attractive. Carlsberg and then followed the tree-lined avenues to the harbor.
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I wandered about the northern coast of France skipping from hostel to hostel and enjoying their fine cuisine. Finding excellent food was easy but locating a smile or a friendly gesture from the locals was sometimes impossible. I felt that the rudeness the Northern French dished out actually provided the glue that bonded us tourists closer together. I came across a nice room in Blois and utilized it as home base to visit the chateaus in the area. …
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It was an early arrival into Rome. I had in my pocket a few phone numbers and a couple of addresses handed to me along the way. After two attempts at one of these addresses there still was no answer so I obtained a map and began walking towards Saint Peter’s square. I jumped on to the subway surprised to see all the graffiti. Unnecessary scars. As I entered the St. Peter’s courtyard I heard whispers, like the voices of the past that never really left. Each pillar that surrounded me gave me the impression they were watching my every step. …
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My eyes were glued to the window of the bus. The landscape we passed reminded me a lot of my home. The anticipation of knowing Jerusalem was approaching was beginning to take hold. There were many images that had been presented to me throughout my youth that I now have the opportunity to touch. The bus let us off at the Jaffa Gate. Jenni had a name and address of a family given to her from a mutual friend that could perhaps put us up for the night. I noticed a tourist office just off to my left and thought that might be a good place to start and to find ourselves a map of the city. …
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It was very late, or to be more accurate, real early in the morning. Outside the station it was dark and cold, really cold. Neither one of us were equipped for that type of weather. The streets were covered in ice and our worn tennis shoes didn’t provide much if any traction. When we exited the station we had no idea which way to head to find ourselves a room. There were two others that also exited our train so we began following them in the hopes they would lead us down the right path. We came to a large boulevard lined with large office shaped buildings but there were no signs or lights that provided us any indication that we were heading in the right direction. …
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I was told of a nice beach just outside of Pisa so I snuck in an early shower again and took an early train out. Tuscany provided an enchanting landscape painted in pastels. I followed the tourists to the tower in Pisa, gave my two cents and climbed to the top. With all those people hanging all over it I was surprised it hadn’t fallen and decided to head down before it did. After strolling through the Duomo and viewing Ramous’s doors I wandered across the river to get a feel for the countryside and sat along the side of the bridge thinking. Truth, like art is sometimes in the eye of the beholder. …
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After packing up my clean clothes I headed off early into the city, sat behind a cup of coffee just off the main square, with pen in hand I watched the city wake up around me. I found myself staring at the unique inner walls of the St. Catherine’s church. The inside was different from what I expected from its outside. It captured my attention and soul. The contrast between the dark and light was not like others churches I have visited. I sat off in one of the corners and for some time stared at the many faces looking down on me. …
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