Utrecht Hotels
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Rockin out in the B+B
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I was in full rock n roll mode today. Rock 'n roll 'n nothing else. With enough time on my hands over the past week, and forseeable weeks until my return to Oz, it had been a closet objective of mine to get some songs written, a bit of material down on paper, and some rock once and for all created, in order to cap off the trip in style and head home valiantly with a armful of new tunes. And i gotta say, it was quite a successful day for it. With enough musical instruments to sink a small vessel, i picked an electric guitar from the wall of axes, plugged in an amp in the back corner of the hostel barbecue area, and played to my hearts content for a good number of hours. Got some new stuff down, put some chords to some lyrics, and felt pretty bloody happy with all the rockin progress.
Went for a run first thing this morning, up and around town, through leafy, grassy park areas, canals pulsating through the middle of town at every turn, eventually getting somewhat lost and following another random jogger who thankfully put me back on the right path. The sun was back out to say gday today, after the brief cloudy hiatus of yesterday, and not a moment too soon. The jog put me in a fine mood for the rest of the afternoon's rock session.
So, again, aside from the musical creativity, little occurred throughout the course of the day. I hung out on the balcony in between guitaring, chatting with me old China Martin, Angus the Scot, and a new bloke with a domineering brow, a tall Swedish fella, who spoke perfect English and whose name was, of course, Bjorn. The Bjornmeister had been doing a fair bit of travelling in his time, speding a good four months down our way in Oz and Kiwiland, and recounting many a hilarious occurence of his experiences in our fine nation. One thing i have noticed on my journey is just how lucky we really are in Australia, compared to the rest of the world. At the end of the day, i dare say, aside from perhaps NZ and a handful of Scandinavian countries, and perhaps Denamark, there's very few free-er countries than ours. I've had my fair share of grievances with the place over time, but generally, these have been directed at the conniving ferret who claims to be our Prime Minister and his conga line of snaky bastards, rather than the general state and opportunities of our nation. Melbourne in particular has never more seemed like a world class city - and trust me, it is. As time creeps on by, and the 4 month mark starts to loom that extra bit closer, excitement at the inevitable return to my homeland is seeping into my psyche at a steady rate. I can't believe it's that time already.
Enduring the barely comprehensible rantings of Macho Italiano, puffing on a fat hashish scoob, and continuing to make no sense whatsoever, we chilled out on the balcony in the late afternoon and talked more jive, hung out, and threw together a big fat saucepan of penne for dinner. You meet a lot of random characters during your travels, and although Macho Italiano had been hogging the limelight for the Utrecht leg of the trip, a new contender made his presence felt this afternoon. Parked in the back corner of the common room, speaking to no one and staring silently into the inner depths of the side wall, was an oddball donning a Michael Jackson facemask, unkempt facial hair, Persian rings on every finger, rocking himself on his chair every couple of minutes, and generally, appearing like the sort of dude you might expect would set fire to a fair portion of the hostel. Though much quieter than Macho, he defintiely held a presence with that mask. One to watch, for certain.
As day once again blended into night, the sun coming down in its normal lateish fashion, Dave, Corey, Angus, some dude from Quebec, a half-cut loudmouthed yank named Jessie and i, hit the town for a few brews, sitting around a big old table and immersing ourselves in the regular agenda of jive. We entered a comfortable level of alcoholism, before heading back out into the night air, and rocking back to the hostel, for another midnight meal of French Toasty, or as Polish Bart might call it, 'Eggy Breads'.
If i thought it was humourous that i was still in Utrecht last friday, then it's damn laughable that i find myself STILL here, taking advantage of the free food, free wines and general good times. Having said that, i've not felt more comfortable in a hostel the whole way along, from Spain to now, and i have no intention of going anywhere until that flight back to London on Wednesday.
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