Virtual Memories
Blind Man's Semaphore
 

A convergence of publishing, politics, pharmaceuticals,
and the personal.

All material copyright
Gil Roth 2003-05, unless otherwise specified.

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12.30.2004
Big bust

Build your own Lionel Richie head.

My girlfriend thinks we should follow this process to build our own Christopher Hitchens head, but I'm afraid that it'd have its own gravity field and destroy the world.

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12.28.2004
The Wave

Amazon makes it easy for you to help out the people who got their lives annihilated by the tsunami. Donate to the American Red Cross' Disaster Relief efforts right here.

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12.27.2004
Amsterstan

Chris Caldwell at the Weekly Standard wrote about the failures of multiculturalism and free immigration in Holland. Looks like my brief glimpse of the country holds up:
Many discussions of the Netherlands suggest that the country's multicultural model is "under threat." Maybe that was true a year ago. Now it would be more accurate to say there is a society-wide consensus that it has failed. Even before he left office in 2002, PvdA premier Wim Kok had begun tightening the country's asylum laws, and under the conservative premiership of Jan Peter Balkenende, the reforms have picked up pace. One of the top priorities has been marriage laws. Several immigrant groups have an endogamy rate approaching 100 percent: Young, marriageable people return to their homelands to find a bride or groom and bring them back to Holland. Many Dutch believe the marriage laws are being abused simply to confer automatic citizenship and the right to welfare payments on as large a number of foreigners as possible. As a result, foreign spouses marrying Dutch citizens must now be 21 and speak Dutch, and their eligibility for welfare is not immediate. Education in foreign languages has been phased out, so the Dutch can concentrate on teaching their own endangered language.

Read the rest. I gotta get back to work.

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12.24.2004
Best-Laid Plans, etc.

Holiday plans got scuttled, after the official VM girlfriend came down with food poisoning Wednesday night. We had to cancel our Thursday flight to visit her family in Louisiana for the holidays, as she was in no shape to board a plane, and the person I spoke to at Continental burst out laughing when I asked if there were any openings on a flight today.

So we'll stay in NJ instead, and I'll expose her to the wonders of Jewish Christmas: Chinese food and a movie.

(On the plus side, this means I won't break my record (set last year) of 25 flights in a calendar year. I've boarded 50 planes in the last two years, and I'm really hoping to cut down the number of flights in 2005.)

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12.19.2004
Present Perfect

Holiday gifts have been trickling in. Because I'm a Jew, friends send me gifts throughout December, hoping to catch Hanukkah. If they're late, they can say it's an early birthday gift (my birthday's in January).

I love my friends dearly, and tend to give them gifts throughout the year, when the mood and the opportunity strike, but I'm trying to be more like normal people this year, and concentrate my gift-giving at the end of the year. Unfortunately, I've been too busy to mail my stuff out, so some of my friends and loved ones will have to wait a little while. I really did get some neat stuff for them this year. I did a lot of traveling, and picked up some things on the road.

Dad came through kinda early with a Sony video camera, which I still need to sit down and play around with, so I can start posting video to this blog.

My buddy Tom has sent me the wonderful Locas anthology, collecting about 700 pages of comics by the ever-amazing Jaime Hernandez.

My girlfriend has replaced the lucky mug that she accidentally busted, and gave me the 8-part New York documentary by Ric Burns.

My friends Paul & Deb graced me with this calendar of photography by Mick Payton. I'd been procrastinating on getting a 2005 calendar, so it's quite fortunate that they came through with this sorta thing. Even if it does show black-and-white bondage-ish erotica photography. It's certainly a change-of-pace from the Edward Hopper calendar I used last year.

I'm going to spend the holidays with my girlfriend's family in Louisiana. In the process, I'll be completing my 26th and 27th flights of 2005. Last week, I finally reached Elite status with Continental, which is nice. I mean, I reached Elite status with some of my friends a long time ago, but it's cool when a major airline tells you you're special. Even though they did mess up my special meal (I eat kosher on long flights, because you get better food that way) during the trip back from Amsterdam last week (which seems like it was 3 months ago).

The year, I'm trying to say, has hurtled by, whether I mark the months with realist paintings or beautiful women in handcuffs. The days are filled with joy and love, along with a ton of work. Here's a song I listened to this morning. It's by Massive Attack, and Sinead O'Connor sings it:

What Your Soul Sings
Don't be afraid
Open your mouth and say
Say what your soul sings to you
Your mind can never change
Unless you ask it to
Lovingly re-arrange
The thoughts that make you blue
The things that bring you down
Can only do harm to you
So make your choice joy
The joy belongs to you
And when you do
You'll find the one you love is you
You'll find you love you

Don't be ashamed
To open your heart and pray
Say what your soul sings
To you
So no longer pretend
That you can't feel it near
That tickle in your head
That tingle in your ear
Oh ask it anything
It loves you dear
It's your most precious king
If only you can hear
And when you do
You'll find the one you need is you
You'll find you love you

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House of Flying Corporate Capabilities Profiles

I took a break from the gigantic issue I'm working on, and watched Ying Xiong last night (that's Hero to you roundeyes). My buddy Sang referred to this flick as "a Confucian action movie," which I consider a recommendation.

It was, hands down, one of the most gorgeous movies I've ever seen, with action scenes that are absolutely breathtaking, and it reminded me of the feeling I get when I read the Iliad, that sensation of living in another world. Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon feels straightforwardly western in comparison to this movie.

I'm hoping the director's followup, Shi Mian Mai Fu (House of Flying Daggers) is in the same ballpark. But I sincerely doubt any filmmaker can pull together a scene to rival the one in Hero where the army from Qin begins its assault on the callligraphy school.

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12.14.2004
Update

My workload's reached the level of near-impossbility, so blogging's going to be pretty light.

Two observations, while I take a break this evening:

A) Prince sure was a blistering guitarist back in the '80s. Showtime West is playing the concert flick for Sign o' the Times, so I got to see the live version of I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man for the first time in around 17 years. I can't believe this flick isn't on DVD, since I actually am capable of watching concert movies at home (all-time fave: Stop Making Sense, current fave: Everything Everything).

B) Embarrassingly enough, I buy groceries at a place that sells this.

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12.13.2004
Home home home

Made it back safe and sound last night from Amsterdam, and the offical VM girlfriend was waiting for me at the terminal. At least she said she was waiting for me. She did seem kinda surprised when she saw me, and she was wearing that chauffeur's cap and holding up a sign that read, "W. Harrelson" . . .

Anyway, I may not've given that good an impression in my posts, but I raelly did enjoy the past week in Belgium and Amsterdam. On the minus side, I didn't see the sun for a full week. On the plus side, I didn't see cars with those rims that keep spinning.

In other news, I've learned there is evidently a part of the Torah that states that, during trans-Atlantic flights, Hasidim are supposed to stand right next to the emergency exit door, face the corner, and pray for two hours at a time, brushing theiy elbows against the door handle. This must come after the portion where God tells Moses that true believers should dress like they live in an 1852 Polish shtetl.

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12.11.2004
Oh, God! Do Proust! Faster! Faster!

Just back from the Red Light District. I do sorta understand where that Moroccan guy was coming from. Problem is, if you have that bad an issue with sexuality and loose morals, what the heck are you doing living in Amsterdam?

Honestly, I've never witnessed anything like it.

In addition to the girls in the window-doors, there's also a ton of sex shops, and shows going on, as well as numerous "coffee-houses" and the standard pubs showing British football.

One of the shows had a sign out front to advertise the evening's festivities. It read, in this sequence:

25 Euro

Vibrator

Banana

Candle

Writing Show


Amazingly, I didn't go in to check it out.

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Dutch Courage?

Looks like I got here after the party:
Frans Buysse, the head of Buysse Immigration Consultancy, said he received more than 13,000 hits on his emigration website in November, four times the usual level. His office in Culemburg is flooded with fresh applications.

"[Theo] Van Gogh's death was a confirmation for them of what they already sensed was happening," he said. "They're accountants, teachers, nurses, businessmen and bricklayers, from all walks of life. They see things going on every day in this country that are quite unbelievable. They see no clear message from the government, and they are afraid it's becoming irreversible, that's why they are leaving."

Yesterday, during separate conversations with an economic development representative and a pharma executives, I tried to politely broach the issue of Muslim immigration in the Netherlands. Turns out that I didn't need to be polite. Both people, who have vested interests in portraying this country as stable and worthy of foreign investment and partnerships, said that the Netherlands has serious problems that stem from the lack of assimilation by Muslim immigrants.

In addition, one contended that the welfare state has left businesses here lazy, and removed much incentive for entrepreneurs. "Scientists here, they're content to stay in the academy and count how many papers they publish. They have no interest in starting businesses, like they do in America."

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Night Watch

Today, I saw Rembrandt's Night Watch at the Rijksmuseum.

There are moments for which we spend all our lives waiting, and there are moments for which we don't even know we're waiting.

* * *

The Rijksmuseum's undergoing a massive renovation, so the masterpieces of the collection have been put on display in the Philips wing. I'm immensely thankful that I'm in the midst of the Baroque Cycle while I visit this place. It's providing me with an amazing context for this place and the short period in which it became the center of the world.

That said, this is the most confusing city I've ever walked in, even worse than Boston. I'm not sure what it is, but I lose track of street names almost instantly, and barely recognize previously traversed intersections (a key method of finding one's way around). The sheer number of canals has something to do with it, of course: something that, in a single instance, should be an easy landmark, multiplied becomes confusion.

I'll probably catch hell for this, but I didn't visit the Van Gogh Museum, around the corner from the Rijksmuseum. I used to feel quite passionate about Van Gogh's paintings, but that's just not the case for me anymore. When I look at reproductions of his work, nothing awakens in me. I recognize the genius of his work, but I've somehow lost the enthusiasm I once had for it.

Maybe my past enthusiasm for Van Gogh tied more into the biography and my old identity as Misunderstood, Partially Insane Artist. As I've grown into a different world, that vision of color and shape doesn't resonate in me. I'm drawn more to the darknesses and ambiguities of Rembrandt's best work.

Perhaps it has something to do with why I loathe most modern art. Maybe this is it: I don't like the Lowest College Denominator context to which Van Gogh's been reduced. The cheap clones, the too-easy "I don't need training! I'm expressing myself!" method that many visual artists employ: maybe that's what Van Gogh's come to represent in my psyche. Not that he was practitioner of that method, but that yahoo-artists use him as a champion.

Or maybe I'm just getting older and my classics-background means more to me.

* * *

Walking through the "Rembrandt & his pupils" section of the museum, I thought about how much it must've sucked to be Hals, van Hootch, et al., painting in the time and place of Rembrandt. Doing your best work during a time of someone else's genius must be a major bummer. The obvious version of this is that Amadeus movie/play, but from what I gather, the relationship between Mozart and Salieri was more complicated than the fictionalized version.

* * *

Last night, I walked around in the Leidseplein for a bit. Lots of bars, restaurants, shops, etc. Here's a funny-looking building. I didn't have my map with me, so I didn't know how near or far I was from the Red Light district. I thought I might be close, because I saw numerous women who were absolutely phenomenally/pneumatically built, dressed in some of the most sex-oriented clothing I'd ever seen in public. When I looked at the map this morning, I realized I was nowhere near that section of town, and that some women in Amsterdam just dress like that.

* * *

Some pictures from this afternoon's jaunt to the museum:

The view from a canal near my hotel. When the Meridien Apollo's website said that the hotel had a view of five canals, I thought that meant it was pretty amazingly located. Now I realize that, in Amsterdam, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting five canals.

Still, it's a nice hotel, and in a pretty quiet location, which is good for me.

Here's a section of the Rijksmuseum.

Thank you, sir! May I have another?

Same place, different side.

A statue on the grounds, commemorating the back strain suffered by the guys who had to move it there.

Always with the museum pix!

At least we're coming up to the entrance.

I didn't want to use the flash, for fear of scaring the 10 million Japanese tourists in front of me. (Note: as a goof, I took a photo of a totally dull building this afternoon, because a ton of Japanese tourists were walking by. They immediately stopped and began taking pictures of the same building.)

I got to the museum when this guy was getting his "uniform" on. I gave him a euro for dressing like a homo.

Not many people know that Rembrandt was also a killer 'boarder.

The big concert hall.

They have these strange birds here, which have white bills, black feathers, and black eyes, and look like they have no faces. I'll try to get a better pic later. Sadly, I made this observation and I haven't even tried the hash yet.

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I'd like to order a radical Moroccan pizza

According to this article, the police have foiled a plot to blow up the Red Light district here in Amsterdam:
Muslim extremists, the paper said, were allegedly furious at the lack of morals in the prostitution zone.

I'd better go check it out to make sure it's alright. Back soon.

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You send me

Today's the 40th anniversary of the death of Sam Cooke, my favorite singer.

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12.10.2004
AmstergodDAMN

So I took a train to Amsterdam this morning, where I would rendezvous with some foreign investment personnel and interview some pharma people for a possible article. I booked a 30-euro ticket last night for a 2.5-hour trip from Brussels to central station (with that all-important stop in Antwerp).

Half the seats on the trains face "forward' and the other face "backward," so that 50% face forward either direction the car is traveling. So I sat in the middle row, with a set of seats facing me, so that I'd have more leg room than in a seat that faces the back of another row.

Pretty empty train; comfyish seat. The guy in the row behind me spilled his coffee, but I noticed in time and lifted my bag from the floor so it wouldn't get wet.

Two stops into the trip, leaving Brussels, a bunch of passengers boarded. This included pair of Thai women with fake boobs and rock-hard bodies. They decided to sit in the two seats facing me, and began groping each other. I smiled, laughed, went back to reading Stephenson and listening to the iPod. They kept trying to catch my eye, every time that I looked up to check out the landscape. (For the record, I got to see the sun for a 2-minute stretch outside of Brussels. This marks the first time since Saturday that I've seen the sun. I'd go on a kill-spree if I had to live with that weather.)

The women continued to flirt with each other and stare at me, which made me laugh. Everytime a man would walk through our car, they'd do the same thing.

At Rotterdam, they got off the train, and the football fans (Island Defenders) who had boarded a few stops earlier congregated in my row, so they could all hang out, facing each other, and drink some beers.

Oh, not just drink some beers. One of them also broke out a bag of weed and started rolling a massive joint; he was only stopped from lighting up when one of his compatriots pointed to the "no smoking" sign on the window.

So that was my morning: Thai prostitutes and soccer fans rolling a bone on the commuter train. It's going to be an interesting two days . . .

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Secret Identity

At the conference on Wednesday, I passed by a small group of attendees from the Ukraine. We all have our nationalities listed on our name badges. Even if they don't get our names right (my press badge read "Mrs G Roth"), they always get our countries right.

There were two men and one woman. The men wore orange handkerchiefs in the breast pockets of their jackets. The woman wore an orange scarf. My publisher didn't notice, since a lot of our concentration at trade shows is devoted to identifying which celebrities the various attendees look like. (I pointed out an Indian version of Uncle Junior today, to much praise.)

But I noticed, and I thought about the protests in the Ukraine, the loss of face Putin's suffering, the desperation of the Kremlin to resort to such heavy-handedness as poisoning the opposition candidate. This morning (Thursday) at our booth, I noticed a length of orange ribbon that was used to tie a bow on the complimentary box of Leonidas chocolates that all the exhibitors received.

I went to our next-booth neighbors to borrow scissors (can't really take those on a plane), and cut a shorter length. Using a safety pin from a badge-holder, I fashioned an orange ribbon for my lapel.

My publishers and my fellow editor goofed on me for it. Which is fine. They have families and more imminent concerns than I do.

* * *

I took some pictures on Thursday, my last night in Brussels.

These first two are of the massive main hall of the conference. The interesting thing about this big-ass building is that the fog here is SO thick that I couldn't see this place from 30 feet away. No shit. Every day here has been cold and misty, but on two of the mornings, the fog went to insane proportions.

There's also this giant molecule-edifice nearby, a remnant of the 1958 World's Fair. But I couldn't see that either, due to this ridiculous fog. I was surprised on Tuesday evening, when we left the show, to see both the molecule and the huge art-deco building in front of me.

Rumor has it that there was actually sunlight for a few minutes yesterday, but I don't believe it.

Here's a carousel by a theater.

Like I said, Thursday was my last night in Brussels. So, in my secret identity as Captain Excitement, I visited the Tintin store to get a couple of presents for friends, then hopped a subway line to get to this distant station in which, according to my guidebook, Tintin cartoonist Hergé painted long murals along the subway walls.

So, yes, I took a trip to a subway terminal and took some pictures. Here are the results, because you're special:

Tintin 1

Tintin 2

Tintin 3

Tintin 4

Tintin 5

Tintin 6

Tintin 7

Tintin 8

This is only part of one wall. The whole motif is a parade of Tintin scenes. Picture 1 is the front of the parade. The other wall was obscured by my subway, so you'll have to come out here yourself and take it in sometime.

That's enough of Brussels, cold and damp as it is. I'm headed out to Amsterdam, where I hope to provide more entertaining pictures (but not get stabbed to death in the attempt).

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12.09.2004
Waffling

That cathedral I mentioned a few days ago? It really does look better at night.

I took a couple more pictures of the Christmas setup at Grand' Place on Wednesday. My publisher, associate publisher and I took our European sales rep out for dinner near there, and meandered around in the cold after (whence the following pictures). The rep, from Switzerland, had no idea how to deal with the dynamic that's developed among the three of us in the past five years.

Of course, there are times when we don't know how to deal with that dynamic, either. Which is what makes it dynamic, I guess.

On our way out of the restaurant (Aux Armes des Bruxelles) that evening, the rep, who's from Switzerland, pulled me aside and quietly asked, "So, were the three of you for push or carry?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know: push or carry?"

I pondered the metaphorical implications of that question, thinking it was some sort of referendum on welfare reform, before it hit me: "You mean Bush or Kerry?"

Sigh.

In the past few days, as I've witnessed the decimating effects of the weak dollar on my travel budget, I've developed a theory: Pres. Bush doesn't want a weak dollar because it spurs U.S. exports. He wants a weak dollar because it makes it tougher for Americans to visit Europe. It all makes sense now (unless he actually wants a weak dollar so as to get more Europeans to visit the U.S., in which case my wacky psychologizing is out the window).

Anyway, happy Chanukkah to the Jews in the audience. I'm headed to Amsterdam tomorrow morning (Friday), but I have some neat pix from Thursday to process and post. You'll be sorry . . .

More pix from the Grand' Place holiday display:

This building also houses the police station.

Here's another corner of the square.

I'm not a fan of art nouveaux for some reason.

They sure have pretty police stations here in Brussels.

I mean, it's not like you'd expect one in America to be so gaily colored during the holidays.

I don't know which church this is, but it's a few blocks from the Place. I assume they don't light it like this all year long.

Nearby was a merry-go-round that looked like it was designed by Tim Burton: there were giant bugs and lizards for kids to ride, along with some really strange-looking contraptions. Unfortunately, it's tough to get a decent picture of that stuff at night, so you'll just have to trust me.

Like that's a wise move.

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12.06.2004
Too tired for sprout jokes

I'm starting to think I've seen too many European cities lately. I realized today that I may've reached a point where I've gotta cut back on the Euro-travel, and find other places to go. I'm giving myself the benefit of the doubt, assuming that it's more a function of work-stress, travel-aggravation, the cold, overcast weather, and general exhaustion, that's left me walking around this city like a shadow. Or like it's the shadow.

I try to find little differences in the cities, how this place differs from Stockholm and Copenhagen, Paris and Milan. Unfortunately, the weather's a big factor in how I perceive this place. Everyone's bundled, hustling. I can't tell if that's just a function of weather, or if there tends to be a lot of hurrying in this city because of its business-status.

I've seen more bookstores for children than bookstores for adults, and it makes me wonder if there's a "child-friendliness" to this city.

Just a word of advice: Never go to an Internet café in an Arab quarter, because you don't want to look over at someone else's screen and notice that he's Google-up images of suicide-bomb attacks. I'm just sayin', is all.

They sell Cherry Coke in these thin, tall cans, like Red Bull. They're so cute.

There may be an inferiority complex among the bandes desinées sellers, as regards Parisian BD stores (more below).

I've been pretty enervated this whole trip, but I had some wonderful moments in the evening. Here are some pix from the day, with a little commentary.

My conference starts tomorrow, so I probably won't get to write more for a little while.

The WWI memorial by the Palace of Justice.

The music conservatory.

The entrance to the Place du Petit Sablon. Each of the columns (there are 48 of 'em) is supposed to represent a different guild.

Part of the royal palace. And here's a statue of a horsey near the palace.

Part of the royal library. I think. I mean, I came up to this area from a back-street, so I'm not sure if I read the map 100% correctly. Here's another shot from the same courtyard.

I couldn't figure out where this was from the map either, but I liked the way it looked.

Palais des Congress. Probably.

I'm really half-assing my way through this trip, I guess.

By night, the Cathederal of Michel & Gudule is pretty impressive. By day, it looks sorta crappy. Sorry.

The royal theater.

The bourse. Given that I'm reading Neal Stephenson's Baroque Cycle right now, I see nothing wrong with making sure I checked out the old exchange.

Eventually, I came to the Grand' Place. It was a stroke of luck that I went there when I did. I sorta planned to get there at the end of the day's meanderings, but I thought it'd be daylight when that occurred. Instead, I let myself get sidetracked at Brüsel, a comic store (known as Bandes Desinée here). I spent quite a while poring over prints and original art that I wanted to buy for myself and friends. By the time I'd spent far too much money, it was dark out (not too many hours of sunlight at this latitude). So I made my way to the Grand' Place, and all of my old-world-exhaustion dissipated.

The square at the center of the Place is made up for Christmas, and the two pix I took don't do any justice to how gorgeous and serene it all is. Here's a shot of the main tree, and another of a building on the side of the Place.

I'm a Jew, and the holidays don't mean all that much to me, but I was affected by the sight of the trees, the lights, the soundtrack of gently laughing children, and all the people milling around. It was otherworldly to me.

It made me happy that I came here, despite this burned-out state of mine.

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12.05.2004
We broke HUGE in Brussels!

The Gil Roth World Tour keeps on rolling! I landed in Brussels this morning for the CPhI/ICSE conference, discovered that my hotel (Residence Florence) isn't a full-service establishment, and had no way to check in. Since the conference is pretty big, almost all the hotels are booked up starting tomorrow, so I couldn't make any alternative arrangements. Fortunately, there was a room available at the NH City Center, where I'm staying tonight. And my original hotel, after a couple of curt phone calls, will have someone on hand tomorrow to check me in.

Getting to the hotel, groggy from another trans-Atlantic trip (fourth in 5 months), and finding that I was locked out, was a downer, esp. as it was 9am on a Sunday morning, cold and damp. And I was still a little rubbery from the vicodin I took to mellow out on the flight.

On the plus side, I went to a little hotel down the street from my original one (the Agenda Louise), and explained my plight to the girl at the front desk. I walked in bedraggled, unshaven, etc., and said, "This is going to start with a story. There's always a story." I told it.

She followed it pretty well, and helped make a few phone calls to the Residence for me, in hopes of getting me into my original destination. That was fruitless, but she was willing to let me stow my luggage for a few hours, while I looked for a place to stay (her hotel was booked).

She also offered me some coffee in the breakfast room, which I took her up on. Then, while I sat with my coffee and formulated how I'd find another place in the general area, she walked up to my table and whispered, "You can use a room here till noon. I'll give you a key." And so she did.

I was immensely gratified by her kindness. I only needed the room for a few minutes, to shower, shave, and change, but I was amazed at how forthcoming she was with help for a pretty natty-looking stranger with a dodgy story about not having a hotel. I'd have been happy enough if they just held onto my luggage while I scouted out other hotels.

There's not much point or punchline to this story. It was just awfully nice of someone to help me out like that.

It looks like the weather's going to be pretty blah while I'm here, but I'll try to take and post some good pix.

Also, I'll be spending next weekend in Amsterdam, where I'm really hoping that people are just as kind as the girl at the Agenda Louise.

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