Cracks in Fort Europe.

Amsterdam.

With the worsening of this so-called world wide Credit Crisis it seems to me that Fort Europe is starting to show signs of decay, cracks in the walls of an economic power house, politicians desperately running after the facts while the financial world around them is falling on its fat asses, the automobile industry getting thick layers of dark brown rust.

Economic predictions getting readjusted at least once a week with the situation looking more glum with each passing day.

Not that that stops those that are quite familiar with poverty and economic hardship. For those down in the cradle of the human species, dark skinned flat nosed and impoverished africans so desperate for a better life they are willing to risk life and limps to try the dangerous sea crossing to Lampedusa - an italian meditereanan isola closer to Libia then Italy - in leaky wooden ships that are rotting away under their black african feet.

If they make it and don`t drawn in the process, don`t end up in concentration camps waiting for deportation, they might have too sell small handicrafts in southern italian cities to passers-by or else work in the acriculture for a few meagre euros a day, sleeping in old empty factories on cold concrete floors in their hunderts.

No medical health care for those, no sanitary conditions or running water.

Those that are lucky might end up in north italian cities selling their athletic male bodies to sex hungry fat german and scandinavian women that know exactly where to find them - the mouth to mouth info service goes a long way here I guess - often driving for several days through EUROPE to reach these cities in expensive cars that are supported by huge alimonies. Their slips wed in anticipation of well hung african males.

Dark african beauties the victims of international gangs always on the look out for new female flesh to fill european brothels. By the time these poor creatures are worn-out and ragged looking they will continue their sex trade in the filthy alleys of cities all over the continent giving up their once nubile and beautiful bodies to fat and drunk europeans, looking for customers in dark bars with a bad reputation.

With the cracks appearing in Fort Europe one might ask the question what will happen to those, those that live at the lowest levels of our society, those that have families to support back home, those that have risked everything to attain a better economic life, those that came to our economic power house harbouring dreams full of hope and ended up in a miserable excistence.

For them returning home is not an option.

Interesting street stories in exchange for a few free beers.

Amsterdam.

I take my free coffee to drink it outside despite the cold. There are just too many people inside the Schakel, too many smells, odours, and sounds that come with ths sort of visitors a place like the Schakel attracts. It`s after all a homeless centre.

People sit at tables coats covering their heads, bend forward on their chairs, sometimes swept all over the table trying to nap a bit after a night of being on the move.

You can`t sleep outside in Amsterdam. Cops on motorbike will keep sending you around, they find you asleep on a park bench and a fine will come your way. They don`t need your name any more, they know it by heart, dozens of tickets have been written out by these leather clad motorbike cops, they know their customers.

Sitting outside on the steps of the Schakel in the biting cold, my hands clasped tightly around my free cup of hot coffee, I can only feel happy this sort of stressfull life hasn`t come my way as yet. Only 19 years left untill my pension, I should be able to sit that out.

A few days ago Rob came over to say goodbey informing me he`ll spend X-mas and the New Year`s celebration with his folks in the south. Good for him!!! Needless to say that that Little Shit Richard was with him as well hoping for a fee beer.
Now the free Spaarndammer street bar might have officially closed down but occasionally is sort of ajar for Rob only, and because of the upcoming festivities I decided to let Richard in as well and let them have a free beer, right out of my frigo so cold to the touch.

Poor Ali having been jonased out of Harry`s house, thrown down the stairs, bottles of beer and an old bicycle dragged down to the street for possible selling while stupid coke smoker Harry was comatose on his bed due to a whole river of stale beer, tabacco, joints and basing coke.

He`ll be in for a nice surprise by the time he wakes up. His tabacco gone, no more Mary Jane, a bike that no doubt belongs to one of his many street contacts, one of his drinking buddies or else coke smoking pals dragged down the stairs and sold on the spot for 10 Euro to a passer-by, stale beer left in half empty cans or bottles having gone down Rob`s and Richard`s thirsty alcoholic throats.

Interesting street stories in exchange for a few free beers.

Living among the Bratwurst people

A stray puma was regularly sighted in a forested area in the south of Holland - needless to say nobody had an illegal puma "house" cat to report to the authorities - eventually some old lady phoned the newspapers informing them of a bit big stray cat she fed milk too in her garden each morning - her eye sight was rumoured to be bad.
When a reporter and photographer showed up the next morning....well, I`m sure you get the idea.
The puma wasn`t heard off for two years, he/she moved across the border, to Germany to live among the BRATWURST people. after two years of living in Germany he/she returned to Holland and made the Hoge Veluwe - a forest reserve in the Netherlands - his/her private hunting ground being regularly spotted by humans, photos in the newspapers and even a few specials on national TV, attracting lots of human visitors to what he/she considered his/her private territory, got on his/her nerves.
Rumour has it that our Puma friend has returned to the land of the Sauerkraut and Bratwurst people.

Back in the arms of Pillipino Hunting Girls

Amsterdam.

It`s pitch dark, no moon to be seen tonight, the only light in this black world is that of our motorbike`s front illumination that for only short moments light up the shapes of trees and bushes at the sides of the road.

Up and down hills we go at high speed and the dust of the unpaved road we`re on invades my nose, not that I have the time or posibilty to do something about it. I`m the passenger here holding on the this crazy Hunting Girl as for dear life. We are on the way to her house and she seems in a great hurry to get me there.

This paticular lady has been after me for most of my stay in Puerto Gallero. I met her in every bar of this Phillipine coastal beach village which is totally dedicated to the tourist industry.
Bars full with hot looking Hunting Girls and fat bellied horny western males that fuck young good looking Phillipine women for a few meagre bucks.

Hunting Girls they call themselves and "yes, sir, I`m available", "me Hunting Girl, sir".

This lady that I`m now holding on to for dear life while she is racing us to her house - God knows where that might be, we`ve been riding like this for what seems hours.
Where she got the money from to buy this Yamaha 500 cc Off The Road race monster...I`ve no idea, maybe she has got a Sugar Daddy somewhere in Europe.

Tonight though her slip must be soaking wed considering the haste she has got to get me to her bed...

We reach a small hamlet where a few lost street lights show me half a dozen wooden houses, a couple of sleepy stray dogs lie around in the garbage strewn street, a couple of Phillipino males dressed in lungies and gray T-shirts that must have been white in some long forgotten past, sit on balcony playing cards, their excited voices reach my ears while Miss Hunting Girl slows down in front of one of the houses.
Two dirty and rough looking kids play outside the house despite the late hour.

Miss Hunting Girl starts talking to them in a language I do not understand - probably
Tagalog, the main language in the heck of the woods - Thean she switches to english asking the kids why they are outside, why are they not inside the house waiting for her.

Obviously these are her kids. Does she want to fornicate with me while these kids are in the next room waiting for mummie to finish off this crazy half drunk male tourist from the affluent west, getting 500 peso in exchange for sexual services rendered so she can buy food for them?
Wouldn`t surprise me, stranger things have happened to me during my mad backpack years on the international road, checking out local bordellos and prostitution scenes in dubious neighborhoods of big cities and small villages alike.

This really is too much.....I wanna return to Puerto Gallero but before I can tell her so, the world around me starts to dissolve, everything that was only moments before so real is becoming a simmering memory that disappaers from my mind and even before opening my eyes I realise I was once again in Morpheus dream world reliving the past as has happened so many times before.

I slowly try to sit up straight in my bed, my erection is so hard and strong it is painfull, I can feel the blood in my male member pulsing, vibrating in anticipation.
I presume having one of these notoriously horny Pillipino Hunting Girls in my bed now would take care of the problem......

The illuminated green numbers on my mobile phone`s screen tell me it is 3.00 o`clock in the morning, a good time to go to one of these tourists bars down town.

Maybe a few drinks will calm me down.

.

Amsterdam.

With Thailand getting closer and closer my dreams are becoming more eratic with each passing night.

In Morpheus world I`m back in the Phillipines, back in Puerto Gallero. The numerous beach bars are

An unknown lady

I wait patiently in the queue of the Albert Heyn supermarket trying hard to ignore the old lady behing me who is doing a bad job of pushing her rollator in my *ss.
I`m inside my head, Thailand is really close now, Mag is close now and off course my two kids, Joy and Jay......D*rned rollator again taking me out of this sweet dream. I`m about to turn around and give this old lady a few words on controlling rollators when I see her.....the lady in front of me..."don`t you just hate that, bored old people pushing rusty rollators up your ***?"
Before I can answer it is her turn to pay and get her shopping off the assembly line.
She is gone by the time I have paid and got my stuff together, but I have her face in my mind`s eye....a good face and perfect for a painting.
Here is the result...hope you like it.

Hans.

Acrylic on cardboard.

King Bhumipol

With all the blockades, the banners, public political speeches, occupation of both airports Don Muang and Suvarnbhumi, one can only wonder what is happening in the Land of the Smile, in Thailand?

The PAD, the party that has been resposible for most of the above, seems sympathetic enough. But what do they really want and who are they really?

Now in the eyes of the thais I`m just another stupid farang, just another stupid foreigner, never mind I speak the lingo, never mind I lived there as a mere kid, I`m still a STUPID farang.

Still, I`ll try to explain to you my farang point of view on the present thai dilemma, after all we`re ALL OF US just a bunch of stupid farangs.

The PAD, People`s Alliance for Democracy, is made up mostly of the millitary, the business, the ruling and the intelectual elite of Bangkok, the well educated who have well payed jobs at one of the many foreign companies based in Bangkok, those that look down on the poor uneducated masses from the poor north where people often work 12 long and cruelling hours in the rice paddies under the hot thai sun, where people are as poor as the proverbial church rat - in Thailand`s case we`re speaking of temple rats I presume but I`m sure you get my point.

According to the philosofies of the PAD these people have no voting rights due to the fact they lack the necesary education to vote correctly, in their ignorance they`ll make the wrong choice.

Lets now get to the other side of the story...to the Thai Rak Thai - thais love the thais/Thailand - the party that has been ruling the country and having won three elections since 2001, first under Thaksin Sinawatra who was as corrupt as any other thai politician but stuck true to his promises to improve the lives of the poor masses. He introduced a reasonably good health care systeem for the poor, good and affordable. He started a war on drugs - the poor masses anywhere in the world are plaqued by drugs and alcohol, poor people anywhere looking for a few cherished hours to escape their miserable excistence.

For the inhabitants of power centre Bangkok this was inexcusable, they considered his policies a direct threat to their own survival, direct opposition to thier own position. Therefore their recluctance to voting rights to under-educated farmers.

Still with me? Good, the situation gets even more complicated by the fact that the nation`s fate is in the hands of an old and sickly DemiGod. One word of His Royal Highness, King Bhumipol Adulyadej and the whole situation can be dissolved peacefully. It has shappened in the past.

Bhumipol who had his 81 first birthday last friday, who has ruled Thailand successfully for 62 years, has been ominously silent these last few months.

According to crown prince Vajiralongkorn who has a dubious reputation as a womaniser, drug and alcohol aficionado, his father has been a "littte bit sick " off late.

The fact that His Royal Highness, King Bhumipol is slowly dying is a complete TABOO, not discussed, not talked about. And since we`re not allowed to talk about his demise, forget a serious discussion about the end of His rule, His political inheritance.

His son is not up to the job, too busy chasing beautifull pr*stitutes, drinking cold Shinga beer and Mekhong Whiskey mixed with ice cubes and Coca Cola, maybe a few snorts up the royal nose for good matter.

The cloudy power play the King has been playing for the last 62 years might not always have been good for thai democracy but it did hold the thai nation together.

With His inevitable demise he leaves his country in deep mourning but also He leaves behind a hopelessly devided people.

Remember please, dear Thai Nation, these were merely the words of a Stupid Farang who is presently mauo beyond believe and just raving his stupid head off. So don`t lock me up for sacrilege in Bhangkwa Prison aka Bangkok Hilton, next time I visit your country.

If you are still with me, well thanks for the attention to my raving.

hehehe. LOL

Hans.

why do garillas have big nostrils?

Gorrilas have big nostrils so they can sniff out all these camara hung white tourists from the rich west, dressed in baggy shorts and color rich shirts.
They have big ears too so they can hear all the OHs and AHs and the countless OH MY GOoooooDs.
Their eye sight is not so good though due mostly to all the camara flash lights. After so many years of getting foreign camaras stuck up their hairy faces poor eye sights has become a genetic defect in the gorilla species.
Hehehehe, LOL.
Hans.

The caprecious Lady Fortuna

Amsterdam.

The moment I walk into the Centrum Bar in the Warmoesstraat, I know the whymsical Lady Fortuna is on my side tonight. Maybe it is Lady Fortuna herself sitting there at the bar sipping from a glass of white wine, high heeled black boots, black net stockings on long well shaped legs, a dark blue blazer and an expensive looking fur coat.

Maybe she was out shopping today in the PC Hoofdstraat, the most expensive shopping street in the whole of Holland, I know they sell fur coats there.

Not that I`m paticularly interested in her fur coat, not at all. My interest in her concerns a whole different topic of conversation.

The place next to her is empty and moving over I realise I better be carefull here, I might very well fall in love tonight, get drawn in by these bright blue eyes that scan me openly and without embarrasment while I smile at her and try to get the bar lady`s attention at the same time.

"Hey lady, fancy a refill?"

Before long we find ourselves a free table and a bit more privacy, away from the busy bar. She wants to know all about Amsterdam. This is her first trip to Europe, soon having to go back to her native Baltimore.
She seems well educated though she tells me next to nada about herself, about her live in Baltimore. She just listens to me, big blue eyes looking straight into mine from under black eye lashes that have been carefully manicured, her long legs crossed, bended forward a bit with her slender fingers of one hand on my knee.
I see a gold ring with a shiny stone in it...a diamont? She really must have shopping in the aforementioned PC Hoodstr.
She obviously comes from a well to do background....not one of these backpack chicks in old blue jeans and oversized T-shirt I normally carry home on the back of my bicycle.

Instead I`ve this contessa sitting on the back of my bike cycling home through the night of Amsterdam, feeling her small hands around my waist, her slender fingers exploring the front of my jeans. My untamable erection hiding under the fabric of my pants seems to amuse her and I can hear her excited giggles in anticipation.

If she is really the caprecious Lady Fortuna, the Godess of Fortune and luck, I better perform well tonight or else....I will be out of favor with her and will have to live a life of poverty from now on, my good luck gone ending up with an eviction from my house, no more quick and easy money, pas de uitkering and now more Thailand trips every year....yeah, I better perform well tonight.

Well, the juicy details I gonna keep to myself but I wake up to the activity of a very worried beautifull lady with raven black hair busily getting dressed.
"Please, please, you phone taxi for me Hans", "I need to get to the airport my plane will leave in only two hours time", I still need to pick up my gear at the hotel".
Nervous female fingers pull at the dark blue blazer pulling it down her body and thereby hiding her sexy red lingerie from my view.
A last kiss and her slender fingers probing my throbbing erction underneath the towel I have wrapped around my hips, and then she is gone hurrying down the steep staircase in my house on her high heels, to her waiting taxi, to pick up her gear and off to the airport.

Sh*t, i don`t even have a telephone number, no address, no e-mail, nothing and nada.

I go back to bed trying to ignore my disappointment, trying even harder to forget about my by now painfull erection, no morning s*x here under warm sheets and in my own bed.

Only when I wake up again do I find her expensive fur coat, left behind in my house.
Maybe I should cycle over to the PC Hoofdstraat later and try to sell it back to the shop where I presume she bought it.

Amsterdam.

The Winston Bar in the Warmoesstraat has got the reputation to be the biggest pick-up joint in the whole of Amsterdam, if not the whole of Holland.
Situated in the very heart of Amsterdam and surrounded by all the tourist hotels, it is little wonder that

thank you Lady Fortuna

Amsterdam,

I hear the alarm of my mobile phone desprately trying to get me out of Lord Morpheus arms, the warmth of my bed is irresistable though it would have been even better had there been a warm female body to wake up to.

Still, my social duty, my volunteer job at the animal farm, my twice a week security of my social wellfare is calling out loudly to me in the form of a rooster`s cry.....cocorico, cocorico, cocorico.....from my phone.

D*rned, it`s just the waking up that is difficult, the work is easy and enjoyable enough. Never thought that I would end up as an animal caretaker.

I always thought I would find my ultimate demise somewhere far away, in some god forsaken third world nation, in an impoveriched country where they quite happily slash your throat for a few miserable american green backs. I was sure for many years I would probably find my death at the hands of money hungry thugs who hate my white skin but lover the color of my foreign currency.
Or else die in a traffic accident on a badly mantained road, travelling by local chicken bus, get knocked down by a drunk truck driver while being on one of my cycle trips in Mexico, the States or here in Europe.
Drown in azure blue oceans while scuba diving. Find my absolute oblivion being sick as a lost stray dog that roams the shanty towns of India and nobody cares a rat`s about.
Or else get knifed in my sleep by one of these hunderts of prostitutes I took back to dirty cockroach invested hotel rooms all over the place. A night of pleasure that would cost more as my drunk mind at first suspected. An miserable female human creature intended on more money as I would pay her in exchange for sexual services.

Well, I could go on, rave a bit more but in the end it all comes down to the same.....it never did happen though there have been many very narrow escapes...Lady Fortuna was always on my side guiding me through the world`s nastiet bars, helping me to fight off cut-throats and man hating putazos, checking on my health and helping me back from total mental insanity after yet again another period of addiction to mind enhancing goodies, after yet again hanging out with the weirdos and drop-outs of this globe.....STOP RAVING HANS.....I`ve a house and a good income, thank you Lady Fortuna for being on my side.

Now help me once again please when to night I`ll hit the tourist bars again on a sex driven quest for female companionship, some hot chick keen on a night of passion with a local dutch man.
Don`t worry foreign backpack lady, I`ll happily comply.

Mahatma Ghandi

I did this aquarel last weekend after seeing these dope-up mis guided youngsters shooting Mumbai to smithereens.
The people who poisoned their minds with their evil and twisted ideas, making them to lay down thier lives in a fruitless war taking dozens of innocents with them on the way to their final oblivion while these behind the scene continue their horrible work.
Gandhi probably turned around in his grave last weekend.
Well, actually he got crematewd but I`m sure you get my idea.
Well, I hope you at least like the aquarel photoshopped and all that.

this crazy mad man`s destination....

Well over a year now since I had my last joint, was hanging out wqith the members of group of Evil Brothers, sitting in the park drinking cheap can of luke warm beer quarreling over spare change and similar useless alcoholic conversation topics.

Every so often I hear of Kleine Mark or Boone or the Gods know who, has died, been found in his house cold as a frozen christmas turkey smelling the way an several days dead body usually does.

Drinking my usual cup of free coffee in the Schakel, my warm bowl of soup in the Tweede Mijl aka the Tweede Kwijl - and no I`m not gonna translate that, just some homeless centres in my neighborhood - I see new faces every week.
I see new people in the park whiling away a lost life with no purpose or destination.

Lost souls trapped in a miserable life.

Despite a whole life of hanging out with these people, actively searching them out during my long and lonely backpack years across the globe, getting smashing drunk in railway stations and public squares, on park benches and in dark bars with a dubious reputation.....still no answer to my hopeless quest....nothing and nobody out there in the whole wide world giving me a meaning to the where and when....just more sh*t and misunderstandings, more misery and poverty, more stupidity and MORE DRUGS, BOOZE and PILLS, COKE and HEROINE.

I gave up last year deciding to put an end to this crazy mad man`s destination....no higher understanding or divine enlightenment....just a man who was once an innocent boy keen on getting beyond the reason of the human race`s excistence....a lonely and lost soul who traveled the world on a mad search and found no nada