The darned gossip machine

                                          Amsterdam, 31 Dec. 2011.

Back home, dead tired after yet another day of shovelling horse manure, cow dung and goat shit, another day at the petting zoo where the gossip machine was once again in full force, a bit like wind force gale ten running wild and without restrictions across the communal minds of my dear colleagues, the who-is-in love-with-whom always a big topic in any sub-culture of colleagial conversations...

Rumour has it I am in love with German born Andrea, but then Vera is convinced I am in eternal love with Laura. Sanny is the big match maker of the farm and maybe the only one who should know all that relational "shit" is not my English cup of tea but will give it a try anyway, Andrea is a good match for you, Hans, foremost on her match making mind...

Muscle ache and mental fatique are my only concerns when I cycle home, interested only in painting, no Andrea nor Laura ruling my gray brain cells but my paint brushes, my cans of acrylics, the cold beer in my Frigo as well as the cheap bottle of Albert Heyn Vin De Table De Coleur Rouge...

So sorry my dear colleagues but the only feminity I think about are the two dimensional types on my wooden boards...wish you all a happy new year nonetheless as well as to whoever is out there on the Sacred Internet reading all these weird stories about my life and mental tribulations I write down in the privacy of my crappy old house here in Amsterdam!!!

Of hunting girl and brown-outs

                                              Amsterdam, 30 Dec. 2011.

My brown acrylic paint is a bit clotty - small wonder there considering I forgot to put the lid on the paint can last night, too much red wine, good food and cold pilsener I guess before staggering to my bed intoxicated and falling into a dreamless slumber...

Not that I care much, freaking around with my paint and brushes well into the night, alone but into the late hours accompanied only by my lifeless but trustworthy friends, red wine and cool beer, my models from the dream world where the crazy god Morpheus and the fickle lady Fortuna rule the trance I am in while I paint and paint...

I seem to remember I was back in The Phillipines last night, vividly reliving my scuba diving trips on Boracai Island, Puerto Gallera and more of these exotic locations in the Land Of The Phillipinos, starting and ending each trip In Manila's obscure area Ermita where the bars were plenty and the local Hunting Girls even more so, always on the look-out for pinkish male skin and the fat wallets these ladies of the Phillipine were probably hoping for, a couple of hungry babies back home in the back of their young female heads driving them on...making me wonder why the mother instinct is so much stronger than the father instinct...willingly selling their nubile Asian bodies to feet starving offspring...

Baby rooms in cheap steaming hotels where the all overpowering smell of stale unrine originating from the one and only dirty toilet ruled the sticky air in the corridors, groaning noices betraying coupling people...I still remember till today though all so long ago, almost like another life time, really!!!

Frequent brown-outs as the locals used to call electricity problems, and corrupt coppers apart from drunk and Pagwan promising cutomers - a Thai word for sweet talkers - were these poor creatures of the sex trade main problems...

Miss Miae from Corea

                                         Amsterdam, 26 Dec. 2011.

Miss Miae whom I met last month while walking the Camino De Santiago De Compostela and who send me a FB friendship request a few days ago...

Not that we ever walked together, just had a meal, El Menu Del Dia, in a local restaurant in some obscure Spanish Aldea...after all she only walked 10 to 15 km. a day to mine 25 to 35 km. a day...needless to say she only recently finished her hike where I am back home already and looking forward to my next stay in Thailand in only mere weeks.

Hope you like the portrait, Miae and your holiday in Marocco...watch out for these young local Maroccan blokes that would love to marry you and a free ticket to Seoul into the bargain, courtesy of your family's fortune...hehehe, LOL.

Angels with dirty faces

                                       Amsterdam, 21 Dec. 2011.

After the United States and Ireland - to name just a few - , Holland now has got its very own chatolic child abuse scandal, hunderts of fiars, priests, Padres and assorted "mental health workers", "the guardians of the faith of Man", having sexually assaulted thousands of minors, given in their care by unsuspected parents..

Like depraved arachnits waiting in their malicious webs for the innocent offspring of the devout faithfull...life time traumas caused by a criminal organisation in the very heart of the Vatican...

God will judge our actions!!! Their numero Uno excuse...

Angels with dirty faces claiming to be devoted to a higher being!!!

A cultural meltdown in progress

                                           Amsterdam, 19 Dec. 2011.

Most of my days while waiting for my Bangkok departure, are spent in complete boredom, getting up with a red wine hangover from the night before, a bicycle ride through chilly Amsterdam to that homeless centre De Tweede Mijl for a free bowl of awfull tasting soup, waiting in the Albert Heyn to pay for my shopping - no prolotarian shoplifting for me -, the usuall crap of being alife in a city that has long ago lost its appeal to me...or at least at this time of year.

However, the evenings are a different matter all together, the evenings when I withdraw to my little mental Buddhist prayer cell while I freak around with my acrylic paint, nude females in all their physical glory appear on the wooden boards I have so laboriously carried upstairs during the last summer...my gray brain cells are in some sort of strange trance transporting me across time and distance, to dirty, smelly bars in third world garbage belts, capitals and sex tourist hang-outs, where trhe local women are available by the hour in small dingy rooms upstairs or in the back of the dump, where the bed sheets are stained with the sticky remains of your predecessor's cum...

My fingers holding the paint brushes fly arcoss the wood like lightning, big daubs of paint land on the floor and my dirty old blue jeans...

Inside my caucasian mind a cultural meltdown is in full progress, having no control over my mental processes or the outcome of my crazy artwork!!!      

Boom Baba Boom

"Boom Baba. Boom!" The chillum is lit, it carries through the utter darkness. It lingers. It strives to stay alive. But if only for one moment. One moment that will warp your utter understand of values, morals, norms, and standards that make up this world. For if the chillum had not come close, the dark energy of Banaras would have never been internalized and never realized that its everywhere and that it consumes you. It pulls you and pushes you because it's in you. And is you. And isn't you... Its just the end of the beginning. It's the flip flop. Flip... Flop... It's the past and the future. It's the right and the wrong. It's heaven and hell. It's angels and daemons. It's life and it's death. It's the night and the day. For all these gracious things don't exist without the other. How can nothing (no - thing) exist without something (some - thing). For without nothing there would be no conception of something and without something, there would be no conception of nothing. They are interdependent. They are the reciprocal. They are the negation. The flip flop. The life beginning with death. Its the fire of the sun and the power of the moon. With it, you live. Without it, you die. And its all around you. Burning on the river side while Babas of God eat the very flesh that burns. "Boom Shiva... BOOM - Smoke for you are after all still alive." Puff.....Puff....Puff...Puff..Puff.Puff You are clouded. You are winded. You are coughing. You are gauging. You are stoned. But whose you? Is it you or is it I? "Boom Bolinath!" - Shanthi, Shanthi, Shanthi, and when your dreaming those dreams be mindful of realizing that you might actually just be awake

Two Asian ladies from the Land Of Ozz, part two

                                        Amsterdam, 16 Dec. 2011.

The two Asian sisters I met last weekend In Cafe De Gaaper on the Prinsengracht, the saturday evening meet-up of the Amsterdam Couchsurfing Requests group of http://www.couchsurfing.org/, these two ladies of Vietnamese origin but were born and grew up in Melbourne in Down-Under, whose parents were boat refugees after the American/Vietcong conflict somewhere in the sixties of the last century..

These two young Asian beauties who told me they needed a place to crash before their flight back to the Land Of Ozz early next morning, who invited me for a pint of beer and had the patience to pose for a quick portrait in my sketchbook...

These two jewels for my eyes who explained they had actually read my profile on http://www.couchsurfing.org/, enjoyed my artwork I uploaded on that site and would love to pose for me once back home, making me feel proud hearing the way they upgraded my artwork to higher levels as I would ever have thought possible...

Wishfull thinking it was, once back in my seventy square meter two room old house in Amsterdam-West, a quick sorty to the nightshop on De Wittestraat for a much needed bottle of red wine, me asking them "okay ladies, please take of the clothes and start posing", ...

Wishfull thinking indeed, no the ladies had to get up real early, thanks for the free lodging and will leave you a possitive reference on http://www.couchsurfing.org...still/ waiting for that possitive reference and the posing session that never came around!!!

I did this acrylic portrait of them, a copy of the pen drawing in did in my sketchbook at Cafe De Gaaper...a double nude would have been all that much better!!!

Hungry animals depending on my sanity

Amsterdam, 14 Dec. 2011.

The memories in my dream world are like over ripe fruit in my mind, flooding my consciousness, waking me up as so often in my early morning bed, the sheets soaked with alcohol based perspiration, making me feel nauseous and ready to puke my heart out...

No time to wrap them up these yellow stained sheets, put them in the 240 Euros washing machine I bought with the money I got for the renovation of the crappy old house I live in...the other 4760 Euro of these 5000 crappers I spent on booze, drug and women in that sodom and gomorra hellhouse called Pattaya twelve hours flying from my native Amsterdam, but then that is a completely different story...

I drag my middle aged body to the toilet, the contents of my stomach, my home cooking of the night before - no more Nasi Special Pork from the Kam Yin since I kicked Lola out of the house - flooding the paint I put in the inside of my toilet bowl - I live the life of an artist and put my paint all over my place, including my toilet...

I have to get my act together, have to get dressed, have to leave the house, unlock my bike, cycle to the petting zoo, hungry animals depend on my sanity!!!

A friend in Thailand

                                    Amsterdam, 12 Dec. 2011.

This is a friend of mine, normally residing here in good old Mokum though right now on a visa run to Lao, another two months before returning to his native soil, living in up in that Asian kingdom whose God-King has just turned 84 despite frail health and the last three years interned in a Bangkok hospital, the longest ruling King in the world...hail to the King!!!

Back to my friend who already had two great months - no doubt about it - in Thailand, enjoying the charming company of his local Tilac, with me counting down the days of my own departure....twenty-two days and 8 hours remaining!!!

Hope you like the painting, Paul, enjoy your holiday, your girlfriend and lets have a cold Leo when I arrive, mate.

Two Asian ladies from the Land Of Ozz

                                             Amsterdam, 10 Dec. 2011.

Saturday night and the http://www.couchsurfing.com's/ Amsterdam couch requests group's saturday meet-up in Cafe De Gaaper - five minutes walk from the central railway station which is convenient considering tourists with Pas De Couch and Pas De Host don't have to go far in a - to them - unknow city dragging heavy packs along - is in full swing with potential hosts mostly outside smoking Marlboros and passing fat joints along, exchanging the latest experiences about sexually willing couchsurfers of different nationalities...I know of one host who keeps a checklist in his shirt pocket, making sure he gets p*ssy from a new country, checking his p*ssylist regularly to be on the safe side of P*ssy Land...( his words not mine!!! )

I work my way through the heavy clouds of Mary-Jane vapour mixed with excited typically male testosterone, though I detect some female hosts as well, bragging just as loudly as their male comtemporaries making me wonder if maybe they too carry the famous nationality checklist... I suppose it would be a H*rd-on list in their case unless they are more interested in the same sex...whatever not my business.

The inside of Cafe De Gaaper feels claustrophic, a game of shadows playing havoc on my eye sight where I detect huge carton boards that read "we need a host for tonite", or "EMERGENCY, NEED COUCH TONITE", and more of the same freeloading shit, Pas D'Argent, we need that for the coffee shop, their owners looking either hopefull at me or with eyes that somehow remind me of puppies begging for hand-outs at the dinner table!!!

Two Asian ladies that look like sisters catch my eye, wanting to get to know me, "we saw your profile on couchsurfing" they tell me with an accent that comes right out of the Land Of Ozz, adding they liked the artwork in my house, offering me a pint of beer...okay, that does it, I will take them home tonite.   

Unhappy Lola

                                             Amsterdam, 08 Dec. 2011.

Not like Lola looks all that happy in this painting which makes me wonder wether or not I should consider that a compliment...I have, after all, just told her this is the last painting I will make of her and "no, you don't need to undress", "keep on the shirt and the blue jeans and don't forget to close the door downstairs on your way out"!!!

I have not yet forgotten all the crappy mails her ex-boyfriend has flooded my Yahoo in-box with this last week...I can understand some stupid Kutsmoesje  that he got my house phone number from the telephone guide...but my on-line yahoo address???

Adios Lola, thanks for your patience during our painting sessions these past couple of weeks, all the red wine you dragged along to my house, the Kam Yin take-away meals and especially for introducing me phone-like to that crazy Novio of yours...

Back in Nairobi

                                            Amsterdam, 07 Dec. 2011.

Reading this chaotic and disorderly book called Kunst Kanibaal - art canibal - written by a artist friend of mine here in good old Mokum, his crazy adventures in the slums of Nairobi which are ruled by dark skinned sluttily dressed prostitutes, ragged street children and local throat cutters, I am transported back to somewhere in the early nineties of the last century when Nairobi was my favorite haunt, back alleys where I would pick up my models and possible bed partners alike, drag them back to cockroach rife dirt cheap hotels where I would paint them on the discarded newspaper pages of the Daily Nation english edition which I would normally steal from the upper class hotels in the better parts of town..

Where I was the Mzungu and my Swahili just about enough to say Jambo and "would you like to see my room?",  - don't seem to remember these last words in the here and now though - a handfull of tatty notes of Kenian Shilling doing the job just great, now that I do remember...vividly I might add!!!

Where everybody wanted to buy my army issued military boots and the local beer tasted like cat piss but would get me drunk nonetheless which suited me just fine..drunk enough to muster up the courage to wander the dirt ridden alleys of an African metropole full with new adventures each day, each night...

I would change my hotel often to avoid crazy, drunk and drugged-up money crazed women from the street, contacts from previous modelling sessions and physical excerzise Aficionadas to kick down my door in a mad search for Mas Shillings.

Prejudices and generalisations in Farang Land

                                            Amsterdam, 06 Dec. 2011.

It is busy inside the Thai Consulate on the Amsterdam Herengracht 444, a bunch of old Belgium f*cks discussing the merits of young Thai Hot Mommas, two elderly Brabant hags in moth eaten second hand clothes looking shocked, making me wonder why they eavesdrop on Belgium sex tourists in the first place...

German Hildegard and her Dutch Friesian boyfriend Jelle, both in their early twenties and impatient to start their six month Asian trip, willing to pose for me while waiting to get their visa applications processed, wanting to know all about local prices but very little about local tourist attractions...

A budget of five Euro a day for the two of them should see them through their six month Asian adventure, a childhood dream come through, or maybe just about to begin - maybe more like a nighmare reality with empty wallets and Pas D'Assistance from Dutch embassies in foreign lands...

I tell them I have saved up well over five thousand doomed Euros and expect to be bankrupt on the plane home, leaving out my obligatory expenses like medical care for undereducated Isan wh*res, clothes and expensive dinner dates for local female members of the Sisterhood of Bar Girls, Boulevard workers and the like in that Farang male paradise two hour by bus from Bangkok...

Too many prejudices and generalisations in Farang Land already!!!

The Dutch Santa Claus and Donald Duck

                                         Amsterdam, 05 Dec. 2011.

Considering I promised the four year old son of my lesbian neighbors upstairs I would paint him a Donald Duck as a sort of misplaced Dutch Santa Claus present, it seems unfair not to keep my promise to the biggest fan of my artistic carreer...needless to say I had to add a Mickey Mouse as well...

A free of charge assignment but which will probably add positively to my Karma, maybe a shit load of presents in the youth of my next excistence though I doubt very seriously I will return as a human being...

Not with about all the shit I had to go through in this present life and the negative way I reacted to it...

Being a member of the humanoid race and therefore in the possession of a one-way ticket to the Buddhist Nirvana, maybe the Jesus Christ misguided idea of heaven, or else Allah's divine kingdom where ninety-nine virgins will happily await my earthly demise - though in the last case rumour has it these virgins will only be available for those that are mad enough, or far enough on their religious path, to blow themselves to kingdom-come in a crowd of over-zealous jews or hated heathen Americans...not my cup of English Darjeeling tea to leave this polluted lump of dirt En Esa Manera Loca Y Sangrienta-

No, no, no, these enlightened spiritual kingdoms are not there as a reward for my sins in the here and now...

Actually I am pretty sure I will materialise in my next reincarnation as a stinking fearless cockroach...but, maybe, maybe, maybe...painting these comic characters for four year old Hannes living upstairs will upgrade my next journey in this corporal valley of tears and tribulations to that of a big brown rat living on a third world garbage belt...

Another Camino photo en my Yahoo in-box

                                           Amsterdam, 04 Dec. 2011.

I seem to remember that this photo was taken on the Meseta half a day walking from Logronyo though I ain't quite sure..I do remember that the Vistas up there were worth the effort of hiking up there to that paticular spot underneath that massive cross ...

Ain't even sure about the identity of the photographer of this pic but thanks for sending it to me mate/lady...really appreciate it!

Ghostly wanderings

Amsterdam, 03 Dec. 2011.

I am learning new Dutch swear words here though it is not like I am paying much heed to the drunk male raving at the other side of my house phone conection...today Lola's ex-boyfriend is really in full swing but I have decided to face the music, hear it all out, not interrupting his intoxicated jealous monoloque, his plans for my inminent future, bleak and bloody it will be, probably better I make a quick visit to my undertaker first thing tomorrow morning and get my - by then - mangled body sized up for a luxury coffin...

The black marker between my fingers moves rapidly across the page of my sketchbook, in my mind's eye I see a sexy young lady at the other side of the phone asking me politely if she can come over despite the late hour, some ladyfriend has told her about the beautifull colorfull portrait I did of her, "I want one too, sir"!!!

"Are you listening to me, you f*cking sh*thole"?, bringing me back to the here and now and reminding me of the Ghostly Wanderings at 03.30 h. in the morning by a possessive sorry example of the male human race, almost like making me feel guilty being male myself....maybe pay him some of his own medicine...

Telling him during a brief moment of silence how I f*cked Lola last week up her *ss because she was on her period..."come to think of it, maybe you should take a taxi downtown to the gay sauna behind Leidseplein, find yourself a well-bestowed black Surinam bloke and experience first hand what your beloved Lola felt when I did that to here",..."or else I will be quite happy to pay you a one-way ticket to New York, Ryker's Island is rumoured to crowdingly full with well-hung Afroamericans, very keen on white male *ss"...

The amount of bad mouthed threats followed is staggering, better I quit this crazy bull!!! Be Die Eule, Herr Der Weissheid as the german saying goes.

  

Art Canibal

Amsterdam,

I wake up with a splitting headache, vague memories of some book presentation party plaque my poor Testa while I try to get up, hard work at the petting zoo awaiting me though it ain't one of my traditional days...why did I sign up for today knowing fully well I would have that hard drinking night La Noche Antes downtown, blond beer and red wine in great quantities, a pinkish colored book with big black letters telling me the book's name is KUNSTKANIBAAL, art canibal in my native Dutch?...did I buy it out of real interest or because I felt guilty drinking all that free booze???

Four hundert pages of probably chaotic writing into the future will give me the anwer to that question, I guess.

Some colorfull painting on the floor bringing back even vaguer memories of coiming home late and opening a bottle of Mooi Kaap red wine, only two Euro at the Appie Heyn, two Euros that will probably soon be worthless anyway with the bleak future awaing our beloved European monetary unit, pushed down our citizens' throats by over zealous politicinas who are now remarkably quiet, and painting this sleeping Lola though she didn't spent last night here...I guess with her having spent most of the last two weeks nights here I didn't really need her to know what she looks like deep asleep in her favorite comatose position...

Seriously wonder how long this boy/girl contact is gonna last...in my life relationships with the other sex are inherently doomed anyway...I love t'he carnal part but don't get mixed up in the oral love fights...withdrawal to the more dustier corners of my gray braincells my favorite defence to angry and screaming members of Eva's realm...   

A Happy Swiss lady

Found this photo today In the inbox of my Yahoo account, a drawing I did for a young Swiss lady I met last month while walking the Camino De Santiago De Compostela...

Well, actually I met her in one of the camino's Alberques where she asked me to make a drawing for her in her travel jornal, offering me a free beer for my efforts...

Thanks for the photo my dear.

Cosmic coincidence

 Amsterdam, 28 Nov. 2011.
I seriously wonder if is cosmic coincidence when my house bell does it's well known double ring, proclaiming the arrival of Rob, The King Of My Toilet, just as Lola is out of her wintery garments and hopping around my house in her pinkish lingerie...another modelling session is about to be in full swing here...

We have just finished Kam Yin provided Nasi Special Pork, have opened a bottle of Beaujolais Villages Primeur, vintage 2011, already half way down our thirsty throats, ready we are for our favourite evening hobbies...

A bit like "Met Je Neus In De Boter Vallen" as the Dutch proverb goes, falling with your nose in the butter jar, having a lucky streak here for Mister Park Alcoholic...but no, Rob hardly pays nubile near naked lady any heed, quick introductions pushed aside with heavy stories about his latest visit to his doctor and his godammed darm problems, a big fat bag full with more take-away food, a bottle of Rosé table wine which he always mistakes for red wine for me, his mate...gulping down food by the spoon full with parts of tomatoe based Bolonaise dripping down his unshaven chin, staining his unwashed shirt, telling us stories how his doctor told him to eat good...

"When I eat good, my thin shit will be solid again", gulp, gulp, gulp..."nice and hard, once a day"...indeed good dinner table conversation I guess...

Maybe two bottles of red table wine

                                         Amsterdam, 27 Nov. 2011.

I know I shouldn't complain, not about the shitty autumn weather plaqueing my beloved Mokum, the shitty weather that keeps me inside the house where I spend the better part of the day freaking around with my acrylic colors, my paint brushes and the models that appear in my dream world...thanks to Lord Morpheus, the God of that limbo realm where the dreams rule the sleeping world of my excistence...

I know I shouldn't complain about my empty wallet with Rob, the King Of My Toilet where he needs to go at least every 15 minutes of the time he spends inside my house due to serious damage done to his insides by the massive amounts of cheap Appie Heyn beer he consumes every day of his sorry excistence, coming over tonight to finally pay off all his debts and a bottle of tasty red table wine as a bonus and "Muchas Gracias" for helping me out these last couple of months with free beer and 2 Euro last monday, 5 three days before that, ect, ect...I have given up counting all that stupid change he managed to talk me out of...

I know I shouldn't complain about the lack of models in the real world, not with Lola just on the phone, promising me to come over tonight with a take-away meal from the Kam Yin, Nasi special with pork, my favourite, and yet another bottle of red table wine...forget about her ex-boyfriend who was on that same phone last night asking me with a voice so brusque it reminded me somehow of the biblican Goliath, "what are you doing f*cking my woman?"...couldn't even be bother to get into that discussion...phones are there to break the conection after all!!!   

Camino memories, part two

Amsterdam, 26 nov. 2011.

Iré Donde Sea                          Go wherever you like
Siempre Que Hacia adelante     always go forward

Camino memories, part one

Tres Coasa Hay En La Vida
Que Precisa El Peregrino,
Buenas Piernas, Gran Comida,
Y Si Hablamos De Bebida,
Poca Aqua Y Mucho Vino!

There Are Three Things
That Make The Pelgrim,
Good Legs, Great Food,
And When We Talk About Beverages,
Little Water And A Lot Of Wine!

Camino memories

Amsterdam, 26 nov. 2011.

Tres Cosas Hay En La Vida                              There are three things 
Que Precisa El Peregrino,                                  that make the pelgrim,
Buenas Piernas, Gran Comida,                           Good legs, great food,
Y Si Hablamos De Bebida,                                and when we talk about  beverages                               
Poca Aqua Y Mucho Vino!                               little water and a lot of wine!

Back to my dream world

                                                Amsterdam, 25 nov. 2011.

It is still early when I wake up again to the sounds of the clans of starlings slashing it out in their habitual sleeping tree outside my house in the interior garden, before spreading out over the city in search of food, their bird poop covering the roof windows of the care centre on the ground floor of the crappy old house I live in...

I have a faint memory of Lola leaving the house for work, a few hours earlier, her feet hardly touching the ground, a bit like she was walking on clouds despite the cascade of Spanish Red Wine we consumed, modelling for me untill she could stand on heer feet anymore, the few hours of comatose sleep after partaking in the adults only game...

A big red lipstick smacker on my left cheek I discover while covering my face with shaving cream, the only proof she was real and really here, the paintings I made of her last night not out of my fucked-up dream world but a life model in my house...

Well, it seems obvious that today's portrait is the opposite, Lord Morphius kingdom reminding me of my imminent departure for king Bhumipol's Asian realm.

Lola on the phone

                                                 Amsterdam,

I guess the word is out despite keeping my cell off guard, no recharging that little wonder of present day technology, my friends and enemies alike seem to always know when I am back in town....

Lola on my house phone, wanting to pose little bit and make love little bit, reminding me of Tuk - my Thai lady friend from some years back - who had pretty much the same vocabulary, be it in part Thai English mixed with her native Isan Thai...me like make pose for you "leettle beet", make love Nit Noi and eat Mak Mak...

Well, I guess a live model makes more fun for the artist then one from my notorious dream world...

I this case I painted her protrait on a newspaper page, acrylics and a black marker....and the little bit of posing turned into a full night of modelling, drinking Spainsh red wine...what came after the modelling session is private!

Remembering Sud-Coreanas on the Camino

                                          Amsterdam, 22 nov. 2011.

Though my house might not held the endless Vistas of the Spanish Mesetas, the high Sierras I had to cross with my painfull feet and heavy backpack on my back, straps painfully biting into my shoulder blades, none of the rustic looking half devoid Aldeas where local farmers survived by a meagre archiculture excistence and a handfull of Euros coming from Pelegrino sweaty hands...still, it feels good to be back home, give my worn out body rest and relaxation, my feet the necessary rest, my mind the entertainment it was starving for...

So I did this beauty today thinking about all these Sud-Coreanas I met on the Camino these last four weeks, who were so keen on getting their portrait done once they noticed me working on my sketchbook in front of the Albergue's fire, drawing the old churches I saw during the day, other Peregrinos I met on the ancient walking paths and more of the same stuff.

Back home from the Camino.

                                                Amsterdam, 21 Nov. 2011.

The smell of Mary-Jane in its purest form penetrates my Gringo nostrils when I walk out of the Amsterdam railway station - nothing new here I guess, happens every time when I return from one of my trips - the Amsterdam main tourist attraction to be found all along the long strech of walking home, coffee shops on the city's Haarlemmerdijk doing a brisk business while I brave the cold and misty streets of my beloved Mokum, my last couple of km. before the comfort of my personal home engulving me, a last bottle of La Mancha red Spanish wine inside my heavy pack awaiting consumption...

Trying to concentrate on whatever amusement my telly will entertain me with while working on that La Mancha Spanish wine, trying to forget that superfatso in the chair next to me on the bus whose Gordiflon body occupied three quarters of my Asiento as well...luckily the driver alowed me to change seats and end up with a Brasilian beauty as overnight bus neighbor...trying to forget the Mosambique blacks chatting all night in Portuguese and hardly willing to stop despite several complaints of fellow travellers...openly discussing the fun of keeping these darned whitties awake untill the I told them Callete or slash it out with me at the next gasoline stop...

Trying to forget the sweaty bodies of a full long drive bus, farts and bodily smells playing havoc on my poor orafatory capablilties....

Yeah, I guess that one Euro Botella de La Mancha red wine was a great investment!!! 

Back home from the Camino.

Along El Camino, 19 days of walking

Villafranca, 10 nov. 2011.

The fire in the Albergue Municipal is hot and comfortable, my cheap wine from the local Supermercado is dark red and tasty to the palate, making me feel sleepy and pensive at the same time...

Small surprise after the longest day of walking yet, nearly nine long hours along highways and small ancient footpaths where the abundance of small and bigger stones was painfull my poor feet - nothing to complain about after two and a half weeks of daily walking these roll stone Caminos, slippery to the touch of my army issued boots, downhill makes me feel like I am risking my bones and even very life, but as I have said before Defiantly putting one army boot clad foot in front of the other, thinking about all these Peregrinos I have left behind, sitting on the toilet in the morning nursing the countless huge blisters covering heels and soles, toes and upper part of their feet, plasters and bandages drained in blood and yellowish pus...

I think about the seemingly endless vistas of the high Mesetas, the mentally fatiguiing feeling of small stone covered sandy paths, desolation and without a purpose...the enormous toll this takes on my mind and bodily wellfare...

The dormitories where fellow Peregrinos snore loudly, fart without shame and noisily turn on their other side in the bunk bed above mine...

The erotic images of ladyfriends and the sexual encounters I had with them filling my conscious mind while I drag on - defiantly moving forward - seemingly purposeless - my male equipment that normally is so quick to react to these sexually stimulating mental images, can´t be bothered anymore...I guess real fatigue is setting in here!!!

A little bit over two hundert kilometers remain...one more week of defiantly putting one heavy and painfull army issued boot in front of the other equally tired and painfull Gringo foot...

Along El Camino, 17 days of walking

Rabanal El camino, 08 nov. 2011.

I watched with interest how this young and probably illegal immigrant Corean lady is taking care of her landlady, her Jefe, a ninety year old grumpy lady who needed help being transported to the dining table from her habitual place in front of the fire, how Miss Li cuts her meat for her, aiding her spoon to her ancient mouth and putting up with all her whining while patiently preparing her daily medication, sweet talking her Abuelita and meanwhile giving me seductive smiles and her dark eyes shooting hot silent promises at me...

I was the only customer in their little Alberque just before entering Astorga, last night and had been invited to the old lady´s private quarters where she was brooding in front of the fire, warming her brittle bones, listening to her younger niece talking to her with unnecessarily little real inetrest, the niece who upon leaving whispered to me that Esa Chica Coreana that looked after her older relative with so much Carinyo should really have a man in her life...

Needless to say that Miss li came to visit me last night...alas, in my dreams anyway...

Last night´s more interesting social contacts of the more intimiate nature - alas, in my dream world, remember - followed me today while I, as always these past two full weeks, defiantly walked on, painfull feet and cramped up legs notwithstanding  

Along the Camino, 15 days of walking.

Arcabueja, 7 km. from Leon, 06 nov. 2011.

the vineyards and high tabe lands, Las Mesitas En Espanyol and many fellow Peregrinos behind me, getting into the tird week of my hiking trip, feet still hurting every days as well as my shoulders from the straps of my heavy Mochila...but defiantly I walk on, maybe dragging my dead tired body along El Camino would really be a much better way to describe it...

Still...getting up at 06.30 h. early morning, quickly packing my gear together while everybody in the communal dormitories of Los Albergues Municipales is still snoring away, leaving in the still dark Madrugada, my painfull feet clad in my black army issued leather boots, I enjoy the dead calm of the Spanish country site, listening to the world wake up, birds calling out to a brand new day, slowly getting into my rhythm and really having the time of my life...

Reading local newspapers while having my Cafe Con Leche in some obscure bars in one of these small Aldeas where most of the houses are either in serious situations of decay or carry a sign proclaiming De Venta - the crisis is hitting Spain hard I guess - but I drag on and feel really SUPER, painfull freet and semi-paralysed shoulderblaes notwithstanding...

300 plus km. left to Santiago and 12 or 13 days of walking before my Eurolines bus departure...

Along El Camino, 11 days of walking.

New types of technology to cope with in small refugios, never got to use a labtop with no mouse...still trying to get my blogging stories across and on the sacred internet...

Like the little plump swiss lady and her infatuation with me, pushing heR OVERLOADED BICYCLE ALONG WHILE ASKING ME : SIE HABEN TOCH NICHTS DAGEGEN WENN ICH EIN BISSCHEN MIT IHNEN MIT LAUFEN, ICHE HBE  DA IRGENWIE EINE BESITIMMTE BEGEISTERUNG MIT INHEN..LITTLE AND PLUMP, ONLY TWENTY YEARS OF AGE AND REALLY NOT MY TYPE, BUT WHATEVER...

maybe the fat slob in my refugio last night whose pants probably had not been changed for week, I actually suspected he even slleps in them as well as in his wine freckled, sweaty shirt, his toothless mouth sagging to the left because of jur of wine he would pore into his mouth while keeping an eartheware jug of vino high in the air upside down, one litro de vino tinto he could knock down that way he claimed and probably frequently did cada dia.

My feet still hurting but my head getting emptier by the day, running into other peregrino every day and really needing some serious internet access...but I drag on...

Along El camino, nine days of walking

Burgos, 31 oktober 2011.

High table lands and fellow travellers, leaving them behind or they overtaking me, forested trails with cobble stone paths that hurt my poor feet with each step, my crazy brain cells still going into overload while I put one painfull step in front of the other - without pain there is no satisfection, a truth that stands as strong as a concrete building - ...but no, the truth is that each step is getting me stronger, my head emptier...I even catch myself whistling every so often, my bare shoulders taking the straps of my heavy backpack with an ease that was not there only mere days ago, my torso cald in a Thai Buddy singlet hardly producing persperation compared to the sweat drenched same Thai singlet of only last week´s struggling...

Spending my evenings with beautifull Corean women who are obsessed with my daily drawings, my sketchbook going from manicured female fingers to more Asian femininity, high pitches giggles at my Desnuda drawings from Amsterdam, shy questions fore photo companionship, more shy Preguntitas for a portrait, the gray in my ten day old beard seems to impose tentative chin touches...my travelling stories awes them though I leave out my day time mental worries of these other crazy countries I visited - young ladies should enjoy themselves and don´t have to be horrorised by nutty life experiences from an old fuck like me...well, I aint that old but surely getting there...

Entering Burgos along a long industrialised paved road after all these days of solitute and Pas de Gran Cité Vie is getting on my nerves, the exhaust fumes of passing cars like poisonous toxic on my overloaded gray brain cells, but defiantly I walk on keen on a bed dormitory style in yet another Refugio...

!6 days of walking remain...probably devoid of internet access...so no way to throw my daily pensive moments on the Sacred net...SHOULD BUY A SMALL LABTOP NEXT TIME AROUND!!!

Along El Camino, seven days of walking

La Rioja, Belorado, 29 okt. 2011.

High table land, Mesitas and local farmers overtaking me with their tractors, hard at work bringing in the crops, frequent Buen Camino greetings from the indiginous population in small hilltop Pueplos I pass through, walking, walking and more walking, my head full with memories of the past while my painfull feet clad in my black army boots do their work bringing me closer to Santiago De Compostela with each step...

I wonder why I did the things I did, knowing fully well they were against the Buddhist principles I came to admire so much when I was living another life, long ago in another excistence...

The strange and weird world of war I was obsessed with...my visit to the blood diamonds obsession of Sierra Leone, where people did the most craziest things to one another for Nada in Realidad, getting myself drunk as a skunk in dark obscured bars full with Negros whose eyes were filled with contempt for my white skin...amazing I got out of there alive and in one piece...the wind of a not so new country in my life blowing in my face while I step forward defiantly, the straps of my heavy backpack biting into my shoulderblades...other memories appearing inside my crazy and fucked-up mind...

Kashmir was 24 hours of sitting inside a crowded local bus with army trucks overtaking us, black clad soldiers with heavy machine guns at every intersection, their hide outs covered with camouflage nets against grenates, flooding the bus and giving the passengers a hard time, hearing gun fire and explosions each night from the comfortable but badly mantained houseboats on Dal Lake while smoking strong loacl Charras...why the fuck did I go there anyway when there is so much more to see in the Indain sub-continent...

I AM LUCKY WITH THE WEATHER IN THIS PART OF SPAIN THAT IS RIGHTFULLY CALLED lA ESPANYA VERDE, with the sun beaming down on my rasored head I stumple on, hardly being able to deal with the trails and jubilations of my life, invading the privacy of my personality...but then that is why I cam to this part of the world, why I choose to do this hard trek, one of the oldest in the human history...

My gray brain cells return to my frequent trips to prostitution rife exotic places like Las Phillipinas and Thailand, the super cheap Bordellos of Central America and crazy bars of Colombia wher the local soldiers would knock on the dorrs of small back rooms in greasy bars asking me for ID before I cuold continue my extra-marital affairs with down and out putezas with a dubious reputation and rotten teeth from too much alcohol abuse - I was drunk  most of the time and could therefore hardly care about the bodily state of my bed partners - ...

It is the seventh day and my feet are getting stronger by the day, my head getting saner with each kilometer behind me while my eyes take it all in, good foot and plenty of red wine should get me all the way to Santiago, local Refugios with limited access to the Sacred Internet and often free of charge, should take care of my nocturnal dreams tht are a continuation of my day time pensive moments...

26 days of walking with one week down my proferbial Gringo ass and no idea where this trip will eventually bring me...     

Along EL Camino, four days of walking

Logronyo, 25 okt. 2011.

With my feet hurting like hell itself - intresting metaphor considering this is supposed to be a sacred hike - and the bands of my backpack burrying themselves deep into my shoulderbones,  I hike on throught the hills of northen Spain, enjoying the charming compnay of Marion from Stutgard, Marion who reminds me a lot of my greatest love in this life - well, one of my greatest loves in this life anyway - Andrea from Kassel, her blue blinking eyes and blond half long hair blowing in the wind while she tells me all about her life back home, her partner - Mierda - and her 27 year old son living in Argentina for studying purposes...

I try to pay her the most of my attention but at the same moment trying not to attach myself to her though she obviously enjoys my presence...so I tell her about my own life, my trips across the globe, my upcoming journey to that asian realm ten or twelve hours of flying from Amsterdam, how the local ladies run down my door in the New Star in Pattaya - I HAVE AFTER ALL NEVER BEEN ASHAMED OF MY LIFE STYLE - and show her the pics of my art work back in my house in Amsterdam - thanks again to the digital photography world where you don´t have to run around the world with a heavy and huge portfolio, a simple 69 euro digital camara will do with 800 pics on your memory stick...

Finally getting ahead of her just opun reaching Logronyo, I run into an old local geezer, drunk as the proverbial skunk and in the possession of a plastic bag full with cold beer and three yellowish teeth that he flashes at me broadly, inviting me for a couple of free drinkies...perfect opportunity to wait for my new found lady buddy before reaching Logronyo after a great day of walking El Camino...

Along El Camino, three days of walking

Los Arcos, 25 nov. 2011

Not the first time I walk El Camino De Santiago De Compostela, though this time it seems more intense with the Camino having beciome a hype, the Albeques nearly full with Peregrinos from all over but still not as busy as in El Verano De Espanya when the roads are full with 1000s of hikers, having to sleep in the main squares of the villages the Camino passes along the way...

Still, I spend most of my walking hours alone, avoiding the company of other hikers, having come here with a heavy militay boots and even a heavier backpack that contains much more as I really need, that cuts into my shoulders with a vengeance, just the way I like it, testing myself once more to my limits...

When everybody takes the easy route, I take the off the beaten track detour, hiking through Bosques and hilly vineyards where the local Campesinos greet me friendly and amaibly, where my feet hurt like mad because of stones littering the path...

My head empty and devoid of thoughts, not even the two o´clock afternoon Menu del Dia can hurry me despite my empty belly - no breakfast but testing myself to the limit, remember - and when I finally check into a Refugio I collapse upon my bunk bed for several hours before going out to buy my necessary Botella De vino Tinto Para Pasar La Noche...

FOUR DAYS OF WALKING NOW WITH ANOTHER 27 COMING....

Kadhafi, another one bites the dust

                                           Amsterdam,

I started with this big bossomed black woman sitting opposite me in the train, coming back from Amstel Station after my last walk around Amsterdam, preparing myself for the Santiago De Compostela trek, checking out the bus station for my bus tomorrow morning to Bilbao, northern Spain...but the heavy and angry looks she shot me made me decide to continue with this younger version of Kadhafi I found in the daily Telegraaf newspaper...

From the days he still supported international terrorism and considered himself the king of Africa, the rightfull ruler of the Arab world...

From the days when President Ronald Reagan called him The Mad Dog, a nick that stuck...

I guess he was blissfully unaware in the  then and there of his messy bloody death in the here and now, 21 october 2011, taken out of a rubbish strewn sewage tube and begging for his life...

Bragging and boasting, challenging the whole world and ending his life as a coward in the dust and dirt of his native city Sirte for the whole world to see!!!

Another Muslima in the Amsterdam streets

The OccupyWallstreet movement in Amsterdam

Amsterdam,

Sorry to say this but the OccupyWallstreet movement's demonstration in Amsterdam reminds me a bit of my visits to Osho's discourses in Puna, all lot of shit being said but very little real action, a lot of misguided martyrs talking like chicken do their cackle but very little real sense, sitting around in circles smoking pot and drinking beer...

Degenerates, homeless acoholics from the street and drug abushers in their habitual ragged street clothes, many of whom I recognise at first glance, drinking cheap luke warm beer and enjoying the show, probably happy in the knowledge that finally the city's finest can't giving them a ticket for sleeping in the street, drinking booze or causing public disturbances, mêlee to the max and only a single fat cop walking his beat...amazing....

Beursplein 5's walls are covered with demands, colorfull cartons and rain drenched papers, banners of all types, depicting the outrage of the impoverished masses, outrageous cries for freedom and economic rights for foreigners, the fall of the Euro and American green back, release Malcom X from the United States' torture cells one placate reads (????) , I can make no sense of most of it, just that no real solutions are being offered...

Better I leave this hippy enclave in the Amsterdam centre with that handfull of small tents and their fanatic owners alone and continue my long walks around good old Mokum

Miss Xia

                                                        Amsterdam,

Miss Xia, the lady who was posing at Peter's studio during our  wine drinking evening.

A wine drinking session with Peter Klashorst

                                                Amsterdam,

Peter's studio in the heart of the Amsterdam city centre, is a typical artist's chaotic mess, a bit like my own house back in the Westerpark neighborhood but much bigger...colorfull paintings dot the walls, African masks placed around at random, jars containing acrylic stained water and used paint brushes all over the place, paintings depicted international looking ladies covering the paint stained wooden floor, empty and not so empty bottles of red wine of different cellars, half full glasses containing more red wine, a green crate with beer bottles, possibly a southern Dutch Abdij brand...like I said, just like my own place but much bigger...

I am greeted by the Man himself, Peter Klashorst aka Het Konijn Dat Klashorst Heet - the Dutch Rabbit - by a vintictive Metro journalist called Luuk Koelman - and introduced to an appetising looking caucasian woman in a sexy outfit - don't I just love lingerie! - who is his latest posing "victim" - talking Luuk Koelman way here - glasses of wine and even more female company of the more darked skinned type...

Getting home, my head heavy with red wine, I feel unable to sleep despite all the alcohol running wild in my veins, despite the long day at the petting zoo and the bodily exhaustive work I did there all day, too many images of naked ladies, painted and real going all over the place in my Dutch mind...

I have to piant, drink cheap supermarket supplied cold beer from my Frigo and paint, paint, paint....finding myself awake on the floor the next morning stark naked and several paintings "sort of finished". 

Mister Friendly Looking Chap

                                                Amsterdam,

I did this portrait of  Mister Friendly Looking Chap a few days ago in a bar, taking a break from my long walks around the Amsterdam city, preparing myself for my Santiago De Compostella trek, having a coffee and apple pie...

Markers and aquarel on an edition of the free Metro newspaper, the green acrylic I added later in my house.

A Muslim lady in the crowd, taking her home

                                                    Amsterdam,

The Chador, The Niqaap, The Burka, all of them female garments that are supposed to protect the women wearing them as protection against the lustfull feelings of men passing them in the street, a couple of centimeters of threat making the difference between being devoured by male eyes or maybe feeling free and femenine...

Maybe the difference of a vitamine D deficiency - which is considered to be a possilbe
cause for rachitis, myopaticy, osteoporosis, osteomalicy and serious chalcium shortages in the human bones - and a healthy life...

My big walks in Amsterdam continue, my mind going Hoteldebotel, all over the place, the sketches in my moleskinerie multiplying by the sackfull...the moral and ethic issues of any megapole being churned over in my grain brain cells...

Four hours today, good practice for my upcoming Santiago De Compostella trek, before returning home and doing this Muslim lady...I guess I saw her in the crowd and took her home, mentally speaking anyway!!!

Joana and the Winston Bar in the Warmoesstraat

                                                  Amsterdam,

This is Joana from Spain but working in Amsterdam who I met last week in the Winston Bar in the Amsterdam Warmoestraat...a downtown bar that is rumoured to be the biggest pick-up joint in the whole of Holland, a bar where the clientêle can often be found on the stage - when there is no band playing - to check out the fresh "flesh" available for "consumption", a great vantage point as far as the visual world goes in this bar...I happen to have personal experience here...

Having this lively lady on the back of my ATB - all terrain bike you know - 03.00 o 'clock in the morning with her hands on a certain quest underneath my shirt and my head heavy on several pints of Heineken, was no easy job but I manage...

steamy and hot encounters followed suit...she made the contact and I made this sketch... 

Steve Jobs and a Greek lady in a bar

                                                 Amsterdam,

Dead tired after my long walk around the Amsterdam city, breaking in my new army boots for my upcoming walking trip in Northern Spain El Camino De Santiago De Compostella, four weeks of trekking through La Espanya Verde on the way to that religious catholic bastion where supposedly the holy James, one of Jesus christ's  - yes, I mean that misguided zealot that came out of the Galilea Area in that so-called Holy Land Palestina 2000 odd years ago - apostels is burried...

Busy making this sketch from a Telegraaf newspaper photo of Steve Jobs, that icon from the American selicone industry who died a few days ago, enjoying a cup of steaming Java at a rediculous price of 3.40 Euros...well, money no matter no more with the upcoming demise of the economic European powerhouse's money I guess...

The green colored eyes of the lady at the next table glued on my fingers that travel across the pages of my sketchbook at light speed, the ashtray being used as an improptu water container for my aquarel colors - I don't smoke anymore after all...

I invite her over, offer her another 3.40 Euro coffee - at least the waiter brings her a sugar cookie into the bargain, why did't I get that titbit free of charge tooth decayer? - and offer to draw her portrait as well, learning a few more words of Greek like:

                                Kalimera = good morning
                                Kalispera = good afternoon
                                Kalinigta = good night
                                        ogi = no

I wonder why she taught me that last word, was there a hidden message involved...whatever, thanks for the little posing session miss Electra from Greece

                      

People in Spaardammerstr.

                                                    Amsterdam,

Another autumn here in my beloved Amsterdam...and as every autumn I find myself back in front of the crappy old house I live in, enjoying my spare time and the sights of the street...

A woman in Burka quickly looking over her shoulder, giving me curiousl looks when she shuffles past me dragging her two kids along - I wonder secertly whether or not her God Allah will be amused or bemused because I draw one of his devotees -

A sad looking character with a huge bonnet on his head that reads Amsterdam.

Or maybe that red eyed elderly man with the orange colorerd scarf around his neck...all of them good models for my sketchbook. 

Railway station people

                                          Amsterdam,

People rushing to and fro, working stiffs in expensive suits and leather shoes that shine as a mirror, hurrying to catch their train in time, on the way to their office and a dominant boss...

A couple of alcoholics, raggedly dressed in unwashed clothes that probably originate from the rubbish of any big city, finding shelter from the slight rain outside the railway station, nervously looking around for rail company coppers while taking quick swigs from their alu cans of cheap supermarket beer, flea ridden and moth eaten dogs dozing at their feet, that help to make the begging come in easier, good protection at night too while their owners sleep on public park benches, the sleep of the booze induced comatose state known to drunks the world over...

A bunch of old gays eyeing me curiously while walking by, their overly feminine behaviour reminding me of the Katoys in Thailand...

An old bag lady sitting forlornly in a corner, her greasy belongings in plastic Appie Heyn shopping bags laying around her at random...

My fingers holding my black pen and colored markers, run across the pages of my sketchbook, visual expressions of the human species all around me, turning them into quick drawings...

Another s*cker from the Lonely Hearts Brigade

Amsterdam,

nearly two weeks now since Andere Hans, my neighbor at The Anne Frank House, has left for Thailand, probably hoping for juicy sex and good tasty food, all at bargain prices of course...

Mister Fat Slob has hassled me for years for thailand related info before finally making his big break, buying that KLM ticket and sky diving for Bangkok, onward to Kho Samui, one month of perfect clarity, discovering King Bhumipol's Asian realm from the eyes of a first timer, an easy victim for the members of the Isan womanhood, another sex starved European male with too much dough in his pockets, his need for female company obscuring his normal common sence...if he ever had that at all?

Not realising someone is playing with his d*ck but it ain't he himself, laboriously trying to give him a h*rd-on and stealing his fat wallet at the same time...words of lust and love mixing with soft groaning while he doing his male thing on her, all of it directed at making him part with his hard earned Euros...

Selling his Amsterdam prints in front of that notoriously long queue of foreign Anne Frank House visitors, waiting to get in and being hassled by the expert on Amsterdam humor while feeling bored in the line...

Money to pay for the daughter who doesn't wanna see him no more...

Like I said, another s*cker from the Lonely Hearts Brigate!!!

TIME

Amsterdam,

IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO CHANGE TIME

A quote from the Amsterdam street artist LASER 3.14

Droogpruim Emiel and Dikke Joop

Amsterdam,

Okay, I admit, freely so and without restraint, sometimes when I get into my Thailand blogstories, I can be laying in on a bit thick...still, with my old mate Emiel coming over next week, Dikke Joop from Zwolle in hot pursuit on this old man's heels, with Paul joining the party, a massive beer session in Cafe De Wildeman or else Cafe Het IJ, big Thailand female-related stories will grow with the intake of each more glass of Lager and laying it on thick again, the qualities of Hot Mommas from King Bhumipol's Asian realm will be talked into the ground again...no doubt, no doubt.

A males only type of afternoon will ensue, going into the night and ending inside my centrally located house here in Amsterdam Westerpark...no doubt, no doubt.

Maybe running into these two slightly elderly Surinam ladies, short skirts and all that, whom Paul and me met last sunday afternoon, sitting outside Cafe Het IJ and enjoying a nice and pleasant late summer sun, cold Columbus beer and eyeing female Surinam thights whose owners told us they were still single...

Well, I guess everything is possible and I wouldn't put it beyond these two old geezers to drag these black elderly Mommas back to my place for an evening of typical male/female philandering...after all Droogpruim Emiel and Dikke Joop are old hands to that male paradise called Pattaya...