Thievery Corporation

Walking into an Urban Outfitters store in Santa Monica, California in the year 2000, I knew I was in a cool place when a live DJ was spinning tunes in between the first and second floor.

Even cooler was the sound coming from the speakers - the chillout/reggae/ambient/Indian/

banghra/who knows what else sounds of Thievery Corporation.

Returning home a few days later, I quickly, er, "bought" a bunch of their songs online (this was before my conscience kicked in a few years later - I now only buy music on iTunes, honest).

Fast forward 10 years and they've become a top-3 favourite in my books. And in yet another nod to Amsterdam's ever-present entertainment options, I was able to see them live for the first time here at the venerable Melkweg. The room was perfect, with packed balconies and a full floor.

It was an unreal show, with a hugely positive vibe in a crowd of 20- and 30-somethings. Each song brought out a different lead vocalist, from Brazil, the US, Argentina and Jamaica by way of Washington D.C. The live band accompanying the DJs featured top-level musicians playing the trumpet, saxophone, bongos, sitar, bass, and drums. The show kicked off with the sexiest, happiest big mama ever, Sister Pat (photo from the 'Net).

It can be tricky to describe the music since I don't know any comparable groups, so I'll leave it to one of the group's founders at the end of this post to at least describe their philosophy. A Last.fm search for similar artists lists a number of others that are way more obscure.

Basically, it was a cultural and musical experience that dipped me in a vat of coolness from which I have yet to emerge (although friends might suggest otherwise). I HIGHLY recommend picking up some of their songs. Le Monde, Revolution Solution, Le Femme Parallel and Air Batucada should give you a good start, but virtually any song from any album is good. Ditto with a recommendation to see them live wherever you can.

Happy to hear your comments as well...

From Rob Garza:

"We definitely want to contribute to the opening of ears, eyes, and minds. With our live shows it’s a poignant example of music and culture mixing together in an explosive vibrant way. To see a Persian singer singing in Farsi, as America debates on a war with Iran, next to other band members from all corners of the earth singing in Spanish, Portuguese, French and so on, it makes people wonder... and if you can get people to question the things around them, just a little, then that’s not such a bad thing."

Istanbullish

Last month, we saw the classic Wordsworth in this post.

To quote a similar genius, I believe it was Pitbull who said:

Then we gonna go fo, and fo, we gon freak some mo.

Four days in Istanbul start tomorrow... the Istanbul Lonely Planet app is loaded on the iPhone, the Turkish Lira is not so dear-a, and the dolmus and the Bosphorus await us.

So no posts here for the next few days unfortunately - the next one will come Monday or Tuesday of next week. See you then.

Viva Italia

Two perspectives on this weekend's De Smaak van Italie event near Utrecht, at the Kasteel de Haar. Each one valid in its own way.

Version 1

Wow, this place is great! Beautiful castle, serene setting, hundreds of booths serving up all manner of Italian delicacies, great wine everywhere.

Look at this celebration of cultures coming together - coffee booths, delicious sausages and cheeses and elaborate oils and sauces everywhere, right alongside friendly and talented Dutch artists and authentic knick-knack kiosks.

Thank you, cool Dutch cop, for calling a cab for us and making sure we got a fair deal.

Vespas and Ferraris on display, with Italian furniture it's like I'm strolling through Palermo. Look how warm and gracious every vendor is. Bellissima!

Version 2

This place blows. It took me two and a half hours, with a bike, a train, and a rip-off taxi ride to get here? 9 more Euros than the fare charged by the taxi in front of us? Hey Italians or Dutch or whoever is running this thing - a road sign, maybe a shuttle bus would be an idea for next year.

Mmm, bread and olive oil. At every second stall.

Nice castle - too bad it closes at four and no one told us. Lovely weather too - if the light were any flatter, it would be Kate Moss.

No, condescending coffee machine vendor - I don't know exactly which cup to use for the cappuccino machine. But thank you for scolding me nonetheless. You may just want to cut back on your own product though, lest your teeth get any more yellow.

A piece from Italian digital artist Tiziana - will update with full name if I can find it

Expat Experience

Central Park, NYC September 2009

After a particularly angst-ridden weekend and with some big decisions coming up here in Amsterdam, I reflected on what it means to be an expat.

Forgive me as we go a bit deeper than normal - maybe it's the rainy Sunday, the remnants of dark Belgian beer that is as heavy as lead, or the desire to know that others can relate and that I'm not the only one. (Lemme know).

There were a number of moments in the last 48 hours where I felt more like a foreigner than at almost any time in the past 8 months. Skin-crawling, head-spinning, chest-searing what-have-I-gotten-into-and-get-me-outta-here moments. Then it hit me: being an expat is a lot like those initial stages of falling in love.

The parallels are endless. The two experiences are alternately thrilling, terrifying, joy-inducing and nausea-inducing as you set foot upon new terrain.

• Age and experience are part of a double-edged sword: you can become rigid and set in your ways as you grow older, diminishing your ability to be flexible and accommodating and truly open; at the same time, setbacks on the path have less of an impact - you learn to roll with the punches more and are able to hit the reset button more readily.

• They can both be financially (half-kidding) and emotionally (no joke) expensive, if you make the wrong choices initially. Although neither is irreparable.

• As both conditions extend from days to weeks to months and years, of course you see the cracks and the flaws (hopefully no warts). They've always been there, well before you arrived, but the early glow of newness and adventure has obscured them. You have fallen prey to your own expectations of that person or that place.

• Time changes your perspective. Familiarity breeds both comfort and contempt. And, depending on the level of your affection for the person or place, you either roll with it and choose to focus on the positives or you jump ship in search of home or a new destination.

• You sometimes stay in the same place too long thinking you can get used to it - but this may not happen. Are they warning signs you're ignoring, or simply a matter of getting to know this new being? It's almost impossible to tell the difference.

• Your heart breaks at the same time that it swells, often within the same few minutes, the same few hours.

• A thousand little indignities, real or perceived, bump up against your previously defined sense of self.

• Speaking of sense of self, you lose part of it for a while - the familiar surroundings that have shaped you and been your mirror. You now have a new mirror and the way it reflects is definitely not the same.

• You experience in a very raw way the fear and discomfort that come with putting yourself out there, but also the rewards that sometimes come from doing so.

• Essentially, it's what you choose to focus on, day in and day out, that determines whether you can make it from the early stages to a more lasting situation.

I suppose this is all true of many situations in life, but I've never felt it so acutely as when I'm a foreigner - in a new land or a new relationship.

World Cup

Ok, folks, some exciting news. I will be covering World Cup 2010 from a Dutch (and especially Amsterdam) perspective on behalf of Lonely Planet, as part of a team of bloggers in various countries under the Lonely Planet banner.

While there will still be some regular (i.e. non-sports) entries on this site, for the next month you will see a definite orange tint to the posts, with a football-mad country and a team that is currently ranked 4th in the world.

While this doesn't mean a trip to South Africa, I will be covering the scene in various hotspots of Amsterdam, from my dual perspective as an expat and as someone with a foot in Dutch culture too.

The Team van Oranje was last a powerhouse in the 1970's, making it to the finals in '74 and '78 but coming up just short each time, including an agonizing last-minute shot off the post that would have won it against Argentina in 1978.

Dutch soccer royalty (fitting since the formal team name is the KNVB, the Royal Dutch Football Association - the Koninklijke Nederlandse Voetbal Bond if you want real street cred) from years past includes names like Johann Cruyff, Dennis Bergkamp, Ruud Gullit, and Marco van Basten - with Cruyff being the mega-royal. You can literally walk in his shoes all over Holland today, as he has his name on his own high-end line of footwear.

Today's big guns? Top-division clubs across Europe have stellar Dutchmen such as Wesley Sneijder (Inter Milan), Robin van Persie (Arsenal), and Arjen Robben (Bayern Munich).

There's no end of off-field drama to be seen and heard of as well, with the customary complicated personalities on the team and complicated rivalries on the streets in this multi-national city. There are 177 nationalities represented in Amsterdam, so I suspect every night will be game night!

And we may or may not see the odd coverage of Sneijder's rather attractive partner, whose name is also rather complicated - Yolanthe Cabau van Kasbergen.

So watch this space for de Dutch details of on-field and off-field action as the world gets ready to go bonkers from June 11-July 11.

Fun With Signs

Seen in: Malaga

For the skeptical shopper

Cultura

Malaga has over 3000 years of rich cultural heritage, and was founded in 770 B.C. by the Phoenicians and incorporated in 1487 by the King of Spain. (Nerds, don't e-mail me with corrections - this stuff is from the International Development office of the Ayuntamiento de Malaga).

It is the birthplace of Pablo Picasso. It is home to 25 museums and art galleries, including the Picasso Museum. It is applying for the prestigious cultural capital of Europe award in 2016, la candidata a capital europea de la cultura.

It has a massive cathedral built between 1582 and 1728 (seen below). It is a gateway to such historic places as Granada and Nerja.

And I swear I'll check it all out next time.

The beaches, restaurants, and nightlife all conspired to keep me saying "manana, manana" to my best-laid plans to enrich myself culturally.

I did manage to get some more photos though.

Mas Malaga

S'up, playa? Why are you so compelling to so many of us? There most be more to it than simple sun and water and scenery.

I figure beaches hold their immense appeal not only for their many forms of toplessness but also their inclusiveness.

In a world that often creates divisions and barriers, the beach endures. They speak to the socialist in all of us. No matter how crowded it is, you can always find your little spot of real estate, often no bigger than a towel.

There's room for everyone, from opposite ends of every spectrum - rich and poor, old and young, families and singles, tanned and British.

Malaga has a number of them - El Palo and Pedregalego for the locals and language students, Malagueta and Misericordia for locals and tourists, and more on either side of the coast.

These are not the white lush beaches of travel brochures, but they definitely do the trick. The water is stunning, you can walk for miles as the small waves roll in at your feet, and a wide promenade dotted with inexpensive restaurants, cafes, ice cream shops and free outdoor exercise spots lines each one.

More images below from another great week in Malaga, particularly as Amsterdam went a little retro with wet wintry weather today.

One of the many exercise spots along the Malaga coast

This terrace, this view? A measly 650 Euro per month

At one of Pedregalego's many cafes

The breakfast menu at La Cabana in Pedregalego

Antonio Banderas is omnipresent, here watching over the beach near Misericordia.

Because Misericordia loves company.

La Segunda Vez

The first time, it can be a little awkward. Even though you've done it before, well, this particular one is brand new. You don't know your way around too well, although there are very likely some great moments, magical even.

But you don't know the terrain. There may even be some unexpected and unwelcome hairy situations, particularly if you're outside of North America. You're also likely to find a few hot spots, although a happy ending is not entirely assured. You could fake it, but for some this is easier than others.

The SECOND time, however, ahhh. This is where you hit your groove. You know the right places, the hidden gems - shortcuts even, if you're pressed for time.

You feel more confident in communicating your needs and preferences. Emboldened, you might even explore a little further, assured that you can always quickly go back to the more familiar locations if needed.

I'm speaking, of course, of visiting the same place more than once.

I'm back in Malaga, this time for potential business as well as pleasure, and can barely describe how nice it is be here once again. Sitting at one of a dozen impossibly quaint or cool cafes lining the beach in the suburb of Pedregalego, a small 'burb about 10 minutes jog from the city center of Malaga.

Turning my head to the right, the Mediterranean is about twenty steps away, the sun is beaming, the sea is emerald green and then turning to deep blue about 300m away and the air smells like the stuff they add to laundry detergent. Except it's much less detergent-y. Competing for my eardrums' affections are the waves crashing on one side and Bob Marley on the other.

More on the latest trip here soon, including more photos.

La bicicleta de la semana

An Ode to Travel

If departure screens like the one above always provide you a rush of excitement and possibility... if the rumbling clackety-clack of suitcase wheels over cobblestones is music to your ears... if the accent of a foreign flight attendant somehow makes the safety instructions sound riveting... if a particular smell, from a bar of hotel soap, that post-rain smell, or a pungent dish instantly transports you to that restaurant in Barcelona, that beach in the Bay of Islands, or that park in Paris...

Then you too might have an addiction to travel. You're not alone.

As Amsterdam continues to unravel its many layers, I am continually amazed at the happiness that traveling brings. There's so much to see, so much knowledge to be gained, so many personal connections to be made. Even the down times (long line-ups, flight cancellations, getting lost, getting ripped off) are perfect for self-reflection. Yes, those times that suck inevitably make us think - Why did I ever leave the couch?

More often that not, the answer comes unexpectedly and very simply - on a train ride to Berlin... an early hour on a beach in Malaga... a roast beef sandwich in Amsterdam's Cafe Festina Lente... a quiet moment in the shade at the Marie de Medici fountain at the Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris... a Sam Roberts concert at NYC's Gramercy Theater that was better than U2 the night before... a conversation with an 87-year old woman who was a war survivor and whose family hid a Jewish family in south Holland ... and a hundred more moments that I could (and some I couldn't) print here. Each one reminding me how fortunate I am.

Alain de Botton's awesome book "The Art of Travel" sums up the the joy (and occasional misery) of travel far more eloquently than I ever could, and reading it even gives you a sense that there's some joy within that misery. It is full of philosophical, historical and social perspectives as to why we travel.

Ultimately, I think traveling provides us the opportunity to create way more spots of time than we can if we decide to just stay home. A quote from The Art of Travel:

There are in our existence spots of time,

That with distinct pre-eminence retain

A renovating virtue...

That penetrates, enables us to mount,

When high, more high, and lifts us up when fallen.

Wordsworth

Amsterdam

Before I leave in the morning, I wear more layers than Tammy Faye.

Like a knife through overcooked zucchini, I slice through traffic on my trusty bike, dodging tourists, cars, scooters, trams, and tough, street-wise pigeons.

No matter which direction I'm heading, somehow the wind is in my face.

I wash my hands in cold water only, not by choice - because there is no choice - but via long-standing Calvinist frugality.

I walk up to the server to pay my bill, thanking him/her for the privilege of being their customer.

I'm hurdling dog turd so often that I've invented a new sport - turdling.

I have my choice of a thousand cool cafes, restaurants, festivals, pastry shops, outdoor markets and bars.

I take a whiz outside at one of those green stalls, just because I can.

I go for a run and pass fellow joggers who are wearing jean jackets and cardigans.

I go to the gym and see that the spandex industry continues to thrive.

It's 20 degrees in the sun, but it drops to 2 when I step into the shade.

I meet the friendliest person I've ever met and then the rudest person I've ever met, both in the same cafe.

I speak four languages in the same day and hear four more that I want to learn.

I graciously donate my sunglasses to the canal when I bend over to lock my fiets.

I cycle past endless canals, dappled with sun during the day and framed by impossibly romantic lighting at night.

At 4am, I awaken to a huge cat fight (not the sexy kind) just outside my wafer-thin window.

I (mostly) look forward to repeating it all the next day.

Today, I am an Amsterdammer.