Royal Party

Whoa. Now THIS is a party.

Every part of my body hurts as I type this. Somehow I think I managed to pick up tuberculosis, athlete's foot and Ebola all within a few blocks. And I've never felt better.

I've never been to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, Full Moon Parties in Thailand, nor Carnival in Rio. But I can imagine that Amsterdam's Koninginnenacht/Koninginnedag (Queen's Night and the more officially recognized Queen's Day) is right up there.

First, the parties. The night before Queen's Day is loaded with house parties and concerts at various clubs. Things get going at about 7pm Thursday and end around 7am Friday.

Second, the canals. On Day 2 (the official holiday) you'll see hundreds of boats of all sizes, 90% of them complete with a DJ (and sound systems that would put most nightclubs to shame) and multiple beer kegs. People arise anywhere from 11am to 3pm (one friend failed to arise at all, missing the boat that he organized for some 20 people) to head out on these floating nightclubs.

Third, the streets. Each neighborhood and almost every street has a dance party happening right out on the cobblestones. It's mostly house and techno music of the oont-ss oont-ss variety, but with dozens of top DJs the sounds are smooth and the beats infectious. (One of the photos below shows a guy called DJ Dante spinning from his living room - his set was one of the best of the day). And there are pockets where more subtle music exists too (latino, jazz, etc).

Fourth, and most importantly, the people. I've never seen a happier mass of people anywhere. It's essentially a city-wide block party, and Amsterdammers and visitors alike seem to have shed any pent-up surliness that may have built up over a long winter. 700,000 visitors come to the city for the festivities each year.

It really is something to see - literally smiling faces everywhere. Mostly everyone is decked out in orange too, although some people contrasted that with their own shade of green as the day wore on.

Book your ticket and hotel room now for next year...

A popular boat with the ladies

Not a popular boat with the ladies

The good

The beer

The ugly

Trust me, the view from the front was worse. Much worse.

Spring

Morning in the apartment

Spring has arrived in much of Europe after what was the coldest and snowiest winter for most of the continent since 1981.

And here in Amsterdam, the city is transformed - people look much happier, or at least much less likely to punch you in the face; trees are greening and plants are blooming every day; speaking of which, the bloomin' idiots are pouring in via the planeload for a weekend of decadence; layers of clothing are being shed with welcome haste (that is, I welcome the haste with which they are being shed); and at every turn, the air is redolent with the smell of some kind of plant or herb, either benign or mind-altering.

I ushered in lente's arrival with a few days spent lounging in Vondelpark with friends, and also headed to nearby Haarlem yesterday to check out the flower-filled floats of Bloemencorso, an annual parade that travels 40 kilometers and features intricate creations made entirely of flowers.

Below, some more pictures of spring - first in Bloemencorso, and the rest in Amsterdam's Vondelpark. (A reminder that you can click on the photos to see a larger version):

Any guesses what the mouth is comprised of? That's right, two lips.

Sadly, this float was disqualified for using performance-enhancing flowers

Amazement

As we advance in years, particularly in the age of the Internet, it becomes less and less likely to see things that truly surprise or amaze us.

When the 'Net makes it possible to see people doing things with horses that never ever crossed your mind previously, and to turn tools like Perez Hilton into millionaires, there's a good chance that little surprises you anymore. We need to find new and creative ways to tap into that explorer's mindset.

Having seen a lot of new things these past six months, I began to think about how often I still get surprised or amazed. And I invite you to look around more in your own town or on your travels, to try to see things that genuinely still surprise you. Feel free to add them in the comments section below.

Here are a few items that have provided me a genuine sense of "wow" recently:

• Adults who still get sunburned. And are then surprised by it. "Yeah dude, it was the strangest thing...I was sitting outside for a couple of hours on the patio/beach/ski hill/golf course without sunscreen and I totally got burned." Huh, imagine that.

• People who send a text message saying "Call me".

• This army platoon in Malaga. The entire morning's build-up was quite something - veterans arriving via warship, a huge crowd lining a parade route which featured past and current members of the Spanish Legion, an elite unit of the Spanish Army. No disrespect intended, but when they finally passed by, I was, well, surprised.

The world's most fabulous army. Featuring their "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, But You Can Kinda Guess" policy

• The guy in Amsterdam's Vondelpark last week wearing baggy diapers and neon green hightops. And the only people who really looked twice were like "Hey man, nice shoes". (Sorry, my camera was at home).

• Volcanoes in remote countries that erupt and then impact the lives of millions. And the people among those millions who still manage to feel victimized and say "why me?"

Eyjafjallajokull. Or Eyjafjallajo for short.

• Spanish kids on the beach who made a game of hurling themselves into this sand pit, doing twists and flips on the way down. And not a neck brace nor a body cast in sight.

I'll continue to seek out things - people, sights, food, experiences, places - that still manage to provide the element of surprise and newness for as long as I live. I figure this approach will mostly serve me well, although being able to erase "adults in diapers" from my brain would be nice.

Perfection

Ok, here goes. I think one of the most difficult things to do in terms of communication with others is to be able to completely describe moments where we feel either fantastic or at our most miserable. To fully be able to express a moment or a feeling at either end of the emotional spectrum, to really capture something so personal and make it relatable to others is tough if not impossible.

This is why writers often use metaphors to bridge this gap, to create a relationship with the reader where words themselves can't do the job. So this entry ends with the best metaphor I could come up with, but even that is ultimately personal and likely not fully understandable. Although it may be funny at least.

I would like to share the euphoria I felt a few Saturdays ago in Malaga, on Malagueta Beach. Knowing full well this will scarcely do it justice, here it goes anyway...

The time was about 8:45am.

The air was so much more than just the temperature, it was the perfect confluence of humidity, fresh air and warmth.

The light was such that you could see everything in more than 3-D (maybe 4-D)? But enough mist was being carried off the top of the waves that it gave objects in the distance a mystical haze.

The waves were rolling in and made that steady hum and hiss that we know so well but don't hear nearly often enough.

The breakfast of choice was yogurt, peanut butter on rye crackers, an apple and a fruit juice.

The smell was salty, but that's about the lamest description there is. It was the smell of vacation, the anti-smell of the city... but how else do you describe salty?

There were maybe four other people scattered along the entire two-kilometer piece of coastline - a fisherman, a brave swimmer, and a couple of dog-walkers, along with the odd jogger on the boardwalk. Each of us, I think, were in our own world.

In front of me, the sand was freshly groomed and barely dry - to me a sight just as exciting as fresh powder or groomed tracks are to a skier.

Behind me, the towering cranes of the Port of Malaga stood idle, their red and blue colours lit up by the sun rising down the coastline.

And the feeling... this is where it becomes near impossible to write. It was a perfect, perfect, perfect morning. One that you want to take a bite out of or put in your pocket and take home with you.

The whole thing was very Christy Turlington to me. My mild obsession since the late 80's, who seems to fit here somehow, is the best metaphor I can come up with to describe that morning. Perfect (to me), timeless, beautiful, unattainable. (And I'm ok with that. Although if Ed Burns mysteriously disappears someday, I know nothing).

Some things aren't meant to be attained or consumed - just admired and appreciated.

Hablo

Eager to expand my Spanish beyond the tired "dos cervezas por favor" that gets old really quickly (especially when you're not in a bar), I enrolled for two weeks of intensive Spanish lessons at the Instituto Alhambra in Malaga.

I had randomly run into their reprentatives while at the Berlin Travel Trade Show in March, and was impressed with their professionalism and friendliness. A few days later upon returning to Amsterdam, I signed up for 2 weeks of lessons and accommodation for a really good rate.

I was greeted at the airport with my (first ever!) sign with my name on it. The sign was attached to a man, actually - Miguel, a septuagenarian who took me from the airport straight to the apartment. It was a very friendly, if almost wordless introduction to Malaga (he spoke no English and did not have dos cervezas with him, so that's where it all fell apart).

My classmates varied over the two weeks to really enhance the cultural experience, with Master's students from Tajikistan to old Brits to ex-submarine captain Germans. Four hours a day with ample breaks seemed about right for the suntan vs education balance I was hoping to strike.

The courses and the school were fantastic - great, patient teachers (who were total characters too, with sound-effect wizard Andres, Guantanamera-singing Miguel and Lorenzo, who keeps it all together) and great administration in a nice sun-filled building.

Teachers Lorenzo, Andres, and Luis

And if you are a nerd who also happens to enjoy sunshine you can do your homework right after class as it's about a 3-minute walk to the beach and a ton of beachfront cafes. I am already plotting my return, por que no hablo mucho ahora e quiero hablar mas.

EROTICA

Ok, so here are the first ever European Rankings of Odd Things of Interest to a Childish Adult. So if your partner or co-worker asks what you’re doing, you can make it sound more exciting by saying you are reading erotica.

As you read it, some things will quickly become obvious:

A - it only includes 5 countries (so far)

B - even within these countries, it only includes a few major cities

C - even within these cities, it may only include observations based on brief visits

So overall, it is based on sketchy, highly dubious research usually involving massive generalizations, and it has always been conducted by only one person’s eyes, ears and tastes. And for good measure, the categories sometimes mix cities and countries.

Good - now that that’s clear, enjoy! Feel free to add your comments and questions below as well.

Best Hair

As far as the females are concerned:

1. Paris
2. 4-way tie between London, Spain, Amsterdam, and Berlin

As for the guys, I haven’t really noticed other than to say that Holland’s men are in last place by a fair margin. The “wet look” thrives in Amsterdam and the other Dutch cities, with curly jheri-curled mops sitting like roadkill atop most men’s heads. Those that have moved on from this only got so far as the late 80’s/early 90’s, with Andrew McCarthy or Chandler Bing as role models. One suspects this scene occurring daily in barbershops and salons across the country: “What it’ll be today, Hans?” “Hmm, just give me The Douche, thanks”

Best Kids

1. Spain
2. France
3. Berlin
4. Amsterdam

Maybe it’s a function of age and that I am hoping to have some of my own, but I have noticed a lot of kids in each city I’ve visited. Spain wins here, with France a very close second. Coolly dressed, happy, and well-mannered but not Stepford children, the little Spaniards and Francais are awesome. Amsterdam’s braying monsters, however, are in last place by a long shot. There’s even a popular ad for birth control on Dutch TV featuring a kid throwing a tantrum in a supermarket. They could have saved money by simply encouraging people to leave their homes daily and observe. There’s an entire cultural mindset and philosophy behind the unrestrained child that has some arguable merit, but I will leave that for another day.

You’ll notice London absent from this list. I didn’t see anyone under the age of 18 there. I think they ship all their kids off to the countryside for boarding school so they can enjoy all the great restaurants and shops in peace.

Best Cafes/Bars

1. Amsterdam
2. Berlin
3. London
4. Paris
5. Spain

Amsterdam wins by a long shot - cozy and cool, with a choice of stylish modern or quaint old-school. Especially when lit up at night with candles in most windows, the whole city looks inviting. Spain is in last place, with lights so bright you feel like you are being X-rayed as beer and tapas passes through your system. I imagine this is done to simulate daylight so people can manage going for dinner at 10pm and to bars at 1am.

Service

1. London
2. Tie between Spain, Amsterdam, and Berlin
3. Paris

London’s bars and restaurants are great and obviously have borrowed a page from the old British politeness of old. And their cabs are far and away the best (and most trustworthy) of all the other cities combined.

As for the legendary poor service of Amsterdam, it’s a bit tricky. When it’s bad, yes, it’s truly awful as you occasionally question why on earth someone has chosen a job to serve nourishment to others when they clearly hate humans. But it’s a bit of a bad rap too, as there is more than often excellent, friendly, and casual (with exceptional English and even the occasional free cheesecake) service in many places in Amsterdam as well. It’s a case of a few rotten apples spoiling the bunch. As for Paris bringing up the rear, it is also not nearly as bad as the word on the street will have you believe, but it does lag behind the others.

Directions

Asking for directions on the street or in the metro?

1. Spain and Berlin and Amsterdam
2. London
3. Paris

I’ve had Spanish families tell me which way to go, then run after me to correct me as I appear to not be heading the right way. Women buzzing up to their apartments to inquire with their roommates to locate a bar. Berlin is right up there too, with directions turning into a casual conversation, and Amsterdam is more than accustomed to tourists and handles everyone really well.

London is fine, I suppose, but people initially have that flash of “Is he going to mug me or make me a Hare Krishna” look in their eyes and are thus a little wary. Parisians only tell you how to get to the next corner with a “thattaway” expression of pointing and saying “tout droit.” Its always tout droit (straight ahead). Which is fine - you just need to ask another Parisian when you arrive at said corner. To avoid bugging locals, Paris has smartly added maps of the city to every street entrance to the metro, which the other cities should adopt right away.

Affordability

1. Malaga
2. Berlin
3. Barcelona
4. Amsterdam
5. London
6. Paris

This refers mainly to getting a beer or a meal, and not so much on accommodation (if so, London would be at the bottom) nor heroin. Malaga, with its 1.70 Euros for a bottle of beer, 4 Euros for a sandwich, juice and fantastic coffee on the beach, and 2 Euro tapas dishes wins hands down. Amsterdam and London take some digging but both have their share of cheap eats too.

Web Access

(Somewhat sadly) as crucial as it is to everyday life now, this is an important category for everything to apartment-hunting to transit maps and schedules to social gatherings.

1. Tie - Berlin and Amsterdam
2. London
3. Paris and Spain
4. Spain

Cafes abound in Berlin and Amsterdam where you can hop on the Net with your laptop for the price of a cup of coffee. London is solid as well. Paris doesn’t have this culture just yet, as sitting in a cafe is bit more refined and you are better off with a copy of Le Monde and the eye candy parading before you. Spain isn’t too bad, and once you find a spot you can sit unmolested for hours (I recommend doing just that overlooking the ocean in Malaga at a place called Pedrega), but Barcelona didn’t have the ubiquity of places that the others do.

Getting Around

1. Amsterdam and Paris
2. Tie - London, Berlin, Spain

If you have a bike in Amsterdam, you rule the world. Special bike lanes are everywhere, right-of-way is a god-given gift to cyclists, and there’s always somewhere to park your ride. (Whether or not it’s still there when you get back is another story). And when it rains too hard, simply lock it up wherever you are and hop on a tram or bus. Paris’ smart metro system is so regular that it’s sponsored by Metamucil, and you can just as easily walk everywhere and encounter culture or a public green space at every corner. As for the others, it’s a measure of any good transit system that you can figure it out within minutes of hopping on the first metro, and they all accomplish this.

London’s Tube is a cracker, except for the frequent interruptions for contruction or jumpers. And they lose points simply because I very nearly got barfed on a few months’ back.

Holy

The streets are filled with the smell of incense, hooded children and hooded adults holding candles march in large groups, and hundreds of men in full robes labour under 2-3 ton thrones that depict various holy figures all under the watch of tens of thousands as these processions wind their way through the streets of Malaga each night until very late.

It is "Semana Santa", the week of events leading up to Easter, where the population of Malaga swells to over 1 million. I was unaware of this when booking the trip a few months ago, and it was... interesting.

Depending on your perspective, the sight of these hooded adults and hooded children, the ominous drums, the elaborate holy figures, and the overall grandiosity of the event is either awe-inspiring or creepy.

The photos don't do the entire spectacle justice as (irrespective of one's religious views) it is pretty impressive to see 200+ men carry these massive creations for 8 hours, in unison and with very small steps. Each man bears about 22kg, or close to 50 pounds).

Enter... Antonio. The Malaga-born Banderas is a huge hero here, and I must have heard his name (often whispered, and with italics) about 58 times from locals and tourists alike this week.

Sightings grew ever more legendary, from his role as a procession bearer (this is true - he apparently does it every year, and often under the throne in the "submarine", away from prying eyes for eight hours as part of his personal pilgrimage, with his share of carrying the throne on his shoulders - even more impressive when you consider he hasn't been able to carry a movie since Zorro... zing!) to evermore mystical sightings, where he lifted trucks to save trapped puppies or bedded thousands of women with his mind.

However, impossibly cheesy though he may be to many North Americans, he is a bona fide star here and by all accounts a good guy.

On the whole, Semana Santa is not a particularly solemn event - the throngs watching it are in a happy mood and not especially reverent. Getting around town during the week, and particularly during the nightly marches, is a huge pain but people do it with typical Spanish manners and good humour.

Quickie

I'm enjoying Malaga immensely, and Antonio Banderas looms ever larger in the collective minds of Malaguenos and tourists alike. More on that later. For now, some more images...

Because sometimes, just being a tourist isn't awkward enough.

8:30am at my new gym

Malaga has a great public garden just between the city center and the port

Malaga is the birthplace of Pablo Picasso, where he stayed until age 10.