It's time. I have returned, again.

Probably. Hopefully. Honestly, I'm really going to try. Spending most of my day in front of the computer doing useful stuff makes my computer time at home generally filled with mind numbing flash games and reading other peoples writing, which I have little to no intent to accomplish myself.

The few of you that are subscribed to this probably know where I am. If not, then open your front door. For the rest of you lazy assholes that are just stopping by to let me distract you from other more important things that you could be doing... I can relate.

So this thing tells me my last update was October 2nd and pretty soon I was to depart from the land of Weinerschnitzel, Kebaps and public drinking (Austria). Also, there was some other cool stuff.

After an extended stay (8 weeks) in the states; I'm officialy back to work in Europe. This time: Amsterdam.

Home of the ubiquotously underwhelming beer.

The street market next to my house.

I've been here since the 7th of December. Work is great. It's extremely challenging, which is also great. If you want to know what I'm doing there, go here http://blogs.ico-worker.com/us/bloggers/honetschlager

From a personal perspective, I'd have to say I'm doing fairly well. Leaving everyone behind still sucks. I miss a lot of people. Such is life.

I live with two other backpackers: Yohan Park, from Japan (he's Korean) and Victoria Chobanyan, from Russia (she's Russian).

We live in a pretty sweet flat in the middle of one of the best areas of Amsterdam: De Pijp. I don't have any history to reference or specific things to tell you about the neighborhood, but its old. Nothing is level. The staircase would be considered a safety hazard most countries; it is slightly easier to just use your hands on the stairs while walking up than actually holding on to the railing. The individual steps are about half the depth of my feet. Every morning as I descend, I picture that six figure sum stated in my travel insurance and remind myself just to close my eyes and relax when I finally eat shit.

This is where I will die. Yea, we're at the top.

I was home alone for Christmas. And you know what? I actually enjoyed spending Christmas alone. If only you could shut off the volume of that much family, as simply as ending a call on skype every holiday. 

For New Year's I met up with a couple of my fellow backpacking friends in Paris. We had a blast. Met another new, backpacking co-worker who is on assignment in that romantic, charming and dreadfully fucking busy city. 

Much to the disappointment of about 50,000 people in my near vicinity; there were no (zero) fireworks at midnight. If confusion was expelled as an intense fluctuating light source, the reflection on the single tear running down every persons cheek there would have sent the crowd into a mass epileptic seizure. Luckily we had an excess of champagne, and our new friend had brought some sparklers. Hoorah!

Since that weekend. I really haven't done much. I have shot a lot of video which I need to compile and edit, to give you all a taste of this city. I promise, that post will come. Eventually... 

Until next time...

Christian

Saying goodbye

Well. It comes down to this. 7 hours from now I am on my way back to the U.S.

Its been a great trip full of experiences I will never forget. For now though, its time to take a little break back home.

I will miss the land of wiener schnitzel and beer. I'll miss the people who I got to share this time with. Of the many things I've done since I've been here... I'd have to say this is by far my favorite. Enjoy this video. I hope to post some pictures later.

And I'm back.....

I'll start by apologizing for the delay between posts. 8-9 hours a day of staring at a computer, the last thing I want to do is get back on one when I get home. BUT! The good news is I have a lot to update, so over the next few days, stay tuned. 

I'm gonna start the updates with a little stream of conscious writing I did on the train to Zell Am See (you'll learn what that is next);

Play this video and start reading.... Trust me.

 

 "...Lookin' for Adventure..."

There is something to be said for the sound of a railcar making its way through the countryside. Da-dum-Da-dum... Da-dum-Da-dum... Of course, not everyone may agree but its something I grew up on. Perhaps its a primal relation, the sound of a mothers heart while you grow in the womb. Either way, here I sit. From Vienna to Salzburg, Salzburg to Zell am See.

3 weeks in and I feel this trip has already produced an entirely new perception on the world around. I'm not suprised by it, I've essentially lived on my own since 17 but 7 years later this is truly the first time I am alone.

It's a good time to reflect. I look back and see no regrets. I look forward and see a future worth waiting for. But as I sit here in the present taking some video of the country, I cant help but stare at the reflection of the empty seat in front of me, superimposed on the beautiful sights I'm enjoying alone.

What do I want to do when I grow up? I've got a great job and an entrepenurial ambitions. I made the decision after a semester of college that I really hadn't a clue what I would do with my time there. What I thought I wanted was washed away like piss in a rainstorm shortly after starting that education. The thought of getting a degree and possibly paying for it for the first few years of my exciting new career? I just didn't have the interest, or the discipline.

It's a good time to rejoice. I was raised on strong foundations, morals and ethics. No religion. An environment that allowed me to ask questions while being confident in myself. Sure, its gotten me in trouble sometimes. I've made an ass of myself more times than I can count, but when you take it as a lesson. Brush the dust off your shoulder and laugh. Its serves as a better education for playing real life, if you will. Because of it, I have a good feeling of respect towards myself and feel it in return from others.

Its beyond difficult to let go of what I left behind. The things I want may as well be on a list to Mr. Claus and mailed out in an envelope colored in crayon, addressed to the north pole; Santas workshop. I have a history of choosing a more difficult route for myself, emotionally at least. I want love and empathy, but I want to work for it. I get bored quickly when someone takes hold, shows me they care and tells me they love me. Thanks for reading my list old St. Nick, apparently it was a lie.

I guess its the same reason I think "how can I build this" long before I think "where can I buy this". Show me the hardware and craft stores and I'll build you a scale model at night of the house I'm buildng during the day. Need an idea? trust me, I've got 30. But think twice before you tell me you want me, want to be with me. For some reason I only want to work for it. When a sense of reciprocation lacks, it has a way of making you feel bitter. Constantly wanting more. Which is unfair.

The truth is, I don’t know what I want from a partner. I have this idea, as everyone does I’m sure of who that person is. The thought of greater things, the future. To build a foundation on the world around. To understand what is at hand, what is available to you. How to use it and when. Looking at everything as a piece to something else.The want to build a legacy on inspiration. The desire to understand everything and to share it with everyone else.

Perhaps its too ambitious to expect from someone else. Not the ability to see things that way, rather the drive to make them so. Perhaps I need to be more open. Be more attentive if someone speaks an interest, rather than keep looking for someone else. I spend time thinking about what I might have missed. But still, no regrets. I’ve made a lot of good friends along the way, perhaps that’s all they were meant to be.

Someone asked me the other day “What do you think when you look at the stars?” My prompt response was “It’s proof that there is no God.”

Always talk to the crazy people, pt. 2

"I like Jesus, but his fan club sucks"

        "Good show, brother" I said as I approached with fist out, ready to drop some money into his collection sack. "Oi mate, You enjoy it?", "Of course I did, although your audience fucking sucked!" I replied. He agreed, as this is part of the job as a street performer. Sometimes it pays well, other times people are just wasting time... Getting a free show. We shake hands and start to talk. He's from Ireland, Belfast to be precise. When I tell him I'm from Portland, Oregon there is an immediate reference to the "Agriculture" there. We laugh and continue to talk. After a little bit, with other acts performing around us, he asks what I am doing tonight. At this point it's my fourth day in Vienna, of course I have nothing to do. He proceeds to tell me about a dance that night. Swing dancing, at a club he happens to teach dancing at, something he's been doing for nearly 15 years. Naturally, I am interested. We agree to meet back in Stephansplatz about 3 hours later. With that, I move on, continuing to explore the city for the meantime. 


        When I return to the square, he happens to be emerging from the Underground station I pass on the way down. Like a music video or a movie, we are sequenced precisely to end up walking next to each other. Neither of us breaking stride nor being aware of the other initially, as if one of us saw the other coming and meant to be there waiting without actually stopping. "Good timing" I note. "Aye" He agrees as we proceed to the center. We walk up to a group of people, come to find out most of them are performers as well. I am introduced to El Diablo, Mr. White and some other people with regular names. Among them a Serbian named David who takes off shortly after. 


        Myself, Chicken Joe and Mr. White take off to grab a beer from a cart up the way. When we return, a couple of Slovenians who were crashing and Joe's place are there waiting. After chatting for a bit, we decide to make our way towards the club. 


        Now, this story can go on and on with details and details. Most of which are irrelevant, so we'll catch up as we arrive at the club. Chicken Joe goes inside to talk to the owner, getting us a free entry. As he's inside, a couple appears in the hallway outside the club, practicing their dance moves. The lady is stunning, a figure to die for, a slightly chiseled face in a bright red skirt, matching shoes and a flower behind her ear with her hair tied back. The man is wearing slacks, saddle shoes and a vest with a white button up below and a black tie. Counting their steps out loud they dance. Mr. White and I were sitting down before they came out and at this point were standing in the entrance to the hallway watching. Their moves were hypnotizing. In perfect sync, it was obvious they were not only dance partners, that they had spent many many years perfecting their trade. Resulting in a work of art, both pleasing to the eyes and inspiring for the soul.


     "Joe" comes out dancing his way around the couple, finishing with a bow and the blow of a kiss. The couple heads back  and we're beckoned in.


      As we descend the multiple flights of stairs to the club, I find myself very quickly feeling under dressed in my blue jeans, white t-shirt and a hoodie. Everyone else was in the era. Suits, skirts, dresses, massive head pieces of feathers and all sorts of other things. Tables in the front welcomed us with a "Sandwich Bar" of various cheeses on bread topped with caviar and vegetables. All open faced and bite size, incredibly scrumptious. 


      There is a lot of people there, most dancing, some just looking dapper, drinking and entertaining. The club is small, A sheer sheet is draped from the ceiling between a stage and the dance floor. Black and white films from the era are playing from a projector and the DJ is rocking some great swing sound, some I've heard, others are new. I might as well have stepped into a time portal. Every song the dancers switch, seamlessly. Every pair is moving differently to every song but they all seem to be moving together, the essence of experience. Some even switching partners mid song with out missing a beat. 


      As the song playing winds down and finally stops the dancers move to the side. The dance floor is small, but seems so be endless when no one is dancing. After a couple moments of silence, the DJ introduces the couple from outside, their names I forgot 10 seconds after their introduction. They present themselves with a bow, catch eyes with the DJ and the music starts.


      What follows is indescribable. A flawless execution of a well practiced series of twirls, snaps, swings and flips. A beyond impressive display of a long practiced skill. One of those moments where you realize that you should be able to do that, only you lack the interest and self discipline. Even if you had the partner that you tell yourself you need, you wouldn't be there anytime soon. 


      Their routine ends, followed by a massive applause and the dance floor swings back into full motion. As I sit and watch, very tired at this point, Chicken Joe comes to me. I've been watching him on the floor for a bit, impressed by his ability to move at this point. When I met him 10 hours earlier he was obviously already drunk and had not quit. Then again, he is an Irish man.


      "I'm going to do a quick show, this audience is a little off tonight so I'm going to need a volunteer... Do you mind?". I think to myself, "Volunteer for what?" but only vocalize and agreement. Why the hell not, right? A few minutes later I see the sheet playing films come down, the projector turn off and Chicken Joe gets on stage. He starts the act, lighting torches and swallowing fire. The crowd is amused, slightly impressed but more drawn on by the energy of Chicken Joe. He has a way of catching peoples attention, be it good or bad. Remember, it is his job.


      "For the next part, I'm going to need a volunteer... Where is that big american bloke I met earlier?" Being the tallest on in the audience and wearing an I <3 NJ shirt its pretty easy for everyone to find me. I walk up to the stage followed by an applause. I introduce myself and submit to an onslaught of jokes from the host.


      "Christian, put your hands on the ceiling." I follow instruction, he gets behind me and pulls my shirt up to my elbows, shirt covering my eyes a cheer comes on from the crowd. I lower my arms and he throws the shirt to the side of the stage. "Now, the first thing I need you to do is shave" he says. A big laugh, I run my fingers through the hair on my chest and blow him a kiss. More laughs as he pulls a cucumber out of his bag, at least 20" in length. Introducing it as a "sex toy" he proceeds to stuff the first few inches into my belt line, leaving it pinned between my pants and my stomach. 


        "Now I need to blindfold you." Laughing to myself I allow him to put a bandana over my eyes and lay me down on stage. While the crown murmurs he introduces this section of his act as "The dangerous part". I hear the owner of the club, a pretty little thing yell to him. "NO! Nothing dangerous!". He responds with a laugh and "Don't worry love". He asks if I can see anything, I say no which is true. The crowd starts to laugh, I assume that since he's wearing a kilt he's currently standing over me. I flick my tongue out into the air a few times which continues to bring on the audience. 


      As he is talking, I hear next to my head the sound of metal on metal. More specifically the sound of his machete coming out of the same bag that contains the 13m of chain used for his escape act. "Hopefully this goes well, because if I fuck this up he'll be bleeding from the gut". Again the owner screams "No!".  Before I know it, there is a quick series of chops, followed by the feeling of  the pieces of cucumber rolling from my sides and an applause. 








So that ends the story of that evening at least. Now, some very small details that I've left out. As we walked from the square to the club he asks me "Christian, what is your nick-name?" Surprised I respond with "How did you know I have one?" "You have to, its just right". Had that comment not been made, I am not sure that I would ever let a drunk Irishman chop a cucumber on my stomach with a machete. But as it goes, I did. 


I hope you've enjoyed my experiences with this crowd so far. We've hung out many times since, all of which continue to exemplify the image of a free spirit. Likely perceived as crazy to most, behind the act and the drinking, I know he is a good man. I am glad I took the time to introduce myself, as I knew I be when I made the decision to return to "The Pitch" to to say hi.






      


      

Always talk to the crazy people

   

"I like Jesus, but his fan club sucks"

    If there's something I've learned in my little bit of travelling its how to network. There is only one way to really see the places you visit and that is to put yourself out there, talk to everyone. When you can recognize immediately the people who are willing to do the same in the places you go, you've found the best guides to a new city.

        As I rode around yesterday I crossed paths with hundreds of thousands of people, either cruising by on my bike or walking through a busy shopping district. Its easy to realize that they are all in their own little worlds, as was I. They are simply an existence to me and everyone else who does not know them. Surely plenty of them are happy, maybe some of them yearn for more, but most are likely perfectly content. Honestly though, they don't really interest me. Yes, I would consider some people attractive. Note physical features, as it makes me very happy to see someone taller than me, and sometimes make little scenarios for the group of people sitting at a table eating or for the older gentleman walking along side a pretty young woman.

        What I spend a lot more time thinking about is what else is going on in this city. All the tourists and I'm sure even a significant number of the residents really don't know what is going on. That is why you have to look past the surface. Past the sea of faces surrounding you. Look for someone that stands out a little bit more. Obviously outgoing and willing to show you a good time. As was the case as I walked my bike into Stephansplatz on Saturday afternoon.

        I'm sure everyone has seen a street performer before. Likely someone playing guitar, singing, drumming on some buckets or selling a joke. As I entered the busy area of town I pass a few people in costume, to take a picture with and drop a coin, a group of b-boys (break dancers), a puppeteer with hands full of marionette. Not all working at once as I come to find out, as they all know each other and discuss rotation. Although sometimes, communication is lost in the eyes of money and turns on a argument between performers as to who will be next. With shows ranging from 10 to 40 minutes the timing seems to work itself out and all of them will make plenty of money. After all, this is their job.

        Pretty soon after coming into the square I heard someone yelling. Not angrily. Just trying to get peoples attention, with what was easily recognizable as an Irish accent. I see a man, just shorter than average height, wearing an ivy hat, black cargo pants, chucks and a black t-shirt. He's laid down a length of chain to mark out his performing area. Working up a crowd with jokes, taunts, and a rather large horn; the one a clown would be honking as he drives around his tiny car, a big piece of brass with a loop in the center and a black rubber ball on the back. He beckons the crowd up to the line saying "the police will shut me down if you don't come up to the line", something almost every performer said. After a few minutes, he has a crowd of about 200 people.. Small compared to shows later in the day. He starts with his act, chasing pretty ladies that walk through, hitting on the ones already there, slowly building his audience. The bigger the group, the bigger the payoff.

        "Chicken Joe" introduces himself and gives his pitch. In this show he manages to fit his body through a tennis racket, a feat likely more impressive when he was younger. Keeping the crowds attention chasing after people with arms stuck up in the air, dropping to the ground in playboy-esque poses, using lines like "My mother is so proud" and "Its O.K., I'm your real father".

        The show is entertaining. His jokes are rude, and sometimes probably go just a little to far. But hey, why not. He goes on to have 2 volunteers put him in a straight coat, and wrap the 13 meters of chain around his body, through his legs and around the neck. a padlock is attached and he works his way out. No surprise I'm still standing there. Its fun, it's a nice day out, I've got time to kill.

        Before his show ends I walk up a small street where I see a sign for Pizza. Rather impressed by the portions, I still grab two slices, with a coke. I walk out and notice immediately a couple cutting theirs up and eating it with a fork. I played big american with two extra large slices, picked up by hand and folded in half. I thought about double fisting it, putting the first corners of both pieces in at the same time but decided to just enjoy.

        Watching people pass, eating, I sit and think about "Chicken Joe". He was charming, but looked run down. You could see he had been around, with habits the only helped the aging process. His show was slightly clumsy, although surely at one time more refined. I remembered his satchel, full of goods, with only a couple used. What other kind of things does this guy do. Why is he doing them. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, perhaps not the best, but good enough to know that he was more or less harmless. To be honest, I really just wanted to meet the guy.

        15 minutes or so had passed since I left the ring of people and as I came back into the square I saw him packing up his bag. I grabbed a few euro from my pocket and walked up to him...





Alright readers,

I don't believe I've ever actually written about my accounts before. This is something that just kind of came out, but in an effort to keep things interesting, I'd like some feedback. Is it time for, The Rest of the Story? or should I can it and keep showing my pretty face.

Thanks for your time,
Christian

       

Per Request - Euros!!!

Saturday in the city

Enjoy the video. Did a bit of editing but please, watch it all. Its only been 5 days... I know, but I feel its worth your time. I am also writing a bit about what has happened so far so stay tuned for more.