m r g l e n n

Late Night Youtube Love Report

2012-02-14T09:36:00.005+09:00

I'm a firm believer that music can create, define, and exaggerate all feelings and emotions open to us. Stored in my semi-legal iTunes library, i confess to having a playlist especially for cooking. It's mostly reggae. Reggae nearly always puts a bounce across the chopping board. Beach House is preferred for laying in the sun, Lenny Kravitz for all things housework, The Who for cycling to school, and whatever is on Arrow Jazz FM for when the sun sets.

As a fresh-faced 18-year-old, i celebrated passing my driving test by burning several CD's for my first car. Jamiroquai has always been a favourite to drive to. As a shy guy on a date, one CD mix was made with the intention of letting the music make the first move. Sometimes it worked.

Colombia doesn't commit to St Valentines day, choosing instead to celebrate a day of 'amor y amistad' in September. Personally, i think everyday should be about love, friendship and Valentines.

Something i've committed to lately is insisting upon Youtube at the dinner table. Evenings with friends are best concluded by endless rounds of Youtube highlights. Each person taking it in turns to bring 3-4mins of personal nostalgia to the table, screen, and speakers. Digestion can be aided and sometimes hindered by anything from rock, reggae, ska, and jazz, to Phil Collins, Alton Ellis, Faithless, and Aqua.

Here's this evenings Youtube top 10 in honour of 14th February...

Barry White - Never Gonna Give You Up

Marlena Shaw - Feel Like Makin' Love

Maxwell - Gotta Get Closer

Fun Lovin' Criminals - Love Unlimited

Ella Fitzgerald - Embraceable You

Hooverphonic - 2 Wicky

Norah Jones - Thinking About You

Al Green - Let's Stay Together

D'Angelo - Untitled

Soulive - Romantic

Be good.

Be love.

- Glenn x

El Dia Sin Carro

2012-02-03T06:47:00.006+09:00

There was a familiar gathering this morning. A collection of two-wheeled green machines. Most carrying a sole driver. Others carrying some Colombian resourcefulness and extra passengers. Nearly all plugged into headphones, confirming attendance at this mornings traffic lit silent disco.

One of the reasons I thought Bogota would make a good layover on life's journey, is the local commitment to cycling. With the Sunday Ciclovia (link to a nice video worth 9:42mins of your day) and over 300km's of designated cycle paths, it sometimes feels like a South American version of Amsterdam.

Somedays I even cycle through the lingering and soothing scent of marijuana.

En-route to school each day i'm halted by bicycle lane traffic lights on Avenida 19 and Calle 153.

This mornings gathering was larger than usual.

'El dia sin carro', 'the day without car'. Taxis and buses are excused, so the bike lane traffic light still shone red. As the minutes ticked by the silent disco grew. On pause, I shared the bike lane with toddlers, pensioners, two ciclovia cycle assistance staff, a teacher & his whole high school class, and a Phil Collins look-a-like. All smiling, choking on pure, fresh air, and either foot-tapping or playing handlebar percussion. As red turned to green, we shuffled into place like a nervous orchestra. He goes left, she goes right and they seem to follow me while i follow her. To my soundtrack of the George Baker Selection, it seems we're all strangely connected and following a script we collectively dreamt last night. All off in different directions but on the same secret and cool mission. We're probably going to hide all the car keys in Bogota so we can enjoy another dia sin carro. In reality we're simply on the next leg of the mornings commute. A commute without sitting in traffic looking miserable, without horns & road-rage, without oil dependency, and without emissions (unless you count the after effects of my spicy chicken wrap last night).

For me, everyday is 'el dia sin carro'.

Try it.

You're toned buttocks and shapely thighs will thank-you later.

Feliz,

- Glenn x

An Open Letter to Class 1.4

2012-01-27T11:04:00.003+09:00

Dear Children,

This week has been a challenging one. I'm sorry my patience has appeared thin. I'm also sorry for breaking wind and blaming one of you, the food in our cafeteria plays havoc with my delicate digestive system. Talking of food, i really enjoyed watching Ratatouille with you, and learning all about the job of a chef. Taking over the auditorium and enjoying a movie is a good education. Firstly, it gets us out of our dated classroom - i remain guilty we can't have a proper reading corner, sofas, an interactive whiteboard, carpets, a non-leaking roof etc. Maybe next year. Bureaucracy and excuses are terrible things - secondly, it's simply good to watch movies. Life lessons come in Disney form. And later in the form of Pulp Fiction, Goodfellas and Talladega Nights.

I'd like to be a chef one day, though not a rat chef. My restaurant would be relaxed, small, cosy and near the coast. Much like my ideal classroom. As you said yourselves in our 'hands on - jobs' unit, people don't have to have just one job. While i enjoy teaching and especially teaching you, i don't think it will be forever. Like i said, sometimes my patience appears thin, and change is rarely a bad thing. However, your ability to remain smiley, happy and animated when i'm trying to be serious makes me look forward to next week. Life shouldn't be serious, and neither should Mr Glenn.

I promise more energy and patience... if you promise to always continue being curious, open, loving, and quick to forgive.

With Love,

- Mr Glenn x

Spontaneity Serves

2012-01-24T10:20:00.000+09:00

It's lavishly called 'el Portal del Norte', but in truth it's simply lots of buses pulling up to the curbside of the autopista. To the un-trained eye it's organised chaos, but on closer inspection it's organised chaos. Each bus having a small sign on the front window, indicating it's final destination, and a drivers mate shouting the destination as the bus adds itself to the canvas of noise, activity and colour on the roadside. In the 5 seconds from sidewalk to bus i could have bought copied DVD's, faux-adidas socks, popsicles, beer, empanadas and kitchen utensils.

Welcome to Bogota, escape to the country.

Our destination was un-decided. Laguna Guatavita for rolling countryside and fools gold, or Suesca for rock-climbing. Fate decided the next bus was for Guatavita, so we boarded. I didn't know a lake could close, but we paid our entrance fee with one minute to spare before the gates were locked. The laguna is the site of Muisca mysticism and many plundered treasure hunts, all set amid rolling green and almost English countryside.

I've always took pride in finding ways to feel 'at home' wherever i am. After all, the UK number one single the week i was born was Paul Young's 'wherever i lay my hat, that's my home'. However, Bogota isn't quite home just yet. Maybe it's my procrastination addiction hampering my Spanish language ability, maybe it's the daily rain showers, or maybe it's just a thought i'm inventing.

From Guatavita we took 5's-ies in a farmhouse shack, and found a bus to Suesca. Sticking to the no-plan-plan we'd enjoyed an Argentinian steak and checked into a farmhouse hostel by 9pm. Sunday saw a leisurely breakfast, the Colombian staple of hot chocolate with cheese, rock climbing and a bus back to the hustle & traffic of the city.

This new year i resolve to fall in love with Bogota and Colombia, to speak near fluent Spanish and, to get out and explore despite confusion and inclement weather.

Now if only i could find a job where i'm not governed by a clock...

Love & Hope,

- Glenn x

In Transit

2012-01-12T13:16:00.005+09:00

For someone who's technically 'in-transit', i find myself very static. The final flight of the evening is just boarding. Soon the departure lounge will be all but empty. For the last two hours, we've shared departure gates 11-12 and the smell of my well-traveled feet. Now they're off to Miami. This leaves me, my socks and my temporary base-camp in Starbucks solitude. The staff here have been good enough to keep the shutters up, thus enabling me to enjoy the sofa and electrical sockets till sunrise.

I have a brown faux-leather sofa within cables reach of electrofantastic juice for the laptop. This juice is being shared with the phone, who's battery died during a particularly frantic 'Words With Friends' match. A table has been fashioned from a footrest. Upon there rest my feet and a (possibly contaminated) hot chocolate and apricot muffin. I haven't decided if the muffin is a late night snack or breakfast yet.

As the minutes pass by i find myself contemplating not ever being able to leave the transit departure lounge. My passport and I, we were stamped out of Argentina but not stamped into Chile. The transit lounge is no-mans land. I'm here but nowhere. Maybe i don't even exist beyond this sofa. I'd be on first name terms with all the guys and gals at Starbucks, i'd have a different friend on the sofa each day, and maybe the cleaners would let me ride their cool electronic cart once in a while. I'd collect a small library of discarded books and wear a different duty free scent everyday. Though i'm pretty sure these imaginations might be a film i've seen...

Anyway.

Having just completed 'Brida' by Paulo Coehlo, the discarded book library gives me an idea. The book will be left here on my footrest as a gift for a stranger. #recyclebooks

With a resolution to write a little more often, providing i make it out of transit.

Love,

- Glenn x

Happy New 2012

2012-01-02T13:25:00.000+09:00

Night Bus Number One

2011-12-27T13:24:00.000+09:00

Buenos "on-Air"es, Part 2

2011-12-24T13:23:00.000+09:00

Buenos "on-Air"es

2011-12-22T23:50:00.001+09:00

The School Run

2011-12-14T13:43:00.000+09:00

15mins cycle ride from home to school.

2mins condensed on Youtube.

10mins rushed editing job.

The 4 Week Itch

2011-11-29T09:47:00.000+09:00

Fine grooming and moustachery doesn't grow on trees you know. For the merry month of Movember, that's the artist formerly known as the month of November, it grows on the upper lip of most people i know. The craft and the pride. 100% face grown.

Colombian fashions haven't yet rendered the moustache obsolete. So the actions of myself and international friends is neither funny or ironic. Maybe that's why we haven't raised as much money as we'd hoped? Still, Colombian friends who sport a moustache all year-round, they're currently sporting an odd collection of beards and goatees. Govember or Bearvember, if you will.

The date today is the 4 week itch. 1 day till shave time and i can't say i'm disappointed. The novelty of picking breakfast flavours throughout the morning has grown thin. The upper-lip bristles have grown thick, and into the corners of my mouth.

Prickly. Tickley. For 24 more hours.

Sharp kisses,

-Glenn x

Late Night Youtube Highlights

2011-11-17T11:02:00.002+09:00

November in Colombia is wet season. While i remain amazed at how our technological advancements can jet us around the globe, from one continent and season to another, all in a matter of hours, here i'm amazed at having only two seasons. This one it rains, the other one it doesn't. Tonights cool downpours and 6pm darkness have a wintery feel. It's been dark for hours but i'm not sure if it's early of late. Regardless, my eyes are growing heavy, my body feels tired and i feel like i ate dinner too late. I wouldn't want all that empanada goodness go to waste, so i'm staying up digesting with Youtube.

Speaking of 'up', behold some pert French bottoms. Yelle are performing in Bogota in a few weeks, but i think i'll remain content with the publicity posters for viewing pleasure...

Speaking of France and music, i was lucky enough to see Amos Lee at a jazz festival in Nice once. This song sings me to sleep most nights...

If you're a guitar teacher in Bogota, i'm with second-hand guitar and inspired to learn. And speaking of the guitar, have you ever seen a better acoustic version of 'teardrop' recorded in a Dutch elevator? i thought not...

And finally, the meaning of life by Bill Hicks...

Sleep well, enjoy your ride...

- Glenn x

Going For Gold

2011-10-23T10:53:00.000+09:00

I once set-up a mini museum in a Pre-Kindergarten classroom. I explained to the attentive little people some rules, and that a special posture and walk exist when visiting a museum. Objects are for being admired through glass, or from a safe distance behind a velvet rope, but definitely not for touching. When in transit from thing to thing, we walk slowly with our hands behind our backs muttering intelligent comments. This expression mirrors those of the little people in their museum.

Saturdays visit to Bogota's Museo del Oro (Gold Museum to you and me) was a chance to know a little more about my new home. Colombian history is no different to anywhere else. It seemed the whole world followed the pattern of seeking shelter, food & love, fighting, hunting, gathering, adorning, dancing, experimenting with various mind altering substances and eventually listening and dancing to the Beatles.

As for mind altering substances, the coca leaf is king here. Long before the mass-production and distribution of cocaine, indigenous people enjoyed the stimulant and anaesthetic in it's purest form, the leaf. It was chewed out of necessity for long treks at high altitude. People in the mountains used lime with the coca. People on the coast mixed the chewed leaf with ground sea shells to speed up the chemical processes and cure annoyances from toothache to altitude sickness. Here's a poporo, used to hold the lime while chewing.

And finally, a well-groomed reminder that it'll soon be Movember again...

Stay cool, stay in school...

- Glenn x

Life's a Beach

2011-10-18T06:16:00.009+09:00

Doing laundry in Bogota is more like spending an afternoon hanging out with all your clothes. It's too cold and damp to make use of the outside hanging/drying facilities, so every surface and shelf is now supporting the act of drying. It started in the kitchen, where the washing machine sits in a dark nook, which is handy for making tea, or cooking your third breakfast of the day. So far i've had boiled egg & toast, french toast, and cereal. Now i'm giving an evening sermon to my socks and underwear. They're draped over the cupboard doors like a congregation hanging on my every word. At the dining table, beach towels drape over the backs of chairs, while board shorts sit limply upon the chairs. Wet conversation lingers at this flaccid dinner party.

So much for dry humour.

A return from vacation is the reason for this festival of laundry. Last night (after a record-breaking 25min taxi from the airport) i shook my backpack clean to reveal 700pesos in coins, 2 dead insects of unknown identity, business cards of my new favourite bars & guesthouses, an un-used mosquito net, the key to room 7 at Casa Mara Hotel, and all those dirty clothes.

10 days of no advised timetable on Colombia's Caribbean coast serves to remind me that i take great pleasure in not knowing the day or time, and if left to my own devices, i spend my sunny days on the beach, rainy days in transit and evenings in restaurants & bars eating, drinking and playing the cajon.

Life's a beach.

Right about now i'd like to retire to a hammock. Sleeping under the stars in a cotton net is something i need practice in, an art to perfect. For now though, i have to shower and tend to my socks and underpants. Life's a bitch.

Dear Mum & Dad,

I'm 'home safe & sound. Good food, warm people and a pleasing mixture of coastal cities, fishing villages, mountain pueblitos, local bus journeys, national parks and new friends. Was i really away just a week? Weather was a mixed bag. Even so i still got a nice, though un-even, tan. That's the trouble with enjoying solitude on deserted beaches, there's no-one to apply suncream to your back. While on the beach, i travelled forward in time to Christmas 2012. How does a Colombian festive holiday sound? I like the idea. I also took a huge leap of faith, i used the Colombian postal system to send you a postcard. It's eta is long after Christmas 2012, but i'm thinking of you and 'wishing you were here' all the same. Skype soon.

Love,

Glenn x

Electric Light Suitcase

2011-10-07T08:02:00.000+09:00

Packing life into a suitcase with a little help from the Electric Light Orchestra, though not literally, just musically, as in background-musically. What's your background music? The last time i packed a suitcase it was 8kg's overweight. What can i say? I left with a heavy heart.

Air travel always brings a contrasting pair of thoughts. On the one hand, i'm lucky to have boarded enough planes to make me restless when queuing and enduring formalities. I invent that it's my turn for an up-grade to business class, or even super-economy. Or better yet, just one flight on a private plane where i get to drive myself on to the runway, by-pass all manor of checks and enjoy a beer before take-off.

On the other hand, crossing countries or continents in a metal tube will never lose it's magic. I'm grateful and enjoy every moment of this technical circus with free peanuts at 36,000ft. Time travel is beautiful.

This evenings flight from Bogota to Santa Marta wont allow my favourite window-seat spectacle, a sunset. It does allow the novelty of travelling without a passport though. A 3 hour domestic flight is just about impossible in the UK. I'm surprised to learn my new home country could fit snugly into France, Spain and Portugal. For the next 8 days, i'll fit snugly into my hammock in various locations along Colombia's Caribbean coast.

Tea minus 3 hours till departure...

Friends of October 2011, you make me smile. Happy October break...

- Glenn x

Cursing While Smiling

2011-10-06T09:50:00.004+09:00

Being in Bogota and not yet being fluent in Spanish lends itself to moments of confusion. Questions are raised but answers can only be guessed at. Why have i taken 9 weeks to buy a vacuum cleaner? Exactly how does the intercom work? Why is milk sold in plastic bags? Why can't Colombian children walk in single file? Why is there an 8ft cow handing out flyers for the dentist? And why did i strip down to my pants at the side of the auto pista this afternoon?

Actually, i can answer that last one.

Rainy season is upon us, and to continue my cycling commute & combat the afternoon downpours, i carry an old t-shirt & shorts to wear while cycling home. As the grey clouds gather at hometime, my take on 'smart attire' is folded into a waterproof bag and i pedal into the rain. I enjoy the feeling of embracing the weather while everyone is hiding from it. Resting perilously on puddles, safe in the knowledge i'll be taking a hot shower within 20mins. Today was different. The clouds came, waiting and threatening. But no rain. I set off to buy a vacuum cleaner. Upon completion of that modest mission, the rains had came. I managed 5 blocks before retiring under the awning of Davivienda Bank. There, after what seemed like an hour of watching pedestrians disappear, traffic slow up and the road turn to a river, i stripped down and into the old t-shirt & shorts, and cycled. Juggling an Electrolux box & my bag, finding potholes buried in small lakes, and cursing while smiling all the way home.

Foreigners do the funniest things.

It's nearly the half-term holidays. I blame tired minds for all the confusion. T-minus 2 days till the Caribbean coast, backpacking and slacking. Such is my commitment to throwing out a timetable and going with the flow, i'll depart with my own hammock and without reservations.

While i break my hammock in and practice my exit maneuver, here are some other things that blow my mind and raise an eyebrow or question mark...

How does my intermittent wi-fi find me?

Just where is Juan Valdez and his trusty mule?

Who decided AM is for talking and FM is for rocking?

Skype.

Just where is the record player i ordered from Amazon 4 weeks ago?

Bermuda - which came first, the shorts or the triangle?

Good night/morning,

- Glenn x

The More You Know

2011-09-30T10:05:00.004+09:00

Each morning i slowly rise, shine, thank the Royal Canadian Air Force with 5BX and make coffee. Shortly after, i'll greet the apartment porter with our well-rehearsed handshake. Being English i call it a handshake, but it's all very American with fists and high fives. Huffy is then collected from the car-park space allocated to apartamento 506, the electronic gate swings open and the slope down to the road is all the momentum i need for the day ahead.

Life in Bogota is going swimmingly. For lovers of dates and times, it'll soon be 2 months i've been here. For the curious, here's my take on some FAQ's...

Hows the weather? Almost guaranteed to come up in the first 5mins of any conversation with anyone who's remotely English. Here the weather changes like a Dutch sky. Sitting so close to the equator means seasons are a thing of the past. Sometimes it's wet, mostly it's sunny, a pleasant 18-24degrees and it all feels like a ski resort without the snow.

How high? Before moving here i thought it was only pilots and well-informed musicians who were high all the time. Bogota is nearly 3000m above sea level, so myself and the other 7,304,384 residents are high all the time too. Over time this increases personal fitness and personal confusion when boiling an egg or pasta.

Is it all cocaine and violence? No. Colombia is also famous for good marijuana, excellent coffee, pure emeralds, a diverse ecosystem, swinging salsa, Sunday Ciclovia, aguardiente, beautiful women, erratic football & footballers, and having the most designated cycle routes in South America.

Have you met Carlos Valderrama? Sadly not. I hope to meet him soon though.

Hows the food? The real tool of comparing international cuisine may come as a surprise to you; school dinners. I'm lucky enough to have sampled school dinners across the world. Colombia rates higher than the UK's staple white bread/cardboard sandwich, crisps and a chocolate bar. Yet not as highly as Korea's sleek steel trays of carefully prepared kimchi, vegetables and rice. Outside of school (literally) there exists a streetfood stall (another good tool for food comparison) and here Colombia rates highly. Empanadas are now my staple breakfast.

How are you keeping? Well... i'm a picture of health.

How are the children? Affectionate.

Besitos from Cedritos,

Glenn x

Instructor... etc

2011-09-14T07:13:00.005+09:00

Every bicycle should have it's story. Just like a well-used first car, or a gifted mixtape/C.D. A short and sweet story of how and why it was that one.

Three years ago and moving to Amsterdam, getting my own set of two wheels was top of the list. I bought 'Big Red'. An antique military bike of Swedish design and what felt like several tonnage of weight. It was purchased via the Dutch version of eBay from a large gentleman who's name i forget. He explained that he had 6 of the bikes, all in different colours. His wife had instructed his collection to be halved.

'Big Red' is currently mounted on the wall of a suburban garage in Northamptonshire, semi-rural England. Patiently resting and waiting in storage for another European adventure sometime soon. Meanwhile i'm in Bogota exploring short cuts and pot holes with huffy. Huffy is a logical name, it's written on the frame of my new old bike four times.

Having ventured down to Calle 13, a recommended no-go area after dark, Huffy was presented to me when i asked for a bike i could ride while sitting straight. No mountain bikes or lycra for me. Carefully levered down from the shops attic, dusty and un-loved, I have no idea of Huffy's story before that moment. After some frantic tightening of nuts and bolts, Huffy, two other bikes and three amigos were ready for the long ride back to Calle 140. By this time it was dark and 'Lonely Planet dangerous'. The frantic tightening of bolts and fixing of screws had been too frantic. 5mins and 1km down the road, all the bikes were in need of repair. An edgy wait beside the freeway ensued. The bike shop owner turned up with a backpack of tools and apologies. 20mins later we were on our way. 40mins later we were again on our way, south instead of north, and further into the unknown of Bogota at dusk. Having asked a modest survey of people for directions, our predicted cycle home would take anywhere between 3-6 hours. 60mins after that we were at a bus station service yard re-attaching a pedal. Bogota has over 300km's of cycle paths, we couldn't find them, or north. 30mins later we were close to the airport, heading west and lost again, yet enjoying the close proximity of passing planes. 15mins after that we were dismantling one bike (pedal problems and a puncture) and putting one amigo into a taxi. 60mins after that, and edging close to midnight, three exhausted amigos were reunited at a chicken restaurant.

It was at that moment i ordered a beer & deluxe burger, and decided i'm not a vegetarian anymore.

Sure, Huffy's wheel bolts need to be tightened weekly to stop them falling off, the mudguards only serve to deflect dirty water on to my shoes & back, everyday brings a new rattle to my clumsy morning orchestra, and the brakes are dicey to say the least, but we've bonded.

So here's me, Huffy and Sunday Ciclovia's finest bike repair guy, Luis Guillermo Lanza Mora. He spelt his name out on a salsa flyer so i could add him on Facebook. He fixed a loose chain and flat tyre in 15mins, all for the price of a couple of beers. He was happier than he looks in this photo, and just as eccentric.

Sadly there are no photos of our journey home from Calle 13. The only piece of advice we did follow that day: don't carry valuables at night.

Love,

Glenn & Huffy x

7,304,384+1

2011-09-04T13:44:00.003+09:00

There's nothing like gliding down a familiar street on a bicycle you call your own, dodging smashed glass & pot-holes, listening to a soundtrack that makes everything feel a little less edgy, more liberal and more European. During the past 5 weeks of non-connectivity, the view from my bedroom window has changed from this:

to this:

The view from my bicycle is constantly refreshed as i explore a new city, a new home.

Bogota, Colombia. Population 7,304,384+1 and at an altitude of nearly 3,000m, i can nearly touch the clouds on an overcast day. Not that there are too many of those. Edging this close to the equator seasons are a thing of the past. The weather maintains a feel of a constant yet versatile Dutch summer. On a good day, it's sunny, breezy and between 20-25degrees. On a bad day, the sky has several colours, the air several temperatures and i have several variations of jacket, shirt, jumper, sunglasses combination.

Being high all the time (altitude) changes more than the weather. Cooking pasta and boiling an egg require a further 3-4 minutes. And any exercise leaves me with more and more empathy for sufferers of asthma.

A change of scene brings these simple lessons of adaption, and many more.

Perched on the saddle of my new bike, adaption is minimum thanks to Bogota's 300km's of designated cycle paths. When forced on to the road i still enjoy swerving in and out of traffic, and still refuse to wear a helmet. The scarce supply of oxygen and the mountainous backdrop are sometimes the only reminders that i'm not cruising the Harlemerstraat on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

A lazy Sunday afternoon in Bogota is well supported by ciclovia. A city wide street party of cycling, jogging, dog walking, roller-blading and strolling on main roads temporarily closed to everything with an engine.

From 07.00 till 14.00, the road is ours, and the hangover gone.

Buenas tardes from Calle 140 x

Saen-gil-chukka-ham-nida

2011-07-27T04:09:00.001+09:00

Leaning Into the Un-known

2011-07-25T03:21:00.000+09:00

Today i'm grateful for the un-known. It keeps me fresh, renders surprises - of the good and not-so-good variety, opens doors, rarely closes them, and renews my confidence in the 'everything will turn out ok' faith movement.

Almost 4 years ago to the day, i was busy preparing good-byes and squeezing my collection of clothes and keep-sakes into a single backback. Icheon, a small town in South Korea was my destination. 'A year teaching English at a local Primary School' was my reason and response at the visa application interview.

My welcome at that local primary school consisted of a banner that read "warm welcome mr glenn". The east and west think differently on the ordering of first and family names. Staff and children used 'mr glenn' to address me. I liked it. It was respectful and friendly at the same time, it also became the name for this digital space i started to use for sharing thoughts and photos.

4 years on and i'm again preparing good-byes and shipping personal items thousands of miles, ignoring warnings of customs officials selecting gifts from my wares, or questionable 'income taxes'. Grateful and leaning into the un-known. To commemorate this notion, and because i stress freshness, i've changed the background from black to white, and vow to up-date and share more frequently.

See you soon.

What Do You Do?

2011-06-28T08:52:00.000+09:00

Sometimes people ask, "what do you do?"

"Everything", i reply.

Far from being boastful, the response would then lead on to a playful demonstration that i can jump, hop, run, skip, do a handstand, look happy, look sad etc. Dependant upon the availability of props, i might also demonstrate juggling and simple magic tricks. If i felt totally comfortable with the person posing the question, i'd also fart the Guatemalan national anthem.

However, this past school year has been too focused upon wearing a single, professional hat for the above reply to ring true. This year i've been a teacher, a trainee teacher. Mr Billingham. Or, if you're Megan from class 3, Mrs Williams.

I've tried hard to do everything asked of me since September, and where i haven't completed the required, i've doubled my efforts to make it appear so.

In a small village school in East Northamptonshire, i've paced around the labyrinth of classrooms, halls and corridors many times. Waiting anxiously for college staff, moderators and assessors to come and watch me learn along with the children i'm allocated to teach, and more importantly, assess me against a selection of poorly imagined tick-boxes.

Poised awkwardness is an adult on a child's plastic chair, clipboard in hand, pen wobbling overtime.

As i paced i'd wonder if a wet-play would send the kids into delirium. Ponder the mysterious affects that strong winds have on little people's attention spans. And fret that yesterdays hours spent on lesson planning would suffice. They did suffice. For final lesson observations, for teaching portfolio scrutiny, and for the purpose of being allocated a piece of paper that formally states i am a teacher.

But for each sunset, there comes a sunrise. For every blown up air-bed, there comes a head-rush. For (most) completed courses of study, there comes a new job (if you're lucky). Every end is only a new beginning in disguise.

I am lucky. Lucky to say that i'll be living, learning, working, traveling, teaching, farting, juggling, running, hopping, jumping, skipping, and many more things, in Bogota, Colombia as of 1st August.

I am many things, but i'm also a teacher.

If we sleep together will you be my friend forever?

2011-05-18T05:57:00.000+09:00

In the city of Prague, there is a wall dedicated to the memory of John Lennon. Flowers, candles, t-shirts and other Beatles memorabilia are all set to the backdrop of layers of graffiti. Portraits lay under signatures, peace signs frame lyrics and song titles mix with a thousand renditions of someone woz ere.

For tourists who aren't in the know, the wall is opposite the French Embassy.

When i'm not pottering around a new city with a backpack, i struggle to sum up a life purpose these days, even though i'm pretty sure i'm right when i think there is no definite purpose (incidentally i'm told i'd stop thinking this if i had children).

Maybe it's the frustration involved in ticking boxes in order to receive a certificate (a crude summary of my current academic year), or maybe it's the self-indulgent pleasure of the freedom that comes with a backpack and a budget airline ticket. Probably it's both.

On the road there are new friends to make, old friends to catch-up with, new takes on cafe culture & nightlife to know, different pillows to fluff and stories to hear. With that come privileges such as growth, an opening of the mind, coming & going when i please, and only answering to the gods of 'fate' and 'going with the flow'.

Here at home i'm accountable, and accountable for things outside my control. I'm governed, partly by the clock but mostly by mountains of paperwork, and i'm struggling for practical evidence of Q29 - 'evaluating the impact of my teaching on the progress of all learners, and modifying my teaching and classroom practice where necessary'. I'm aware these and other problems are human and somewhat self-invented. No matter what role is taken on, we all sometimes struggle with self-worth, purpose, frustration, pain, desire and direction. I'm sure even Mother Theresa had her good and bad days.

While in the Czech Republic we also visited Cesky Krumlov. I haven't checked it on Wikipedia but i think it might have been where fairytales were invented. From the vantage point of the castle tower, everything is miniturised apart from the river. Slowly but definitely it flows. Winding it's way through the town it ignores the imposing castle, cobbled streets and hoards of characters posing for photos on it's bridge. Thanks to some perspective and some writing by Jason Mraz, i've come to realise my wrong-doing. Rather than staying on the bridge and viewing life as a continually flowing river of thought and being, i'd been swept up and found myself floating downstream. Clinging to a small detail, much like Q29, only to realise i'd lost sight of the larger picture.

"the moment we attach ourselves to a thought, we wear it like a costume and lose ourselves in a scenario" - Mraz.

Back in Prague, every few years the graffiti art and visual roll-call of visitors is reduced to pure white paint, at the consistent request of the French Embassy. Also every few years, just moments after the white paint has dried, the graffiti will begin again with fresh art, messages and tributes.

On June 30th, with a certificate in-hand and Q29 done & dusted, i'll paint myself white, and ready myself for a fresh new coat.

Viva.

Hat Hair 101

2011-02-25T10:37:00.002+09:00

Travel is bliss. Armed with a Couchsurfing account, a smartphone, and let loose in a city with more wi-fi than than icy sidewalks (that's alot, btw), i can do anything or go anywhere. The hostel notice board alone offers a budget bus ride to Riga, Segways on ice, or a ferry to St. Petersburg.

Sadly, with a return flight and an assignment deadline looming, my hand is forced to play a final day of escaping the cold in various cafes, pattering away at the laptop. Still, the view is nice.

Did you know you can send bank transfers by SMS here in Estonia? These innovative and clever people were also the first to implement such modern conveniences as buses & trains with wi-fi, phone apps that bring a taxi to your GPS position at the push of a button, and you know that futuristic dreamworld where you can control your tv, music, lights, fridge, washing machine, heating etc from your phone? Yup, that's reality here.

On the flip side, we had lunch in a medieval themed restaurant yesterday. The whole place was lit by candles and it's the only place in the old town without wi-fi.

Variety is the spice of life.

Just about the only thing there's not an app for here, is hat hair. In temperatures of -22c, hats are an essential part of life, bobble hats, old Russian military hats, hats that look like animals, hats that once were animals, long hats that are scarfs too, and hats with built-in speakers that connect to your iPod.

Once inside your chosen dwelling/shop/cafe/whatever, the custom is to spend a good while removing the several outer layers, culminating with the hat. This reveals a fine mess of bed hair which makes for afternoon coffee appearing more like a slumber party.

I'll miss Tallinn and it's weather hardened yet gentle inhabitants.

File photo.

All at Sea

2011-02-21T21:40:00.004+09:00

I haven't crafted an entry from the ocean in ages. In fact, i don't think i've ever blogged from the ocean before. An impressive feat, made all the more noteworthy because this particular stretch of water consists of inches of ice and snow. But here i am, en-route from Tallinn, Estonia to Helsinki, Finland, and thanks to free wi-fi on-board the aptly named Superstar ferry, i can tick off another first on a non-existant list of things to do before sometime or another.

Maybe there's a giant snowplow on the front of the boat? I didn't get to see our vessel in the flesh, a series of enclosed gangways led me to a curious chocolate labrador sniffer dog, whose reactions led to me being escorted away to have rubber gloves fingered through my....... case of clean pants. I was then escorted straight on to the car deck by 2 apologetic but straight faced officials. Is it still Movember?

Thankfully, the pants, the luggage and my conscience were all clean.

Another first for me is traveling with my laptop. Usually i like to be free from all work and mails when i travel, but a to-do list of pointless tasks in the name of documenting i'm capable of talking to 6-year-olds, very much does exist. Anyway, coupled with my headphones the laptop is a useful distraction from engine noise, both here at sea and previously through the air from London.

With headphones and enclosed spaces, i worry not how much my farts smell, but how loud they are. In these shared traveling spaces, we have little choice but to share each others odours and projections, gases will dissolve, get on with it. Yet with Fat Larrys Band funkin' it up on the iPod, i am clueless to my volume. Luckily, everyone else seems to be listening to Fat Larrys Band as no-one has shot me any disgusted glances after my explosions.

Why Estonia and Finland?

Why not! When it comes around to vacation time, i can find a reason to go anywhere, and often find that the best reason is for no reason at all. Who's with me? Neil? Yumi? Jodie? Gran? That nosey sniffer dog? Actually, no-one. I'm lucky enough to travel with an address book, both literally and digitally, packed full of friends and extended family, all with difficult-to-spell street names. I'm free to drop in on them, and them to me, anytime we chose.

The Superstar ferry TV channel is showing christmas adverts. I can forgive them. February in the Baltics are still festive and Christmas card perfect.

Meanwhile, i've just realised that i have no idea where i need to go when this ferry comes to dock, or how i'm going to get there, or how long this ferry crossing lasts. Life is full of un-certainties. My single ticket cost me €38, that should be enough for at least a couple of hours, right?

Happy Sailing,

- Glenn x

Dancing With Myself

2011-02-14T07:27:00.006+09:00

An early wake-up call, fresh air and several sleepy hours on public transport have naturally paved the way for a sleepless state come bedtime, hence me being wide awake as stillness and silence take over the house. I've spent the past half an hour reading older posts within this blogspot on the canvas if digital time. I once read that reading your old diaries is alot like re-digesting your vomit, i have to disagree. For the last 30minutes I've been entertained, empowered, reminded and embarrassed, and learnt that my dear mum is my most avid reader and commenter.

Today being the annual day of St Valentine, i paid particular attention to previous posts based haphazardly around February 14th.

I must have been pushed for time last year, i simply posted a video of Bob Marley's 'one love. In 2009 i told the story of St. Valentine. From a wintry Korean peninsula in 2008, i shared the complex Korean approach to Valentines. They're all for inclusion there and stretch Valentines day over 3 whole months. February 14th for the girls to buy gifts and show love, March 14th for the guys to reciprocate, and April 14th for all the single people to eat special black noodles and hook up.

As for Valentines Day 2011, i'm following the advice of my own tattoo, spiritually trying, and slowly succeeding, to be in love with everyone and everything. Geographically i found myself in London, suited and booted in the name of interview. I fell in love 327 times on the London Underground and, for 2 hours somewhere in a North Acton industrial estate, found a hidden gem of a drum practice room and studios. You know, if there's no-one there to treat you, you just have to treat yourself sometimes.

Happy Love Day x
P.S My hair isn't really that dark, and my beard not that auburn.

27 years of gratitude (in 120 seconds)

2011-01-21T03:20:00.000+09:00

Tomorrow evening the Cromwell Pub, Kislingbury, will host 'Pete Billingham +3' for a birthday meal and low-key family banter. It's a nice geographical coincidence that the Pub is a stones throw away from where he'd teach me a love of football.

Kislingbury Football Club didn't believe in fences and padlocks, they kept their goal nets up for one and all to sneak in and enjoy. During one father-son kick-a-bout, I remember complaining that dad wasn't agile enough, or diving around like the goalkeepers on the TV. He took the constructive criticism well and was soon throwing himself around and playing up to imaginary cameras. I understood the term 'Holywood goalkeeping'.

Though the occasion celebrates dads 56th year of life, he and i have been together for 27 years. For the Holywood goalkeeping and much more, i'm grateful. Rather than have this blog turn into a scroll down memory lane, here's a list of all the stuff (that i can remember in 2mins) i thank my father for...

Punctuality
Comedy
Laughs
Tears
Occasional "buck your ideas up"
Tottenham Hotspur
Tattoo's
Skype
Understanding
The works van
Christmas presents
The music of George Benson
Freedom
Tamla Motown
Night-time drives
The shared experience of our first CD (Tina Turner, of all the divas!)
Police Academy
Only Fools & Horses
Saving face
Fresh rolls
Fresh fruit
Open displays of flatulence
And... a love of rice pudding

Change: As Good As a Rest

2011-01-10T04:51:00.003+09:00

Friday had a familiar feel. After an arduous journey along the a45, wishing my windscreen wipers had a faster setting than 'what do you expect, the sun isn't even up', and a bland cup of coffee in a freebie teachers union mug, i heard the phrase "...our learning objectives..." and "...here's your starter activity...". Quicker than last term, i remember life is just a game and we can chose, with relative freedom, when, indeed if, and how we play.

I chose to settle into some serious small talk and doodling.

In deepest and darkest Northamptonshire, the sunrise reveals itself around 2mins earlier each day these days. Soon i'll see daylight in the daily commute. Already in the past are October half-term, Christmas plays, the festive holidays, NYE, the winter solstice, and therefore, the shortest day of winter 2010/11.

This is good news.

A winter of discontent can lead to looking back and yearning for a past freedom or happiness, or, worse still, wishing time away to a perceived future or happiness. On both counts i'm guilty as charged. For the final weeks of 2010 i could hear my spirit scream at people from deep inside me; "i'm not usually like this. I'm in here, really!" My exterior, soft from lack of exercise and poor diet, holding a tissue to keep a cold at bay, and carrying heavy bags under my eyes, surely looked disinterested in life. I'm sorry to all i might have infected.

They say a change is as good as a rest, and i thank my lucky stars i managed both.

2 weeks apartment sitting in Amsterdam provided perfect opportunity to come back to zero. I managed to get creative with tofu, foil a robbery, give my love & affection to a family of houseplants and welcome my own family for an alternative Christmas. Alternative in the sense that turkey wasn't on the menu, we still got drunk and played scrabble.

Back to a new term of learning to be a teacher, my positive change is a new placement school. Walls are brightly coloured, the staffroom has good coffee and people smile at each other in the corridors. I have new names to learn, tricks to perform, lessons to share and an electronic portfolio to produce. Slightly longer term there are vacations to be planned, teaching posts to be applied for and dreams to be realised.

So there is lots to look forward to, learn of and talk about. I'll do my best to keep you posted.

First though, a reminder of the a45 in the throws of spring:
Looking forward,
- Glenn x

happy NOW year

2011-01-01T13:13:00.006+09:00

It's hard to sum up 2010. On the one hand i'll remember it as the year we first met, the year i first backpacked SE Asia, or the first 48-hour train ride in China, or the first time i owned a 1992 Saab, or the first step of being a proper and certified teacher of young people. On another hand i might remember it fully as a person who tried to steal my backpack from the bar on Nieuwmarkt. Though technically that wasn't till 2011, and already a miscellaneous detail of life's sub-plot for the coming year.

At times it feels like 2010 lasted forever, yet being back where it all began this evening, Nieuwmarkt, Amsterdam, it seemed very short. The confused pro's and con's of celebrating NYE in the same place on consecutive years evident in a nutshell. Or broken champagne bottle. Dreams, plans and resolutions are delicate and malleable.

My only resolution this year was 'no more resolutions'. It's dawned on me during the previous 12 months that if something positive is worth doing, then it's worth doing NOW. There's no need to wait till new years eve. You can exercise, quit smoking, love a loved one, volunteer and be a better person right now.

The same applies to the opportunistic thief. I'm happy to say i recovered my goods thanks to vigilance in the midst of champagne obscurity and a quick sprint. The 'me' that loves movies such as 'Pulp Fiction', 'Goodfellas' and anything else where you can be both a gentlemen and a fighter, is disgusted at my lack of retribution. However, the 'me' that has Be Love tattooed on his wrist is super-proud of snatching my own bag back with just a verbal onslaught of abuse towards the perpetrator. The heat of the moment can do strange things, even in the cold of winter.

In the heat of the moment, i wished i'd have dealt a harsh lesson in morality. In the cold light of day, i'm just pleased to have my Sigg water bottle in my possession. If i was you, i'd want to steal my H2O, scarf, gloves and passport too.

Part wishful thinking and part imagination, i picture a January where i'd have to stay till i recover/receive a new passport. There would be no concern, i consider myself already home and would continue to feel so. I'd appreciate the irony of being 'stuck' after a year that was ultimately defined as 'on the move'. A quick tally reveals i've fluffed up pillows in 44 different beds during the 52 weeks of 2010, and that's just what this champagne/mild anger induced brain can remember.

In wholly contradictory fashion, i just thought of a possible resolution: i resolve to spend next NYE in a state of purity and possibly solidarity. I resolve to swap thousands of people for thousands of stars, a bottle of bubbly for a telescope, a crammed city square for a deserted beach, i resolve to swap North Face jackets for bikinis & briefs, and i resolve retribution in the name of karma.

2011... may yours be pure, beautiful and full of love x

Amsterdam: Christmas Jazz Poetry*

2010-12-25T08:50:00.000+09:00

* Written to (and best read) with the 'Chet's Chat' track by Gare Du Nord.

Amsterdam the mild side, un, dos, tres,
Someone cycles too fast and slips on the ice.

Hangin' with the fam, the quartet, a foursome,
A full on festive feast.

Set your sights on many,
The meat. The veg. The sides.

Saute and fry with the cat Colleen,
A dash of olive oil.

Sipping 3 with Mr. Pete,
Coffee, water, vino.

Jodie had a bad case of flu, giving more than taking,
High on lozenges and wine.

Everyday is winter, walking a Dutch wonderland,
Snow & marijuana melt sunshine.

A festive dabble in Scrabble,
Treble letter, double word: "Fez".

The end is nigh, the night comes close,
Walk and tea and bed.Merry Christmas!

Mad.

2010-12-22T08:18:00.002+09:00

just sayin'...

2010-12-16T08:25:00.001+09:00

Baby it's cold outside...

2010-12-08T01:41:00.003+09:00

27 years & 5 months from birth. 26km & 32minutes from Higham Ferrers. 18 sleeps to Santa and 8 remaining days of work. The close of calendar year 2010 is nearly upon us yet i exist by a school year calendar, so it's largely irrelevant. I make my new years resolutions in September and party like it's 1999 every July.

While we're talking numbers... it was -9.4 degrees this morning. That's something else in fahrenheit and the coldest Northampton dawn since 1964. My alarm, set for the offensive time of 06.15, was ignored again this morning. I'm experimenting with the theory that all alarm clocks should be set for sunrise, where we rise with day break and retire back to cosy & leisurely at sunset. It's great for cold winters as the majority of your 24 hours can be spent smoking ugg boots by the fire. In summer it flips around, you can spend hours and hours outside swimming, BBQ-ing and getting nifty with a frisbee. For now though, i stay in bed making out with my snooze button till it's light enough to see the trees outside.

This morning the trees were covered with the remnants of yesterdays freezing fog. Frightened white hair of frost standing up on end. They must have had nightmares. My personal nightmare consisted of a car that doesn't function in sub-zero temperatures, and only discovering this after wresting with a frozen door lock.

Luckily, reminders that us and our invented 'problems' aren't really of much importance are never far away. The latest reminder comes in the form of a URL. Are we really the centre of the universe? Does size matter? What the hell is a Yoctometer anyway? To answer these questions and more, enjoy here...

http://primaxstudio.com/stuff/scale_of_universe/

And to warm your arse and heart, sit here...
These curvy and heated benches are all over Stockholm. Those smart and sexy Swedes...

The 3 Week Itch

2010-11-19T02:02:00.000+09:00

Week 3, day 19 and i find myself itching for a scratching. Wiping remnants of breakfast away is a game of Russian Roulette. A thousand and one potent prickles from bristles that feel like thistles. My weekly Mo-vember e-mail up-date states it takes a real bro to grow a 'Mo, so i carry on regardless.Regardless of the expression-less photo, i'm delighted to be growing a Mo for charity. It's just that when i smile from ear to ear, the camera doesn't show the Mo in all it's un-kept beauty.

To donate to the cause, *Please Click Here*
Just give on just giving...
Your support is appreciated.

Have a Mo'tastic weekend,
- Glenn x

Nigella Lawson is my perfect woman

2010-11-13T02:56:00.001+09:00

This school year I'm revisiting my hometown stretch of middle-English suburbia. In Northamptonshire I'm officially learning to be a teacher. Un-officially yet very realistically i major in paperwork management. This is well supported by minors in jumping through hoops and soul destruction. My after school class is melodrama.

A rare moment of positivity and engagement in the staffroom is the monthly visit of the Book People. I've never had the pleasure of meeting in them in person, so i can only assume they're small cartoon figures made of books. They're soft and spongey (always think of health & safety, folks!) and bounce around the room filling it with joy and literacy. Each month they leave a selection of books available at discounted prices.

My favourites are cooking/recipe/kitchen culture books. Jamie Oliver has one which provides recipes for dinners in just 30 minutes. I prefer to take a little longer and to have my hungry read sprinkled with pictures of Nigella Lawson's pouting lips and homely cleavage. As cooking represents Monday to Friday's only real time away from the clalkboard and laptop, dinner in half an hour doesn't appeal. The soul demands longer. Maybe even long enough to talk with friends or, if dining alone, get through an album of songs on an iPod. Either way, the worst-case scenario remains getting distracted enough to burn dinner and order a take-away. Or worst still, take a trip to a shiny fast food chain.

Seeing photos of cosy kitchen mess, cool utensils i don't possess and fairy lights adorning kitchen racks, i get broody and want my own kitchen. This, combined with a pre-emptied need to escape the 'here' upon graduation, prompted me to register with an international teachers recruitment agency this week.

I dream of the freedom, the adventure, and genuine sense of community within an international school, but i know i'll miss the book people.

Hey good lookin', what's cookin'? ;)See you after dinner...
- Glenn x

MO-vember Rain

2010-11-07T01:05:00.000+09:00

"You don't know where you're going, till you know where you've been". Not only wise words from Will Smith in the movie 'Hitch', but a sentiment that rings true whatever the context. A dark Movember afternoon lends itself perfectly to introspect and surfing the endless seas of the internet. So lets have a history lesson...Here's an un-named Iranian horseman from 300BC. Thought to be the earliest portrayal of the moustache.

Emiliano Zapata in 1890 sporting a wide-berth "Hungarian".

Charlie Chaplin in 1914, sporting a narrow moustache for comedic purposes. Adolph Hitler later ruined the same look yet received the accolade of having the second most famous 'tash in history.

1915 and Herbert Kitchener is the hairy poster boy of World War I.

Regaining a peaceful reputation for the 'tash, Mahatma Ghandi in 1944.

My personal favourite, Albert Einstein in 1946 giving the tash a demeanor of 'light-hearted' meets 'genius'. A poetic pairing we can all aspire too.

This delicate combination of wispy 'tash and uni-brow' adds gender equality to the moutashe movement. A self-portrait by the female Mexican artist Frida Kahlo, 1947.

Beautifully eccentric with Salvador Dali in 1974, starfish optional.

Pioneer of the musical moustache, here's Freddie Mercury in 1986.

Going thick, bushy and handlebar with Merv Hughes just a year later.

1994 and the 'tash gets some Latin American flair with Carlos Valderrama.

Movember. The 'm' isn't a typo. For the past 7 days i've been busy attending to, growing, grooming and keeping flavours out of the new hair above my lips. And in doing so i've been raising money for the UK Prostate Cancer Charity.

CLICK HERE to support the cause.

Mo'tastic regards,
- Glenn x

eat. play. lief!

2010-10-31T23:23:00.002+09:00

I high-fived a bus driver yesterday. €2 was the fare for my modest trip to Amstelveen Centrum but in rather flush fashion all I had was a crisp €50 note. Sensing some frustration at my lack of thought and journey preparation, I intervened by offering to pay in the Queens best pounds and pence from England. The driver cracked a smile and said he’d be heading to London in a few weeks on vacation. I upped my offer and gave a generous exchange rate. I also invited him to personally pocket my sterling and use it to buy a beer in London. He smiled and we high-fived, all in Dutch.

Everyone in the Netherlands seems constantly content and often delighted to be going about his or her daily routine. The ability to draw pleasure from doing anything, everything and even nothing seems a national personality trait. A trait I’ve been practicing all week while briefly exploring the beautiful question of ‘what would you do with your days if constraints of time/money didn’t exist?’

Turns out I’d wake up with the sunrise to the cool breeze of an open window and the chimes of the Westermarkt church bells. I’d breakfast in pyjamas and spend an hour or two pattering words into a laptop. Then either head to Amsterdam’s library with it’s fully stocked bar, or drop in on friends, or favourite city spots and assist sexy Scandinavian tourists with photos and/or directions. Evenings would be spent in gezellig kitchens with friends, talking and cooking and getting loose with red wine. Had I given more though to packing, I’d have also been jogging around the Vondelpark, giving a more balanced ratio to the healthy mind and healthy body.

Bus alas, constraints of time and money rest upon me. Via a low-budget bright orange tube in the sky, I’ve returned ‘home’ from ‘home’ to face my own catalogue of challenges and realities.

Tot zo en naar allemal vrienden en familie in het nederlands, ik hou van jou :)

Until next time...

- Glenn

The Man With The Akward Cajones

2010-10-17T17:29:00.003+09:00

A curious thing Twitter. I enter and engage myself in a one-way conversation. Pretty much the same approach i had throughout my school years; sit back, listen, read, take it all in and only answer when directly asked a question. In 140 characters or less it's our digital gents room wall. Posting messages of ideas, humour, offers, poetry and shout-outs. A place to pee, see and share, without looking back.

This approach doesn't get me very far though. Twitter becomes a button purely for procrastination. A snooze alarm to whatever i should be doing. That's why i'm constantly trying to invent that it's a place where inspiration, ideas and positive conversation are shared. Last week my gran begged the question, 'what the bloodyhell is twitter?' In attempting a live demonstration and answer, i stumbled upon @blackoutsbox which led to me re-tweeting, which led to us discovering, via blackoutsbox, the true meaning of life.

You are not your job, your titles, your possessions, your degrees, your lovers, your relationships, your place of residence, your social security number, your ID, your bills, your worries, your bank account, your age or your body.

You are the TIMELESS BEING that created & perceives itself THROUGH those things. YOU have the power to play or not play the world games as you choose.

When someone asks me "what do you do?" looking for some title to pin me down, I laugh and say "EVERYTHING! and then sometimes "NOTHING!"

- a man called BlackOut, 2010.

In other Twitter related news, i've also discovered a small online cajon-community. Enthusiasm for making noise on my little rockbox is re-discovered. Tweets direct me to youtube and i find endless conversations, demonstrations and sharing of beats & tips. If you're into percussion and don't mind the awkwardness of having a camera honed in on the groin, here's my personal addition to the community...

What/who are you today?
Digitally but wholly yours,
@glennbills

Comfort Food 101

2010-10-05T05:09:00.007+09:00

Potatoes, sliced not diced, sizzle in the pan. A generous dose of olive oil makes their edge crispy. A pinch of salt, several pinches of pepper and a sprinkling of oregano makes my mouth water at this kitchen recalling. Wrapped in foil in the oven are a couple of mackerel fillets. Salad is readily chopped and stands patiently on an otherwise empty plate. My glass is half full. Currently half full of beer while i cook, then wine as i eat. Keep it loose, keep it tight.

Food prep is, again, my therapeutic escape.

The life of a UK trainee teacher determines this as my downtime, my hobby and my extra curricular activities. As cosy winter evenings draw ever closer, i'm happy to be here in an ok kinda way. A personal feeling of being content like that of looking out the window with no urgency or place to be. Possibly on a long train journey gazing out the window, taking comfort in the knowledge that a destination will eventually be arrived at. But i am content. Content to be in and out of service, at the chalk board and at the chopping board. Sometimes to the class and sometimes to myself.

After dinner i resist the urge for a nap. Autopilot completed another daily dose of papers which need filing and organising. For the majority of the papers, i resist the request to read and reflect. That sentence would feel at home in a phonics rap. That concept is another shiny toy for my ever-decreasing attention span. Back at the desk today's texts and forms contradict yesterdays, and tomorrows will add further confusion.

Note to self: follow the 4-year-olds, live now.

Progress is slow but evenings are fast. To ensure i'm presentably prepared for slumber and tomorrow, i shower and shave before bed. You never know who you're going to meet in your dreams. Fresh out the shower yet not fresh enough to be anything but sleepy. With minty breath and candle light i don't need the end of the chapter, a sentence will suffice.

Good night, sleep tight, may tomorrow be bright,
-Glenn

"this is the greatest time to be alive"

2010-09-18T22:22:00.011+09:00

Thursday evening was perfect. On my way home from school i stopped in on my long time hero, part mentor and part source of amusement & inspiration, my Gran. Here we are...Sepia tone photos, some over a hundred years old, littered the table as we found ourselves scribbling an impromptu family tree after dinner. The TV gave background music in the way of live Europa League football, an iPhone accompanied the sepia pictures as we both interrupted the family tree production with the checking of e-mails and Facebook. "You don't know where you're going till you know where you been".

Here it dawned on me why i love grans company. While being appreciative of the past, she embraces the 'now' and lives only teetering on tomorrow. She's also the only grandparent i know who travels as much as i do and regularly enjoys Facebook, Skype and MSN chat.

Coming home later that evening, i logged on to the ever informative and beautiful Superforest to see the following quote. There's no such thing as coincidence.

“I think a lot of the problems we’ve been experiencing come from the fact that no one embraces the miracle and amazement of the present. So many people—steampunks, fundamentalists, hippies, neocons, anti-immigration advocates—feel like there was a better time to live in. They think the present is degraded, faded, and drab. That our world has lost some sort of “spark” or “basic value system” that, if you so much as skim history, you’ll find was never there. Even during the time of the Greeks, there were masses of people lamenting the passing of some sort of “golden age.” But I’d never go back and live in any other time than teetering on tomorrow; this is the greatest time to be alive.”
(Patton Oswalt)

As for the family tree, we managed 6 generations but it all ended abruptly with 'Johnny' Allen, he pictured below of healthy moustache and my great, great, great granddad. As a baby he was left on the doorstep of the local nurse in the Scottish town of Rosyth. Where he came from or who left him will forever remain a mystery of history. Unless the next big thing is time travel CSI. While recognising Johnny Allen, I choose today.
-Glenn

A Homely, Wholy English Weekend

2010-09-16T05:45:00.000+09:00

On an afternoon stroll there are odds & sods for sale on driveways, hundreds of other people ambling around, disinterested sheep and countless scarecrows posing in every garden. A village scarecrow festival is the perfect example of eccentric English-ness, and feeling like an outsider looking in, i love it. £1.20 gets me a pot of tea and a home-made cup-cake in someones front garden. Older ladies i don't know call me love, and all men call me mate. Late summer sunshine provides a contradicting and colourful fashion show of anoraks and flip-flops. The scarecrows are silent observers. They pose, sometimes cheerily and sometimes eerily, in gardens, in cars, in windows and one clings to a lamppost.Saturday and Sunday are blissful in England. Forget any chance for enjoyment Monday to Friday, we're all too busy being indecisive and talking X Factor. But with a week's schedules and appointments cleared, an attractive to-do list is complied of; drinking copious amounts of tea, leisurely cutting of the lawn, reading the Sunday papers, popping down the local, nipping to Mum's, catching the footy and grabbing a take-a-way. Back at the scarecrow festival, great pleasure is taken in being a tourist in my own hometown, make that 'home'town. You can thank Paul Young making home wherever his hat lay for the inverted commas. While the jury might still be out on his bouffant hair and thin tie, I definitely adhere to his transient definition of home.My hat currently lays on top of a box in the garage of this suburban Northamptonian dwelling, to finish un-packing has been on my to-do list for 2 months. I've been here before and despite what might be cool or socially acceptable for a 27-year-old guy, i'm delighted to have roommates called Mum, Dad and Sister for the next 10 months. I exchange vegetarian cooking tips for pointers on places of local interest. Saturday was Open Heritage day, complete with heritage buses and matching sepia tone camera editor.If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, here is as good as anywhere to savour sights and send a commemorative postcard. And the same can be said of where you live, scarecrows or no scarecrows.

Too True & Beautiful Not to Share...

2010-09-04T02:09:00.000+09:00

Courtesy of the lovely folks at Holstee
Click those magic words to enlargify and/or biggerize...

Have a powerful weekend,
-Glenn xo

What's In a Lunch Box?

2010-09-01T04:14:00.008+09:00

Food prep is a therapeutic escape. Along with a milky tea and the inevitable flatulence, my pre-sleep evening ritual now includes packing a lunch for the day ahead. There's Korean fried rice with egg fried courgette, fruit salad, olive & green leaf salad, muesli & yoghurt and a trusty cheese & pickle sandwich. The receipe and presented colours change daily, dependent on dinner leftovers and fridge contents.

100% of my colleagues are part-time catering machines, it's their un-official area of expertise and that's not a sexist remark, the school lunch skills simply come with the territory of being a middle-aged mother. I am not and never will be a middle aged mother. So i take great pleasure at the "oohs"'s and "aah"'s and polite stares of admiration which come my way at 12.30.

What's a novelty to some is the norm to others.

During lunch duty in international Amsterdam, i'd spend a large portion of the weekly 30min slot being impressed by the care and thought put into an Indian home lunch, or a Japanese packed lunch, or leftovers from Spanish dinner, or re-served side dishes of a Korean meal. The impression must have been lasting.

A very English figure of speech goes "if you can't beat them, join them", usually it applies to the lowering of efforts or standards to match the lazier or more sneaky majority. Traveling through China this summer and witnessing the tupperware section of an East Asian supermarket, i couldn't beat, so i joined.

I find the time spent cutting, chopping, dressing and spreading comes as a welcome release from regurgitating words onto a keyboard. And anyway, if the process of education is all about what we're putting into our bodies, why stop school at the brain and senses. By making lunch as colourful and fresh as possible, i declare todays lesson is to be aware of everything we feed ourselves. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, information, 'expert' opinion, news, adverts, twitter feeds, friendly advice... we digest all this and more everyday.

Positivity + Fresh Air + Fresh Veg = Happy Self + Radiant Smile :)
It's the nearly scientific equation to make the sun shine out your arse!May you shine, today and always.
Your friend online,
- Glenn xo

Next Stop: Workstation

2010-08-29T21:46:00.000+09:00

Here i'm just about about prepped for a prosperous new year. New school year that is. Files and folders, though scattered on the chaos of a desktop, contain order. They hold a timetable of weekly lectures & seminars, introduce an all-female cast list of colleagues, provide a support network of e-mail addresses and tell me which clothes to wear in the UK National Curriculum.

Chaos in the midst of chaos isn't funny, but chaos in the midst of order is. - Steve Martin

Everything is set. Everything is go. I even bought a new lunch box. Entering a year of practical teaching study, i aim to create something new. Something more flexible than a well-ordered and rarely questioned education system and endless paperwork of assessments.

One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. - Friedrich Nietzsche

This is why i'll be operating a 'chaos desk policy' for the next 10 months. Folders will find their place nestled upon scribbles, doodles, coffee cups, wine glasses (sometimes bottles) and other projects. They will be sweetly choked by incense smoke and run the risk of being scarred by stray candle wax. It's always important to feel comfortable in your immediate environment, so forgive me as my room turns itself into a retro-themed music bar after dark. Anything from hard house to REO Speedwagon will be the soundtrack.

Chaos is a friend of mine. - Bob Dylan

This terms long running battle will be one of chaos vs order. Genuine creativity can't be ordered and organised. Teaching is creative and therefore needs the freedom to be chaotic. Organic chaos where the only constants are positivity and love. Stepping into an early years classroom 12 months ago, i took those two words as my guiding light and the little people responded well. A happy and productive environment for all. That was Amsterdam and the relative freedom of an international school. As for the response of a British village school to my chaos, love and positivity... we'll see. This seems like the perfect time to share a new tattoo.

Life Is But a Series of Naps

2010-08-24T18:41:00.001+09:00

Here in Northampton it's just after 8pm, Tuesday 24th but my watch says something after 4am on Wednesday. Such is the delirious existence of those under the black magic spell of jet-lag. How long did that blink last? Is this breakfast or dinner? Am i dreaming or existing? Sometimes it's a very fine line.18 days of blogging silence. Life on the road was a dream and i didn't want to wake. I'm not a fan of chronological recount blogging, preferring to amble and explore one subject or moment or thought. Yet there is real value in pouring over photo albums of sepia tone memories, so lets have a catch up and fill 18 days blanks.

Northampton was reached via a straight forward drive from London Heathrow. Travel companions were father and sister, themselves bleary-eyed and still warm from a duvet and 4.30am alarm. My flight times weren't kind to anyone. 12 hours prior i'd boarded a plane in Kuala Lumpur. 7 hours prior to that i'd arrived to the airport transit lounge somewhat fresh from Seoul. Seoul and it's emotional farewells were a further 6 hours into the past.

Before Seoul there came Icheon. Each street was a trip down memory lane in the small Korean town where i lived nearly 3 years ago. The even smaller town of Yangyang on Korea's east coast proceeded that short and sweet reunion. Having a language barrier certainly makes meeting the girlfriends parents alot easier. In Yangyang, aswell as the sweet Mr and Mrs Lee, they have a wonderful restaurant serving home-made natural yoghurt. Yangyang was reached by bus. The bus taken from the airport where we arrived by means of a short and un-noteworthy flight from Beijing. In Beijing i asked a local what the locals do of a weekend in the metropolis. "They get out" was my reply. Without the energy or logistics to 'get out', we stayed in. Reading, sitting, getting to know the hostel dog. After all, the 48 hour train ride from Kunming to Beijing was enough travel for one week. Kunming was an un-likely location for the delightful 'Hump Hostel' and the gateway city saying farewell to Vietnam and hello to China. Final days in Vietnam were spent in the mountain town of Sapa. The cool air and dense mountainous countryside a welcome change from Hanoi. Sapa is home to several hill tribes, their people flood the town with colour and dignity. We met three who have Facebook accounts.

One of the pleasures in coming or going thousands of miles in the name of travel, in my mind at least, is to realise we're more similar than different. The vast majority of the human race all toil to provide food, shelter and a new cell phone, we all strive for love and acceptance and we all need to take a leak really bad in the mornings. Even hill tribes with Facebook accounts.

Back to the present and soon it will be 9pm in Northampton. The sum of a travel adventure is a room full of clothes, rash purchases from the road, a battered journal, a heavy head and a heart swollen with love for new feelings, though heavy and full, there's room aplenty for the notion of having something missing. And of course there's every wash bags un-used diarrhea tablets. There's also a desk full of neglected mail, a computer full of neglected e-mail, a file full of reading & studying, this exists to add further confusion to the chronology of this post, in terms of the study program i'll begin in a week, i'm behind before i've started.

But after all this and before all that, it's nap time.

Restful advice, lead by example...

Let sleeping dogs lie...

Sleep to dream of yesterdays news, but keep one foot firmly facing forward...Wait, and take the weight off your feet completely...

Once in a while, stop and stay static...Let him rest on his laurels, and i'll rest on mine...

***
Row row row your boat,
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is just a dream.
***

Good Night/Morning,
xo - Glenn

Really... Rather Quite Nice

2010-08-07T14:00:00.008+09:00

In between all the swimming, kayaking, caving and reading & relaxing, and when daylight or brief moments of electricial connectivity allowed, i took out my note book. I wanted to share the beauty around me and portray the feeling of seemingly being the first person to enjoy the view from the top deck of our rustic wooden boat, i wanted to tell how it was to sit on a deserted beach and call my backpack and borrowed kayak my only possessions. Each time i did this the page remained blank. I couldn't find words to describe the other-worldly setting of Halong Bay. I find myself reacquainted with paper and pen on the road. The part-time relationship between my laptop and me has become long distance. Adhering to notions of backpacking rather than flashpacking, i bought a note book and stole a hotel pen to aid this re-telling of adventure. Often in the presence of intermittent electricity, i'm enjoying the back-to-basics vibe but it's no good for blogging.

The note book and pen invariably come out at places where conversation is encouraged; cafes, bars, waiting rooms etc, or places where we're invited to write, such as this hotel desk. A hearty oak structure, it comes complete with another pen to add to my collection and an envelope should i wish to post my scribbles to you.

Writing via pen and paper should flow naturally. Romantics might say it's because the words remain directly connected as they're hung out on paper, flowing from the soul to the hand, through the pen and onto the paper. Yet no matter how poetic i tried to be, my creativity couldn't match that of Halong Bay. Then again, i'm patting this daily dose of bullshit on to a keyboard, so what do i know anyway?

Returning to Hanoi, Wikipedia taught me the limestone formations have been 500 million years in the making and there are 1,960 islets covering an area of 1,553km sq. Our time in the bay was just 3 days yet it could have been a lifetime. Maybe it's the sharp contrast from the hustle and bustle of nearby Hanoi, but the serene quality of Halong is obvious as soon as the boat sets sail. Other than an abundance of fish, monkeys, birds, insects and lush vegetation, the only other life we saw for 3 days were local floating village residents and the other 13 members of our group. We spent one night as luxary stowaways on the boat, one night as luxary castaways on our own island and long carefree days swimming, kayaking, caving, cycling the largest islet and befriending a beautiful Italian couple who are both judges in Roma.

In the creation and natural beauty of Halong Bay (and that of Mauro & Diana), Mother Nature is a pretty special artist.

Our planet is her gallery.

Free and open to all.

I'm a grateful traveler.

Dear Mum & Dad,

I'm still very much alive. We're still 'on the road' and 'keeping safe and sound' and 'sending our love to all'. I regret internet communications can't constantly connect us, current location doesn't bode well for e-tweeting, face-blogging or twit-mailing. However i did send you a large postcard today, though chances of it arriving home before i do are slim. Halong Bay made me grateful for much. I'm grateful to you for bringing me into this world and giving me an open mind and two feet to explore it.

Love,

Glenn x

"Technique good... but slow"

2010-07-31T12:54:00.008+09:00

New prized possessions, my Vietnamese football boots. The sandy shale surface doesn't require a studded shoe and the thin plimsoll-esque material provides for a close feel of the ball. They'd also be perfect for sailing vacations and summer dinners on wooden verandas. They're a keeper...Playing football in England i was grateful for Saturdays 3pm kick-off. It allowed time enough for extra slumber and a relaxed brunch, mostly in the name of shaking off the excess of a Friday night or a weeks 9-5. Such is the excess of the Western life i lead.

Here in Vietnam kick-off is at 7am. A smart move as luckily the temperature is a mere 35degrees in the early morning sun. Pre-match recuperation includes being picked up by Anh, an ice-coffee breakfast and buying football boots. The boots are $1.75 and Anh tells me they're good for at least 7 matches. I'll stay for just one.

Anh is a kind soul. I met him yesterday at Highlands Coffee, the local take on a Starbucks, where he works every evening. We got talking football. He supports Tottenham but likes to watch Spains La Liga because of it's slower football and better technical quality. In football terms we're already kindred spirits. He invited me to play for his team tomorrow, F.C. P.Hang Bo-Ha Noi. It's their last pre-season friendly and having not played a match in nearly 18 months, i'm honoured and excited.

We lose 3-1 but as any good coach will tell you, it's not about results at this stage of the season. It's all about re-acquiring that match fitness and the ability to flow and move in sync with a fast-paced physical activity. By my own admission, i have much room for improvement. After the match, verdict comes from our 73-year-old manager, Mr Lu, he wears a toothless grin and no shirt. He has the physique of a gymnast. "Technique good, but slow" he reports to me. I'm in agreement.

Partly i blame last nights dose of Bia Hoi, a sizeable serving of vegetarian lasagne and the morning heat.

Mostly i'm humbled by new teammates and friends.

Anh and his friends live a life of necessity, not excess. Most the team either work a 60 hour week, or study and juggle 3 or 4 part-time jobs. Everything they do and everything they have has obvious and tangible value attached to it. Not that they have much. But for what's not present in terms of material value, they're wealthy in endeavour, generosity and togetherness. Much wealthier than most football clubs i've previously been member of.

A post-match ice-coffee provides time for smoking, sweating and quiet reflection. Goodbyes are an entertaining mix of bows and high-fives. I'm back at the guesthouse for breakfast and to air my new boots on the balcony. The staff are puzzled by my new footwear and appearance. The other guests are still sleeping.

F.C. P.Hang Bo-Ha Noi, 7.00am, Saturday 31st July, 2010...

Yours, freshly re-hydrated from central midfield,

-Glenn x

At Home, At Hue

2010-07-28T19:00:00.008+09:00

This is Tu Doc, the last sole Emperor of Vietnam before the French colonial empire grew a little larger and encompassed this long and thin strip of Indochina. Historical rumour has it that he demanded 50 different dishes cooked by 50 chefs and served by 50 servants at each meal. His tomb is situated nearby todays home, the city of Hue.I attribute feelings of feeling at home to having minimal demands, needing little and being easily pleased. Something i'm not sure Mr Doc would have approved.

Today i'm pleased by solo travel. Yumi is on a long bus to Laos as her visa will soon expire. Those who seek a happy ending should rest assured that our journey is just as magical and memorable as our first, but we agree, a few days solitary adventure are no bad thing. We'll reunite in Hanoi.

Mostly i'm pleasantly surprised at how easy i'm "at home" in a new environment. Be it shoes off and feet up in a cafe, hotel breakfast rooms wearing pyjamas and bed hair, or simply being king of castle and comfort in even the most basic of guesthouse rooms. If we're creatures of habit then i make it my habit to treat this hotel like a home. I'll even clean up after myself, much to the confusion and surprise of the Vietnamese staff. I find this good behaviour acts as karma for the occasional flatchulence and scratching one does in ones home.

Creature of habit i am. Vietnam and it's warm hospitality (that or my western looks and assumed wealth) make it easy to fall into habits of indulgence. Here at home in Hue i can hire a pedicab, essentailly an armchair attached to a bicycle, and be pedalled around town for $1 per hour. My appearance would resemble that of Dr Livingstone being carried around Africa. I'd be carted through exotic humidity and sights powered by the toil of hardy locals. Maybe it's the non-conformist Amsterdammer in me but instead i paid $2 for my own bicycle for the day. Like crossing the road in Ho Chi Minh, safety appears invisible. Diving in at the deep end, i'm invincible. Cycling is a good habit. A 10km ride under the mid-day sun is enjoyable but sticky. My reward is the World Heritage sight of the romantically decaying Hue citadel, and a chance meeting with a Miss Vietnam contender. She's at the famous location filming her hopeful vote request video montage. She gets my vote. I'm at the citadel ambling around and taking photos. After befriending her Japanese creative director, we speak a little. She says she's pleased to meet me and congratulates me on the city of London being a nice place. She's welcome. Myself and my ego are pleased to meet her. She continues filming and i continue ambling. I feel bad at not catching her name so i'll tempt fate and call her Miss Vietnam. En-route back to the hotel i make for air-conditioning at a local supermarket. Passive instrumenal versions of Bryan Adams songs see me replenish my toilertries bag with new shampoo and toothpaste, buy a souvenir tin of Trung Ngyuen coffee and snacks for tomorrows 14 hour journey by train.

I've grown tired of the bus. Our 3 hour ride to Hue took 6 hours and included a lengthy delay at the hands of the local gendarmerie who lengthily quizzed the drivers. They were fined heavily for... something. I took the delay and static afternoon as a fine of karma for the flatchulence and scratching.

Goodnight Hue, may your rain clouds re-fresh the air and clear by sunrise.

Yours, and yours alone...

-Glenn x

be careful what you wish for (Happy Birthday)

2010-07-26T19:53:00.005+09:00

Happy Birthday to me. OK, my birthday sunset was nearly 24hours ago but please forgive and allow me this rainy day to catch up on the pleasures of yesterday.

Last years birthday was spent driving a battered but loved jeep from Paris to Northampton. I had to stop every hour to top-up on engine oil and allow for cooling. My birthday breakfast was a sorry and lonesome affair in a Parisian hotel devoid of hospitality. The journey took all day but a home-coming and family dinner made it a Happy Birthday. This years anniversary of birth continues the international theme and makes up for in-hospitality and motorway hardship.Hoi An is a little charmer. Incense sticks line the pavements and fill the air with sweetness and atmosphere. The backdrop is a mix of rice paddies, colonial French villas, people being busy on two wheels and traders trading, a perfect setting for any day and everyday. Which is just as well because i reserve a birthday to be exactly that, like any and every other day. Current climate dictated a leisurely breakfast before a late morning swim. After that i eased into some serious r&r. I adopt a Spanish saying as my mantra; "it's wonderful to do nothing... and then rest afterward."

I'm at home in Hoi An. Here i have a bicycle and errands. My afternoon is filled with both.

The charm of Hoi An really makes itself present during and after a long sunset. Intimacy comes after dark. Street lighting is absent as each home, shop and restaurant adorn their front with colourful lanterns. Riverside, mood-lighting is taken to the next level. My birthday this year fell on the eve of a full moon. In Hoi An this means electricity is cut, cars & mopeds are left at home and crowds gather at the river to light a paper lantern and make a wish. Mrs Wing is my dream facilitator.As a child at birthday parties, with my face facing the cake and ready to exhale on to candles, i remember being told to be careful what i wished for. I was led to believe the warning served to exercise caution as my wish might just come true. Riverside, i learn it's the opposite. It's likely your dream wont come true if your lantern becomes stuck on driftwood and sinks.

My wish, like the hopeful final destination of my lantern, will remain blanketed in secrecy.

Happy Birthday to me, good friend and goalkeeper Tony Blenkinsopp, actor Matt LeBlanc and gender confused military doctor/nurse James Barry. My inbox, as theirs i'm sure, is full of birthday love. May our outboxes be duly waxed and serviced.

Yours,
-Glenn

13 Hours To Hoi An

2010-07-23T13:42:00.000+09:00

Goodnight Nha Trang.

The nightbus is another first for me. Summer's vacation of 2010 opted to start in Bangkok, Thailand and will end a few thousand km's and five countries later in Seoul, Korea. Adventure is best found in a journey. The journey is a road trip with a couple of ferry crossings here and there. A series of A-to-B's partly by choppy seas.

We're currently hugging the Vietnamese coastline between Nha Trang and Hoi An. Who wouldn't? It's got more curves than an episode of Baywatch. 453km's on this viewing alone. Departure was 6.30pm and arrival is an estimated 7.30am. The bus sits mostly on concrete roads but with the sways and swerves you'd be forgiven for thinking you were on a boat.

We are 30 people. 3 rows of ultra compact and tightly squeezed bunk beds. Lit only by on-coming traffic and the faint glow of several mp3 players, my reclined bunk is close and cosy. My head rests above the feet of a Slovenian girl and my feet rest under the head of a Vietnamese gentleman. I can't make my mind up if we look like a drowsy army on the move, a mobile hostel dorm complete with the smell of international socks, or some kind of bizarre traveling infirmary. It's 3am and collective groans of a bad nights rest suggest it's the latter. I dream we're a traveling superband of musicians and entertainers. The sock odour is replaced by pungent smoke from incense and midnight tokers. Someone's playing a ukulele but i wake before the dream is over. I awake to be impressed by Yumi's ability to sleep deeply and sweetly in any environment.

3.30am and we stop for refreshments and the stretching of tired limbs. The team of Vietnamese drivers opt for cigarettes. Myself and the drowsy army opt for staggering around in a zombiefied state. It's too early for breakfast, too late for dinner and too sober for late night munchies. The only dish on offer at our rest stop is Pho. Like any national dish, Pho is served with condiments of pomp & ceremony and fierce national pride. It's a noodle soup with side dishes of lime, basil, bean sprouts and peppers. Usually it's with beef or chicken but my vegetarian alternative comes with a mysterious red spicy paste. I tell myself it's good for the remnants of a sore throat and I double up. My remedy comes reccomended by the chef. Tasty, spicey but tasty. I pay and make my way to the bathroom. Healthfoods make my innards extremely efficient.

Back on the bus the mood is lifted, just 3.5hrs to go. My mood is panic. My innards have become too efficient, and 3.30am was really no time for spicey snacks. The nightbus has a toilet cubicle but the walls consist of a thin layer of plastic. Fear of adding my own embarrassing chorus of noise to the quietly refreshed and relaxed bus bring another fear, fear of projecting into my own shorts.

Good morning Hoi An.

Your friend in the too much information business,

-Glenn x

I Choose Confused and Sexy

2010-07-21T00:48:00.000+09:00

Good Mooorrrning Vietnam! This is how you look today.I'll let you be the judge of whether the camera lies but due to a broiling sun and a strong breeze, i'm sunburnt. Due to a combination of poor sleep and an over-reliance on air-conditioning, my nose is blocked and my throat is sore. My modjo is misplaced.

This mornings eggs with a kiss are served in the beach town of Nha Trang. Our Lonely Planet guidebook tells us Nha Trang is the perfect place to lay on the beach and juggle the merits of a massage or a mojito. Having always been more a dakari dude than a mojito man, i opt for a massage, a personal first. A one week sports massage course several years ago is my all inclusive personal history in the world of massage and spa.

Our temporary landlord arranges the location for my first ever massage. He calls ahead to arrange a good price and promises the establishment is pure of service and doesn't serve to anything related to a stereotypical happy ending. It's 10mins walk from the guesthouse. 10mins is enough to build a curiosity around the leaflet, it's all printed in Russian. I make sense of lines and shapes as the map guides me to a reception area. A group of Vietnamese ladies in uniform await. I am prize winning cattle at a civilized meat market. I choose to be pleasantly confused by being pulled in several directions and confused as to when, where and how much i should un-dress. Mood lighting, an instrumental saxophone soundtrack, the thought of being rubbed and those uniforms choose sexy. Yumi had a $5 massage in Cambodia last week, she didn't report this sweet symphony of un-certainty. I ponder if this particular spa is as the landlord promised. Being led into more mood-lit rooms and gesticulated at to remove clothing, there's no time for pondering. Confused and sexy it is.

Fast forward 90mins and those feelings, though secretly enjoyed, were unfounded. An aromatic sauna and a thoroughly invigorating and (to this beginners mind) professional massage, where not being able to communicate verbally with the lady in the uniform only made the experience more touching. Forgive the pun. Fears of giggles, tickles, flatchulence or a forceful female touch leading to a modest tent being pitched in my briefs were also unfounded.

Damaged sun-burnt skin, moisturised and healed. Sore throat, eleviated. Blocked nose, cleared and headache, eased.

Goodnight Vietnam,
-Glenn x

Slow Down For The Slow Drip

2010-07-17T00:59:00.006+09:00

Downtown dinner turns to moonlight and a phin fliter cafe. The evening breeze comes with the disappearing sun and a sigh of relief from the under-arms of my t-shirt. Even the frequency of the motorbikes slows after dark, a little. During the earlier rush hour there wasn't enough room on the roads, so the paths became swamped with two-wheeled insects.My guidebook describes Ho Chi Minh as a list of poetic pairings. No words can describe the hustle of life here. To my naked eyes and un-trained ears this place looks messy, dirty and dangerous. It sounds like a constant range of vuvuzelas. Thankfully naked eyes and un-trained ears have weak resistance to the new. Ho Chi Minh becomes a sight and an atmosphere to behold. In rare moments of stillness i revel in the vibrations around me and attempt to take everything in. Stillness isn't advised when crossing the roads here. After 4 days the best advice i can give is to close your eyes and maintain a steady pace till you stub your toe on the next curb. Motos, bicycles, taxis and trucks will have swerved around you and you'll have impressed your friends by presenting the illusion that you've walked straight through all that traffic.

With all this motion and mayhem (there's my addition to the community of poetic pairings) we've been swept up in our own walking tour of the city. There's no guide and there are no other guests. We simply left the guesthouse after breakfast and haven't been able to stop.Being swept into Sozo Cafe we manage a pause. It's a cafe with a genuine heart and soul. Opened just 5 years ago as a project to train street kids as budding entrepreneurs, it's come from a street stall selling cookies to a cafe come bakery come library come gallery. Here we realise why Vietnamese coffee is brewed the way it is. The tranquil dripping of the dark coffee into a bed of sweet condensed milk finally allows a moment. A moment where pausing and waiting are the only choices.

Only the slow drip coffee and tonight's karaoke power ballads are low-key in Ho Chi Minh.

For a Friend...

2010-07-14T17:53:00.008+09:00

If you ever visit Siem Reap, the tuk-tuk is king. Made up of a chariot able to seat 3 or 4 bottoms (plus luggage if you don't mind getting cosy) which is attached to a moto. At the Palm Gardens Lodge Mr Long was our designated driver. Not only does he share his name with one of the original Mr Men, his name is also ironic as he's relatively short in height. He's my newest friend and he asked me to tell all my other friends about him and his fantastic travelers transportation services...Mr Long Buonroeun - Car & Tuk-Tuk driver - Siem Reap, Cambodia.

(855) 1271 2394 / roeun.driver@gmail.com

Next stop Ho Chi Minh, Vietnam. Shame Mr Long doesn't do cross-border travel.

Wish you were her...
-your friend Glenn x

Stay Another Day

2010-07-13T22:41:00.001+09:00

It's easy to be indulged in Cambodia, local hospitality insists. The sights, smells and sounds of the local environment infect a passing traveler with warm smiles and positivity. After a hard days people watching / cycling / market trading / temple wondering / sight seeing, any evening stroll back to the guesthouse is taken high on abundance.In Siem Reap we strolled a dust road back 'home'. Motos and tuk-tuks careered around us, their headlights paving our way through the potholes, puddles and dust. 50cc engines spluttered and belched. Countless crickets, stray dogs and a chorus of other un-identified animals completed the soundtrack. We are free and present as travelers and tourists. In Sihanoukville shoes weren't needed for 5 days. Every stroll was along white sands. The crashing of the waves replacing the moto engines for noise. From Siem Reap to Sihanoukville and everywhere between, the predominant common factors were those infectious smiles and positivity. All that despite a very recent history of turbulence and struggle. I welcome any opportunity to appreciate the depth of my blessings compared to others. Cambodia provides ample opportunity.

Just a few short decades ago, as the western world was making the transition from The Beatles to Motown, an estimated 1.2million Cambodians were killed. Led by Pol Pot in 1975 the Khemer Rouge evacuated all Cambodian cities and sent a population into countryside to carry out 15hour days of rural work. All teachers, artists, lawyers, doctors and even people who wore glasses (they looked intelligent) were rounded up and killed. Temples, libraries and anything 'western' were burnt down as the Khemer Rouge looked to re-build Cambodia on an 11th century farming model. The peace deal which officially ended this regime was signed in 1991.With the learning of this history, and the blessed gift of being witness to the Cambodia of today, the least i can do is be a responsible traveler. Countless NGO's are working hard to provide genuine and safe opportunity to local people and children, and it's easy to support all good causes.The Starfish Project is a good example. We visited the cafe in Sihanoukville which is home to a large staff of volunteers. Local workers, many disabled following injuries by land mines, are given jobs and the chance to work, learn and develop skills independently where they had none. For a cold drink on a hot day at the Starfish, and to learn more about responsible tourism and NGO's in Cambodia, see here: http://www.stay-another-day.org/And for a liquid definition of reFRESHment, try the apple, cucumber and pineapple juice.

Yours,
-Glenn x

Angkor Wow

2010-07-10T23:14:00.006+09:00

I'm quick to say yes in Cambodia. Here i speak politeness, not Khemer. Apart from the English uttered by moto drivers, haggling market traders and various hotel staff, there's not alot else to understand. I take the phrase directed at me and see it as an opportunity to smile and nod, or just to say yes.

We said yes to a walking/tuk-tuk tour of the Angkor Wat temples last week. The vast complex dates back to way before the Beatles got big, the 12th century in fact. They were commissioned by the Khemer King Suryavararam II to honor the Hindu god Vishnu. That sentence was sponsored by Wikipedia. The following picture is sponsored by KY jelly and more poor humour.

The walking part of our tour was my favourite, even under a blazing tropical sun. We shared the temple grounds with a family of playful monkeys. Their curiosity of us only matched by my mis-trust in them. The term 'cheeky monkey; wasn't born out of thin air you know. Exploring at leisure gives ample opportunity to really consider the how, who, why and logistics of such a grand complex. I'm told earth movers were pretty primitive back then. The 12th century can be a difficult scale of time to wrap my left and right brain around. Thankfully the jungle can help with a visible measure of time. At the Ta Prohm temple preservation was overlooked. Instead it serves as a unique sight of what happens when a jungle is left to over-run ancient ruins. Thick tree trunks are wrapped around and poked through the rocks and carvings.

For all it's well documented and recent struggles, Cambodia is full of surprises.

Your friend and travel correspondent,

-Glenn x

Postcards From Siem Reap

2010-07-08T23:04:00.006+09:00

Dear Mum & Dad,

Having a blast, weather hot and sticky. People are amazing. Yumi says hi and misses Pete. We've been in Siem Reap for 5 days, the city and it's people are both heart-warming and exhausting. Tomorrow we take the night-bus to the coast for some beach time. We are on holiday after all. Have fun in Spain. Love you, Glenn xDear Jodie,

How's it going home alone!? I thought you'd appreciate this photo of me cheering on future world champions, the Netherlands. It's 3.30am and we're outside in the hotel bar. My new friend is the local policeman and newst Netherlands fan. I think he's getting ready for a Mexican wave in this shot. Take care and don't do anything i wouldn't do. Big bro x

Dear Gran,

The temples of Angkor Wat are amazing, really from another world. I think i feel like you did when seeing the pyramids. The mind boggles at the human endeavour, effort, logistics and the 'why'of such a grand structure. Hope you had a great holiday and i look forward to sharing photos and stories soon. Yumi sends her love. Hugs, your favourite grandson (by default) xDear Neil,

We hired bicycles today. It's a good job our charity ride next summer won't be completed in tropical heat. You know you're in trouble when you have sweat marks on your shorts aswell as your t-shirt. Here's me on the main motorway, NH6 which runs from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh. Only reccently has it been covered in tarmac. We spent the afternoon cycling around this madhouse city, chased by wild dogs and excited children as we went from town to countryside and back again. Have a grand ole time in NYC, all the best, Glenn x

Dear Facebook and G-mail,

Sorry to neglect you but internet cafe time is short and sweet. Sweet because of the air-con and short because Cambodia is a welcome attack on all the senses. There's so much to see, hear, smell and touch (for those of poor humour, insert your own Gary Glitter punchline). Today we took a boat to Tonle Sap lake, one of Asias biggest fresh-water lakes. It's home to over 170 floating villages. Here's some locals fishing in the shallow water. The water level is normally 5meters higher at this time of year. Be back soon, Billingham.Glenn@

I would love to (and will) write more postcards soon but for now, alas, internet time is up and the cafe closing. The Angkor Night Market beckons with it's collection of locally made, silks, crafts, hammocks and dead snakes in Johnnie Walker whisky. Maybe i'll get you a present...

Glenn x

The Past, The Present and The Beetle

2010-07-06T01:52:00.006+09:00

After a 10 hour shift on the bus my eyes are heavy. My stomach feels empty as i ate dinner too early, or was it lunch too late? Either way i'm stoked for breakfast. Our only breaks throughout the journey were two for fuel, a lengthy border crossing and the ill-timed dining. At our chosen Thailand - Cambodia border we were warned about touts and fraudulent buses. Despite warning we fell victim. The scam is a series of delaying tactics to ensure your delivered to the "bus terminal" hours later, in darkness and distress. 3 cows were the only other parked traffic at this terminal. Parked under an open night sky sprinkled with stars. All this ensures extra dollars are paid to local tuk-tuk drivers, who then gladly whisk you to the actual bus terminal. Moments like this are a large reason for traveling. Diving into un-certainty, running into pure hazzard, tasting hardship to appreciate our own blessings, and all to sharpen the edges of life.

This is me traveling to lose myself, find myself and hopefully relate to more than a 24hour news channel or newspaper can show me. Contents of my baggage are modest. I try to leave all valuables, beliefs and certainties at home.

High in the sky last week, somewhere between London and Bangkok i read a travel article by Paulo Coelho. He advised against museums and for local bars. He says we should search out the present of a city and not the past. I completley agree. In other book related advice, Dr Seuss states that life is but a great balancing act. Keeping these in mind i'm tying to keep a positive balance between past and present. The immediate past consists of five days in Bangkok exploring both the past and the present. The immediate present sees me typing in the foyer of a Siem Reap guesthouse, distracted and scared by a large beetle.

Fin.

Wish you were here,
- Glenn xo

This Revolution Will Be Pleasantised

2010-06-29T22:20:00.002+09:00

Cycling into a headwind ages me beyond my 26 years. Either that or my last Dutch hair cutter was right when she said i'm thinning out on top. I don't mind either way. Here's me and el padre enjoying quick stop during a Fathers Day cycle around Amsterdam.The Netherlands has a population of approx 16million people and around 20million bicycles. Amsterdam alone has over 400km of cycle paths. In the Venice of the North everyone's best friend is their bike. Popular culture states that as an Englishman my home is my castle and an my best friend a dog. Here in Northampton it seems everyone's second best friend is their car.

And it shows. Public transport is a tired looking second best, roads are worn with potholes of overuse where cycle paths could lay and summers minimal clothing shows Northampton's thighs aren't as aesthetic and toned as they could be. Instead of gliding free and feeling the breeze, feeling the uphill & downhill of our wonderful organism, people are locked in their gas guzzling bubbles. Air-con sucking out the joy and noise of a community. I can't blame anyone though. Had i been a lifelong resident here in the Rose of the Shires, cycling wouldn't be at the forefront of my mind. Taking the Gulf Coast oil spill as our example, we have a huge reminder that our dependence on oil is damaging. I vow to cycle.

"You must be the change you want to see in the world"
Ghandi

Shifting environments often lends itself to fresh outlooks. Having moved home, city and country six times in the past three years, i speak from experience. Setting up home in a country whose language, culture and habits are alien tends to keep things fresh. Unable to communicate verbally, i get good at observing, watching and listening. I vow to use my fresh outlook to air-five every other cyclist in Northamptonshire and hope our public show of fun can plant the thought of going by bike in someones mind.

Before leaving Amsterdam i was lucky enough to observe, watch and listen to The Ginger Ninjas during their ever-prolonged Pleasant Revolution tour. Since 2007 they've been cycling around the world with all their instruments, several bicycle-powered generators, ever-expanding line-up and messages of inspiration. If you invent that hill is too steep, traffic too dangerous or cycling too un-cool; see, hear, reflect and be inspired by the Ginger Ninjas and the Pleasant Revolution:

Love,
Glenn x

The Class of 2010

2010-06-23T20:20:00.000+09:00

I received my first yearbook aged 16. It's plain paper and black & white photocopies were easy to graffitti but today it serves as a messy souvenir. School yearbooks exist mostly for graduating classes but at ISA they're presented to everyone, from nursery to faculty. Be it as graduate or leaver, i'm proud to include myself in the Class of 2010.This school year i've learned many things. Stuff like how to sing happy birthday in Dutch, Spanish, Korean and Japanese. I've learned nose-picking and flatulence need not be taboo and embarrassing. I've learned lots about communication and love. And in teaching 4/5 year-old children, i've figured out what i want to be when i grow up. However, if there's one true lesson to learn from little people, it's to live only in the now. Something myself and 99% of the adults i know could think about a little more.I'll be forever grateful to those little people and our environment. In truth it's completely coincidencial we shared a classroom but the lessons will be long-lasting for this accidental teaching assistant and soon-to-be teacher. June 2010 and my head and heart are heavy; full of love, gratitude and appreciation for these pages and messages.
Fast forward some months to September 2010 and it's likely i'll lay claim to be the only man to make a career move from Amsterdam to Higham Ferrers. Reverse culture shock is my mountain, a years study my molehill. The Busy Bee class of 2009/10 and their families will be dispersed between the Netherlands, Spain, Quatar, London and a couple of To Be Confirmed's. Such is the environment of international education where change is the only constant. Luckily the life partner of change is opportunity.Happy Holidays, i'm flying away xo

I Fell In Love With a Girl Called Amsterdam

2010-05-25T03:47:00.009+09:00

Dear Amsterdam, you sexy motha...
There is no such thing as a 'goodbye'. I replace goodbye with a casual 'tot ziens' or even a 'ciao'. For here in the bosom of your canals, cobbles and cafes everything is FINE... not final. However for an unknown period of time we will part company and before this (hopefully) brief separation, i'd like to express my gratitude.

Thank-you for being so beautiful.
Thank-you for being so, so, so frick'in beautiful.

Thank-you for yesterday afternoon. Gliding through your sun-drenched Vondelpark is a remedy for anything. And that's not even a euphemism. No matter what i invent as mildly problematic within my existence, you make it vanish. Sometimes you're taken for granted. The mind is too busy processing the fun, pleasure and shared hedonism within eyesight, all from the comfort of a bicycle in motion. Family picnics where gran's the bees knees with a Frisbee. BBQ's surrounded in the smoke of chicken wings & semi-legal hand-rolled cigarettes. Ice-cream sellers and fortune tellers. Dog walkers, iPod runners and more frisbee throwers. The fly guys, the shy guys and the just cycle by guys. Gathered musicians. Djembe drummers. An acoustic assortment of Bob Marley covers, strummed and sang by buskers under bridges. Your sub-urban backdrop is green, green, green. Emerald shades only broken by simmering lakes and meandering concrete cycle paths.

Thank-you for being laissez-faire.
Thank-you for being so open and accepting.

Thank-you for being an awesome mum and creating a wonderful environment for your million or so offspring. I am grateful to call myself one of your children. I know my brothers and sisters - the worldly and eclectic folk of every skin colour, ethnicity and religion imaginable, the ageing hippies, babies in bakfiets & bakfiets riding parents, rastafarians, those beautiful blonde & leggy Dutch girls, the g-star-clad & hair slicked back Dutch guys - all think the same. We're all open and loving thanks to you. I sometimes feel inferior standing next to my adopted siblings. They all seem to speak several languages and exude confidence and a permanent notion of being content. Some achieve this feat by eating well, drinking like George Best and smoking like a 1950's movie star.

Thank-you for being so pleasant and friendly.
Thank-you for just being.

Thank-you for your network of cycle paths. You pave the way for so many benefits. Thank-you for lowering my CO2 emissions and increasing definition of my thigh muscles. And for showing me the art of flirting from a bicycle. Thank-you for an entirely organic means of enjoying all the four seasons from the saddle. Sure, i might have uttered a swear or two while cycling in your January blizzards or April showers but i didn't mean it. The enjoyment of seeing winter turn to spring far outweighs the numbing pain of any -8degC trip to Albert Hein.

Thank-you for being laid back.
Thank-you for keeping various rules slack.

And thank-you for your north-south metro line, which reminds us all that something of so much beauty can also be so delicate.

Stay cool, i'll be back soon.

Dear Mum & Dad, I will be home soon. And please don't worry, i've only ever visited the red light district as part of a sightseeing tour of the city and entertaining visiting friends. I've never slept with a lady of the night - FYI. Also this post and my love of Amsterdam is un-related to the legality of various legal green narcotics. Please clear a little space in the garage as i'm bringing my Dutch bicycle home. Oh, and i found the perfect gift, what's your favourite colour tulips?

All my love,
Glenn

¿Dónde está Wally?

2010-05-18T03:35:00.004+09:00

Did you know popular childrens book charactor/picture 'Wally' has more names than Jason Bourne!? I know and love the books as 'Where's Wally?' but in Germany he was called Walter. Politically correct and non-discriminating Americans named him Waldo. Frisky Norwegians called him Willi. In France he was Charlie and children all over Denmark begged the question 'Where's Holgar?'. Just like the famous illustrations, International Book Week at school consisted of dozens or people doing a variety of amusing things at any given location.

I read by candle light now. Supported by an inquisitive street lamp leaning towards my bedroom window, the soft yellow glow is enough to see words but not too much as to defer a sleepy state.

Lately, i've been choosing inspiring travel tales and shorter stories of Southeast Asian exploration. I find tales from the road lead to a wider cosmos of dream possibility and sheep counting is rarely needed. I sometimes wish i was as brave as the people and stories i read of. My dreams begin to consist of being every adventure and living in every era. But until time travel becomes possible i'm happy to be me. Here in the here and now. When it's time to blow the candle out, the flame vanishes in an instant. No match for even the most drowsy and sleepy exhalation. If only the street light was so obedient.

Bonne nuit, Charlie.

Todays Mood: Tight

2010-05-02T00:16:00.001+09:00

Happy Sunday. I'm under house arrest due to rain. Actually it's not due to the rain, it's due to my desire to stay dry and make up for lost time on the sofa. Heavy can hang the head which wore an Oranjedag and Koninginnedag crown. Current time divided between multi-national & international skype sessions - casual conference calls, wishing away an amazon wishlist, mapping ukulele chords and banging on a cajon. My short Sunday attention spans scattered all over.

Maybe because today is the anniversary of the death of Leonardo da Vinci. A legendary scatterer of attention and interests, only he matched them with accomplishments. Did you know da Vinci wrote most of his journals in mirror-image cursive? Either to keep thoughts a secret or it was simply easier to write right to left as a leftie. Right.

News from the sofa centers around the motion of time. Not bad for a place where slouched and static rule. The calendar says it's 47 days till i leave the job i love. 20 of those are holidays or weekends. 59 days and i board a flight to Bangkok. 119(approx) days till i move back to my hometown for a full calendar year. 127 days till i become a student again, a student teacher to be exact.

Right now though, i've got dishes to wash and the Albert Hein to visit.

Grounded

2010-04-18T18:26:00.006+09:00

Living under a Schiphol flight path, skies above me are usually busy. A staggered backdrop of planes often give the impression they're competing with Amsterdam streets for space and journey. Thanks to a cloud of volcanic ash from Iceland, the skies are empty. I believe it's no coincidence they're also beautiful blue and free of cirrus, cumulus, stratus or contrails. The only interruption to this mornings clear blue were four noisy geese. I assume their song was one of freedom, play and excitement.My schedule was to fly to Malaga as the three amigos this morning. Waiting for us were a hire car, a crazy aunt, various roadtrips, beaches and scenic backdrops. Instead we're grounded.

Mother Nature has given a timely reminder that her schedule is of far greater importance than any of ours. Life here in her back yard is precious, miraculous and a dance between many contradictions.

Air travel is a miracle in it's own right. One we often take for granted. The ability to sleep at 30,000ft and wake up in a new country, time zone or hemisphere. The gift of catching a movie or sending an SMS while sitting above the clouds. The buzz of reaching 180mph, feeling your 158,777kg vehicle take off and know it can travel 12,000km before any re-fueling is needed. Google and Wikipedia are miracles in the same league. Any opportunity to reflect and know what we've got because it's gone should be taken gracefully.

My foreseeable future remains on the ground. I have all i need.

Unprepared

2010-04-14T05:26:00.000+09:00

This is how you look today...If 2010 is the year of action and doing, you look decidedly static and disengaged.

In reality it's static yes, disengaged no. Our existence is a journey not a race. So it often pays to be static, rest-up a while and take in a view. Borrow a moment to reflect on where we've been and where we might be going. Though always being mindful to keep that a brief moment, the past or future will never be as important as the now.

"To be unprepared is to have faith
and to do it confidently is to know we are all connected"
(Jason Mraz, 2010)

Back in January a blog entitled 'Resolution #2' went un-published and even un-typed. Following vegetarian resolution #1, resolution #2 was also about action and doing. This time it was instrumental. For as long as i can remember i've harbored a desire to finally get musical and learn an instrument.

My musical life to-date is a poor showing: 3 recorder lessons at Primary school and a brief, failed relationship with an acoustic guitar while living in Korea. Now after a while of sitting in an underground studio on an irregular basis, smashing around on hi-hats, ride cymbals, crash cymbals and kicking various bass pedals, with my ipod and playlists inspired by Phil Collins, i'm as ready as i'll ever be to launch into band practice. First stop: May 27th. Next stop: un-confirmed.

As i dip my toes further, i express gratitude to the keyboard crafting of Jason Mraz. I have faith. I'm unprepared and i'm confident.

The future's good, the now's musical.

Unprepared,
-Glenn x

Water Tip 5 - Make it a lifestyle choice

2010-04-10T03:24:00.000+09:00

Everything we do is a choice. Everything we do, say, think, feel, eat, touch and scratch. The big machine has a way of dressing up these free ideologies so it appears we have no or little choice but conscious reality is different. On January 1st (the date is irrelevant) i made a choice to go vegetarian. Rather than one or two specific reasons being my motivation, it was a lifestyle choice. A choice that would affect not just what i digest.

Being more careful and conscious of water waste can also be a lifestyle choice. Todays 'tip 5' brings you the best of the rest and a handy few pointers on making water conservation present in your everyday.

*Tip 5 part 1* - "Shower with a friend"
Between a loving couple it's one of the sweetest and and most intimate acts. Between a football team it promotes togetherness and morale. Between a womens beach volleyball team it enters the realms of fantasy. In the warmth of a steamy bathroom the benefits of a shared shower can be plentiful and slash euros off your water bill. Get closer to your girlfriend/boyfriend, bond together your sports team, get to know your neighbour and get closer to your friends.

*Tip 5 part 2* - "Pee outside"

I jest not. The pee outside movement is global and comes with its own Twitter account. Let's face it, even with your toilet freshly hacked to save water, flushing is still a big waste. Not only are you flushing water away, you're also wasting one of the worlds greatest natural fertilisers, the savory and organic compound of urea. Your wee is full of it... go pee on a tree and give something back to the soil.

Image from here.

Happy Water Saving!
-Glenn x

Water Tip 4 - Cherish!

2010-04-08T04:38:00.007+09:00

It is with sincere apology i type. Five water saving tips were promised yet only three were delivered. No amount of spelling numbers with letters can hide my blogging faux pais. Earth Hour 2010 brought a week of world water awareness to a close. My laptop was powered down with the switching off of lights & appliances and is only just waking-up.

Here's a quote from Albert Einstein:

"There are two ways to live your life:
you can live as if nothing is a miracle or...
you can live as everything is a miracle".

Children are good examples of the second way. I accompanied the Busy Bees class on a spring walk this morning and their excitement at the natural world around them was touching. Buds on trees, flowers shyly appearing, birds in song and blossom on trees, all blanketed in a delicate summer rain shower. Water makes up most of earths surface area and is often taken for granted, yet not today by the Busy Bees.

When you stop taking something for granted it becomes appreciated, valued, cared for and even cherished. And something so amazing should be cherished. As always, the proof is in the Youtubing:

Water Tip 4 - Care for, value, appreciate and cherish... don't take for granted.

A swift and final tip this weekend, i promise.

Moist Regards,
-Glenn x

Water Tip 3 - Toilet hacking

2010-03-26T21:23:00.000+09:00

Flushed away. Gone. Never to be returned. While i'm pretty sure we don't want to hang on to our waste products, flushing away is not always a song and dance like this movie. Along with your exquisite excretions, millions of gallons of water are flushed away each time you pull your chain. Waste with a big waste.

If you're an average human being, you'll flush approximately 5 times a day. More if you're of a certain age, and more if you're in an office or a school. In your home you pay for your water twice, as it enters and as it leaves your environment. So it pays to be smart.

But fear not, by lending your toilet an extra 5mins with this simple yet effective hack, the average family home could save over a 1000litres of water a month. That's a saving for the conscience and the pocket.

I'll leave the imagery and the 'how' to the good people at wikihow:
Click HERE to save gallons of guilt.
Or here for a more natural and creative method via Superforest.

Thankfully the Dutch delight which occupies my current closet is already a low-flush toilet with it's small water tank. Hello sunshine!Water Week Tip 3 - Low flush.

Water Tip 2 - Go naval!

2010-03-25T06:45:00.001+09:00

There's no such thing as coincidence. I'm not a religious being but i do believe our universe has its own language. A language spoken by all living things and a language amplified by rhythm and the wind. This language of the universe shows signs which are sometimes interpreted as coincidence. Signs for us to stop, to act, to change or remain the same at any given moment.

Not only is this week dedicated to water, it's also seen the first real taste of spring weather, and it's seen a personal return to serious exercise. The cool air of the new season has taken me and my love handle's back to the gym.

Upon finishing a work-out it's shower time. The showers at the gym are on a timer which releases water for a short couple of minutes, then stops. Nothing. Just the moist air, the echoes of nearby conversation and the scent of my lemon & lime shower gel. While i wait for more water, i lather and lather and by the time the water returns, the warm droplets could have been sent directly from heaven, such is the reward.

How much water do you USE for a shower?
How much do you NEED?

Water Week Tip 2 - Go naval, turn off the water while you wash & save gallons.

This diagram is both self-explanatory and self-exploratory.

Water Tip 1 - Re-use and re-fill

2010-03-23T06:25:00.002+09:00

Plastic is not fantastic. We've all seen the documentaries & images of mountains of plastic bottles, oceans infested with floating packaging and various animals caught up in our mess. For those new to the notion of going green, you should watch this video presenting a not-so-pretty picture of our all consuming existence.

One thing i vowed to stop consuming is plastic bottles of water. This video by the same thought provoking folks will tell a large and logical part of the 'why?'

After watching both videos, particularly the first one, it could be easy to feel a number of negative notions regarding our behaviour towards our own existence. But viewing comes highly recommended as every problem can turn itself to a creative solution. That's where WE come in. We have a conscious choice. We have a conscious choice of what we buy, what we consume, how we dispose of it, how we think and how we influence our world.

Just take my Blue Q stainless steel water bottle for example. It's a symbol of a positive choice. Printed on the bottle is the text, "i'm saving the planet, what are you doing?", so not only do i feel good but i'm politely and in-directly asking others to do the same. And because it's so cool i'm encouraged to drink more water each day, therefore i'm healthier and my skin is naturally moisturised. Not to mention it's lifetime guarantee and it's ease to clean. It also looks great at the gym, on my desk and fits anywhere you might put a plastic bottle.Water Week Tip 1 - BE AWARE and buy a reusable water bottle.

H2OooYeah!

2010-03-22T01:17:00.000+09:00

With no words tapped into this electronic journal since International Womens Day, many of our birthdays, anniversary's and national holidays have passed. Aside from those special days, i'm totally cool with the idea that soon everyday will be an international day of something. Holidays, carnivals, awareness raising and action taking. We should all be cool with that.Monday 22nd March 2010 - Happy World Water Day!

And where better to celebrate than the Netherlands? A blissful utopia where 70% of the national GDP is generated below sea level. A small but cool pocket of Europe which boasts 3,500km's of flood defense systems. Whether is be cycling in April showers, cruising on canals or sipping a spa rode with dinner, water is never far.

This day is about awareness and action. Awareness of earths most abundant molecule and the action of how EVERYONE can do their bit.

It's widely predicted that within the next 10 years we'll see a major decrease in our fresh water supply. Either supply will not keep up with demand, or supply will be too polluted to accompany your dinner or brush your teeth. People in remote and rural areas would be the first to suffer, people who might already be walking a kilometer or two to the nearest spring.

We can all do our bit to help curb this emptying of mothers cup. Whenever a tap, sprinkler, shower or hose is on in your vicinity, ask yourself if it's truly necessary and if you've had enough.

This week at my home and community, World Water Day lasts all week. We're boycotting plastic, forming the worlds longest toilet que (for awareness and the Guinness Book of Records), going green and teaching going green as THE life choice, for this season and all that follow. To weigh in with my part, starting tomorrow, i'm going to share 5 top water conservation tips right here.To get you into the mood, here's 5 top water-related youtube hits:

1) Wet Wet Wet - sweet little mystery
2) The Water Boys - the whole of the moon
3) Muddy Waters - manish boy
4) Oasis - champagne supernova
5) Burt Bacarach - raindrops keep falling on my head

Enjoy,
IN-joy.

Happy Ladies (day)

2010-03-08T05:27:00.003+09:00

March 8th 2010, International Womens Day. This one's for the ladies and by spending my 9-5 within the early childhood unit, surrounded by an all-female team, i'm qualified to commentate.

I celebrate learning from my colleagues, mothers and cougars. I rejoice in bearing witness to their deft combination of motherly love and the superhero actions of a kick-ass educator of international little people.

I'm grateful for being so close to yummy mummy's, middle-aged mothers, Miss & Mrs teachers, sisters, mothers, lady friends and grandmothers. All are present in my today and all leave their love, message and lipstick on the coffee cup of my memory.

I also extend this list to every crazy aunt, strict headmistress, playground crush, ex-girlfriend, current angel, sweet old lady and flirtatious landlady my time has known. Their touch has been lasting and the lessons well-received. It doesn't matter when we crossed paths, or for how long. What matters is that i appreciate that you are an incarnation of the divine mother, the ultimate lover or mother earth. Really.

May you continue to be recognised, appreciated and loved, un-like my last snow-woman (she melted away after melting my heart)...
And now to finish with a song.

Sushi sounds Sunday

2010-03-07T02:23:00.001+09:00

If you're anything like me, you've been staying in most evenings and assembling a new iTunes libary on your new computer. From Amos Lee to ZZ Top and from Al Green to Zero 7, it's all there. Motown sounds teach me that each night can be a candlelit and cosy affair. 1980's pop teaches that nothing in life should be taken too seriously. Easy jazz lends a gentle reminder that Sunday is a day of rest. Songs from ex-girlfriends, present angels, songs of legacy from dad's vinyl, tips of nostalgia from grandad and student night memories all together. Connected via the universal language of rhythm and melody.

You need a good soundtrack living in Amsterdam.

Todays soundtrack was Incognito. As a day of sunshine, crisp air and cafe terraces busy with winter coats & sunglasses, today was perfect for feeling connected and just being. This spring Sunday actually started before the prior Saturday had closed for business. 3am and a sing-a-long cycle home. Fast forward 12 hours and after a pancake breakfast, i'm cycling through the gentle hum of Amstelveen in day-light. Everyone and everything that turned inwards for winter started to blossom, opening and stepping out. Perfect for the bounce and positivity of this.

Something must have connected and aligned with something at least, as the gift voucher who made a permanent home in the bottom of my wallet, was magically transformed. I usually don't do well in department stores. Maybe it's the thoughtless 'elevator music', or maybe it's a whole host of minor details about personnel and product, all too negative for discussion here. Anyway, the voucher was gratefully received as an early Christmas gift some 3 months ago. Yet upon each visit to the department store i found it impossible to pick out anything i needed or wanted.

Today i saw, purchased and had packaged my very own Japanese sushi meal set. Consisting of rectangular plates, soup bowls, chop-sticks, side bowls and various west/east fusion sushi making implements. Coming soon: Sushi Tuesdays. To an open-plan kitchen/diner near you.

For now though, lost in music.

Resolution #1

2010-02-15T05:24:00.000+09:00

January 1st 2010. Physically bloated with meat cuts, snow-chilled beer, room temperature red wine and champagne crisper than the snow underfoot. Mentally bloated too, though in a very positive sense of the word. Surrounded by what a local English newspaper would call 'revellers' and loved ones.How can anyone expect to make any worthwhile resolutions with such beautiful distraction?

February 15th 2010. Wisdom of the east prevails again. By following the more natural lunar calendar, January becomes a month of rest and re-charge before starting it all again with a firework bang a few weeks later. February is also mere baby steps away from Spring and a real sense of giving birth to newness, freshness and positivity.

That's why i now like to use January to test-drive my resolutions and new habbits.

Since the above-mentioned bloatedness and dark photo collage, i've been test-driving vegetarian farts. Trouser flatchulence is always comical and enjoyable but there's a serious side too.

Conversations with gran often deflect to a time of knowing struggle but also of knowing value. Todays simple pleasures were celebrated moments of 'wow'. Everything from melody and speech on the wireless, to a prime beef steak for dinner. There's a very different wow in the now of downloadable music and supermarket meat cuts. Accompanied by an afternoons browsing of Superforest, the supermarket meat cuts got me thinking.

Questions multiplied. Why is something dying so i can experience a passing pleasure? Where does all this come from? How can a beef burger contain just 40% beef? Who's been screwed? How many corners cut from slaughter house to shelf? When you considor land useage, pesticides, chemicals, supply/demand, health & our environment, what's the real cost?

Resolution #1 - go vegetarian.

One

2010-02-14T01:57:00.002+09:00

“Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.”
-St. Augustine

One.
One love.
Be at one with you, with him, with her, with them.
Be at one with everything you see, hear, touch and feel.
Today, tomorrow and always.

Happy Valentines...

February is a Siirius subject

2010-02-07T08:55:00.003+09:00

There is much to share from the previous months festivities. Blogging went the way of most things during Januay, inward. Closed for the winter season. Letters hibernating. Barely surviving the snow while feeding from warm and luxurious words like; candle, red, wine, cuddle, breakfast, in, bed, pyjamas, all, day and Yumi.

I used to think January was somewhat pointless, a month empty of any purpose. Hangovers linger from New Years celebrations, wallets and online bank accounts bare from a festive over-spend and it's still not even close to Spring. All the hibernating animals have the right idea. Yet with love present, even the longest pyjama day becomes cherished. In good company, any shared waste of time is precious.

Time is precious.

Time also keeps on truckin'.

January has become a previous now and the new now is February. For the majority of years in the lunar calendar February brings the second moon of the winter soltice, known and celebrated as Chinese New Year, or Lunar New Year in several other Asian countries. Ever since celebrating Lunar New Year in Japan a couple of years ago, i've felt February and the Lunar New Year give a more suitable space for making resolutions.

With a clear head and no bloated turkey and stuffing sensation, January becomes a month for test-driving those resolutions. Practising new practises and sampling new habbits. But more on those later...

Awakening from January's sweet and lazy hibernation, i find a postcard in the mail. It's from a good friend Siiri. Siiri... i answer your beautiful questions here, with a little help from Youtube...

Beautiful is a desert sunrise,

Peace is those sweet words,
Success is ob-la-di ob-la-da,
Love is yours,
Family means sisters are doing it for themselves,
a little green bag is the colour of the sea,
blue moon is the colour of the sun,
Money is worth-less,
and what IS one doing here?

And what resolutions are you waking up to this February?Happy New Year,
-Glenn
xoxo

Presence = Presents

2009-12-21T16:50:00.004+09:00

The noturnal festive restlessness was familiar. As a child i could never sleep on Christmas eve. Always far too excited about the opening of gifts to be able to enter the realms of dreams and dribbling. The same was true even long after playground rumours were confirmed, and i discovered Santa was a blissful myth. It's just a magical time of year.

Last nights sleepless state owed itself to that same excitement.

As the alarm function on my phone broke the silence, i'd managed more hours reading than sleeping. Kept cosy by my pyjamas underneath my clothes, and with bed hair protected by a snug rastafarian winter hat, i made my way to Schiphol and arrivals gate 3. A flight delay was a blessing in disguise. My second breakfast consisted of a typically strong Dutch coffee and a typically French pain-au-chocolat. Not bad for 6am.

Sometimes perched and sometimes slouched upon my front row cafe seat, i watched countless others in-front of me greet loved ones. Families reunited for Christmas. Boyfriends greeting girlfriends. Grandparents in the arms of granchildren and one Phil Collins look-a-like. To the festive soundtrack of the cafe playlist, the opening scene to 'Love Actually' came to mind. Cheesy but beautiful.

Yumi arrived and we became the hugging people i'd been watching. After months of absence making the heart grow fonder, our Christmas presents are each others presence. A gift i'll get to extend and share with family when returning to the arrivals gate later this week.

Your presence is a priceless gift. Give it to those you love and enjoy it being returned.Feliz Navidad!
-Glenn x

A short history of nearly everything from this afternoon

2009-12-19T05:34:00.003+09:00

Welcome to this London Midland service to Birmingham New Street stopping at; Long Buckby, Rugby, Coventry, Canley, Tile Hill and Birmingham International. The ever-changing landscape in the window paints several perfect winter pictures, though blurry. It then returns grey and dismal as proof of last nights weather forecasts, 'heavy snow for eastern regions' and 'the midlands will escape with a severe frost'.Snow is the ideal backdrop for any festive journey. Though getting home for Christmas could have been a more frustrating experience had those weather forecasts been false. Thankfully my only complication consisted of a £30 fine for my hand-luggage being made up of the wrong dimensions. It's fit in the overhead compartment last Monday was snug, though today it didn't fit into the size-test holder at gate 42.

Due to my purchase and early chapter enjoyment of Bill Bryson's 'a short history of nearly everything', i was too busy contemplating this earths creation and our existance to be annoyed. A beautiful winter sunset also helped.Be love this Christmas. Travel safe & happy.
-Glenn

Night Flight

2009-11-08T19:45:00.007+09:00

* Scribbled on paper last Tuesday, high above the North Sea...

Air travel will never lose it's novelty. Crosing time zones while traveling without moving. 24,000ft, above clouds and sometimes perfectly balanced between day and night. While this 45min teatime flight from Amsterdam to London allows me to travel back in time and land at the same hour as take-off, it doesn't allow my favourite view on a flight, a sunset.The onset of daylight savings and dark winter nights mean this evenings sunset was buried under a blanket of cloud many hours ago. The only clue that the sun still exists is the reflective glow from the moon. Tis the season for grumbling about the weather in supermarket ques.

Back on the plane, i ignore the in-flight safety demonstration. Trusting and relaxed enough to give my attention to the in-flight magazine, and not the lady in the life-jacket who occupies the middle of the aisle. Adverts in the magazine tell me to drink Hardy's red wine, drive a black Mercedes, eat dark chocolate and visit the Christmas markets in Munich.The dark and long winter nights are here.
They're here to be embraced.

As a tempory stop-over between autumn and spring, i see winter as a time to rest and re-charge. Habbits change. White or rose is now dark red wine, candle light is forever glowing and longer nights equals longer sleeps, and more space un-locked for dreaming.24hours later and i've made the return flight. The train emerges from it's underground route leaving Schiphol. We travel side by side with a motorway. To my heavy eyes, brake lights form a hedonistic laser trip through the dark and drizzle. Back in the comfort of Amsterdam, the short walk home shares pavements which were short-sleeved and terraced only weeks ago. Now they're empty. Engulfed with shadows and moodlit by neon.Some neon attracts me in for a beer and Champions League football. Sat at the bar in-between an overly-pampered cat and seven Gothic Swedish tourists, the football plays second fiddle to people watching and eavsdropping. People are more comfortable in the dark. In the brightly-lit hours of the day, people talk mainly of their outer-lives. Ideas, plans and what they are doing. But it's now dark, the place is lit only by candles and fairy-lights. It's like a visible definition of gezellig and people are talking about feelings inner-lives and the now. Talk is slower and pauses longer.

Food, time, wine, cold, books, dreams, music, love - all these moments take on a different quality in the dark. Enjoy yours...

Warm thoughts,
- Glenn x

Gratitude Sundays

2009-10-11T05:45:00.002+09:00

Gratitude; (grat-i-tude) -n :
a feeling of thankfulness or appreciation, the state of being grateful.

As tomorrow will be thanksgiving in various parts of our world, i express gratitude for a million little things. Everything. Somethings. The music from my speakers. The tyres of my bike. My health and 5 senses which allow experience of lifes journey. But right now, i express most gratitude to todays lengthy breakfast, fresh air and Amsterdam views.
Simple yet beautiful.
Because of Saturday night. Sunday morning.

Keep it loose. Keep it tight.

Happy Sunday and thanksYOU.

Yours,
-Glenn x

On Being Love...

2009-10-04T21:47:00.001+09:00

And in other news, love chose grey pleats this week. Re-discovered during a recent house move, my grey pants are happy to be strutting and cycling around Amsterdam after months of seeing the inside of a dark cupboard in Amstelveen.
Much like those old new pleats, this blog has gone un-loved for too long. Hung out to dry in the wardrobe of my favourites list and folded deep in the drawers of my online history. Both the grey and pleated cycle to school, and a new old apartment (and a few other chance meetings*) have added a verve of freshness to the blogging part of my brain.

I often think posts which re-tell events and time don't make the most readable blogs. But it's been so long that i feel we need a catch up. A catch-up dressed equally as love & fear and carrying a message on why we should all choose love, in every decision we make. Summers' story:

the love...
Buying a heavily used 1990 Suzuki Samurai jeep from a shady but loveable Dutch used car dealer. Admiring the combination of a moustache and lemon yellow pleated trousers, i placed trust and put aside concerns about rust. The romantic ideology of a summer touring Europe in the name of adventure, intact. After posting a note on trusted travel site, Couchsurfing, i exchange a few months of e-mails and emoticons with a girl from Korea. In a small German train station i meet Yumi for the first time on June 23. Sharing a tent and 4/5 driving hours each day is a perfect way to get to know someone. Especially as the jeep was without stereo system. Jeep repairs are waited out in the comfort and familiarity of Amsterdam for 10 days. Un-knowingly, Yumi and I set about falling in love and attraction. We are American teenagers living the dream of a Euro roadtrip, we just don't know it. Love is realised in Venice, high on starry skies, vino rosso and modest drags of Dutch marijuana. We realise we're American teenagers and knowingly share love and Italy. After 3 weeks apart (Yumi in Italy on summer camp, me en-route solo from Nice to Northampton), we re-unite in my hometown. Little England. She meets the family, cooks a Korean dinner, ten-pin bowling with gran and meals with uncles & cousins. We live like a newlywed couple visiting the parents for a weekend. As summers end approaches, a return to work looms and one last roadtrip sees a return to Amsterdam. One last magical evening, this one in the glorious company of Keith & Edi. We light Thai fire lanterns high into a clear Amstelveen sky. We make wishes, they're secret. In the morning, i leave for work and kiss Yumi good-bye. For the past two months, we've shared the majority of 24/7's, when i return from work she's en-route to Korea. We'll soon meet again...

the fear...
Repair bills to make my trusted chariot roadworthy equated to nearly double the cost of the jeep itself. Money is fake. Love is real. Several close friends decline my invitation to join my adventure. No hard feelings. Finances, work, partners etc can all get in the way sometimes. All this and i've not even departed yet. After some online activity i shared my adventure, 2-seater jeep and 2-man tent with a complete stranger. Further repairs see another substancial bill receipt shaking in my hands. This repair takes 10 days. Back on the road, we get lost often. No sat nav and Yumi takes to falling asleep at major junctions and directional decision points. No problem. I'm falling for someone who lives 9 hours away, not practical. Are the feelings returned? Is this real? Yumi stays in Italy to complete a pre-arranged summer camp. I'm alone. Confused when reflecting on the prior weeks and their emotions. Skeptical. I'm back home, alone. Yumi will visit and stay with family, will they like her? Will she like them? How do i feel? The jeep breaks down again. More shaking and receipts. Back in Amsterdam, summer is nearly closed for the season. By now, there is no fear.

"There is only love, everything else is our resistance to it"

-Terces Engelhart.

Hold a door open for someone, sing while you cycle, share, say yes, give a beggar a Euro or a Dollar or Pound or a smile (the most valuable of all currency), laugh with good friends, make new ones, dance, create, play, fuck for peace, high five everyone you see, hug a stanger and Couchsurf. Be love where you live.

with love,
- Glenn x

Summer Snapshots #2: Colours, Countries & Haikus

2009-08-31T05:13:00.006+09:00

Black, white, Dutch delight
Both this photo and his cons
Festival for free

Green banks, German Rhine
Either side for mile and mile
Where the jeep broke down

Purple decorates
A plain green mountain picture
This is Austria

The hat on her head
Gleaming white while outside grey
Slovenia. Rain.

Colours of Venice
Difficult to describe
Too busy eating

Burgandy French wine
Local irresistable
Loved by French wasps too

Light brown is tasty
The colour of English tea
Serve with: jam, cream, scones

Summer Snapshots #1: H2Ooohyeah

2009-08-28T06:18:00.000+09:00

Water is needing to be passed real bad each morning...Water is bigger than me...
Water is a rainy day inside a tent...
Water is comforting...
Water is the way to a castle...
Water is cool on a warm face...

A Good Vintage...

2009-07-23T05:51:00.002+09:00

My bed is made next to pine trees even older than the stables they shade. The lake in the distance has been home to generations of swimmers, fishers and skinny-dippers before me. And the surrounding countryside has inspired many painters and artists before i arrived with my mega-pixels.History is everywhere in Europe, mostly carefully preserved with it's own story to tell.

It's funny what you find in French countryside. Yesterday i found an old London black-cab. It's once proud black paint now wears a rusty shade of dark red and it's doors and locked shut. Stories of it's last passenger and how it arrived here in the grounds of Chateux de Chigy are secrets forever.

In keeping with old age, todays post comes to you from the main castle building of Chateux de Chigy. Once home to feasts, battle planning and falling in love & lust with fair French maidens, it's now the reception area to camping services and the luxury apartments. While the exterior of the castle have been carefully preserved, the luxury apartments make up the converted interior of the building. Needless to say, the shaded grounds and my tent are enough for my 2-day pitch here.

The reception area is also home to Amelie, she's 204 and that's not even in dog years. Once she was a proud and dark haird alsation, but like many things old and female, she's shrunk and her hair has gone white. She has many tales to tell and may even know how the taxi arrived, but i speak cat language, not dog language.

I'll spend one more night here with Amelie, then it's off to Paris for the last leg of this roadtrip.

Bonsoir,

-Glenn x

Gorgeous du Verdon

2009-07-21T21:00:00.000+09:00

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

Taking that as my freshly-adopted life philosophy for the here and now, the Gorges du Verdon is a partnering location of going with the flow. A mecca of peace, tranquility and a true masterpiece by the world greatest artist, Mother Earth herself.Locals like to enjoy the canyon by sitting afloat a blow-up bed or chair. I opted for a 75km morning drive around both edges of the grand canyon of europe before cooling off with an afternoon swim in the turquoise waters.There's no amount of megapixels which can fully complement these surroundings, but the postcard i sent you comes close.

Soire in le jardin, Nice!

2009-07-19T03:43:00.000+09:00

From Savona to Nice, to be here it's nice

A soire in the jardin the Rosé on ice

Amos Lee, Tracy Chapman and Raul Midon

Bare feet tickled by the grass they're on

Bare legs and jazz lends a natural smile

Gare du Nord on the iPod, Marvin & Miles
Alain Clark sang with his father and friend

I wish this evening would never end

Evenings in France on the Cote d'Azur

Location for hedonists leaves me wanting more

Ambling alone, lovers lane tonight is not for me

Another lonely writers poem this shall be

Off The Radar

2009-07-17T19:35:00.000+09:00

Camping is bliss. Each night i make my bed under a blanket of clear sky, tummy filled with dinner cooked in the back of a jeep yet presented in a modest restaurant. The scent of lavendar incense fills the air, stars twinkle and fireflies dance a bedtime story. Trees rustle a gentle lullabye as i'm tucked in by a gentle breeze.A stormy night in Savona wouldn't have been enjoyable under a canves roof though. After days of alfresco and carefree driving, tanning, swimming, sleeping, cooking and eating, i find myself busy with papers in an internet cafe in Savona. Back on radar and reconnected. As i combine my new liking for Sambuca and expresso, my phone, camera and iPod are treated to their own much needed juice from the sockets of room 322.

Savona is the home of Christopher Columbus and the base from which he planned his travels. I'm merely planning my means of arrival to the Nice Jazz Festival tomorrow.

It's both easy and pleasing to fall of the radar camping through Italy. Since waltzing around Venice, i've made an outside home in Ravenna, Rimini, Sirolo, Siena and Pisa. I've fallen in love with Tuscany and dazzled by Assisi. I've tested both the jeep and my nerve driving through Vernazza and the Cinque Terre, both passed with flying colours.

I say 'i' and not 'we' as Thursday and Pisa Centrale Stazione meant a sad goodbye to sweet, sweet Yumi, she heads to Matera for the next chapter of her summer. I head to Nice. Nice.

Slow Down for the Low Down

2009-07-12T00:48:00.000+09:00

Apart from a rainy and restful stop in Ljubljana, this roadtrip has been a one-night-only show in each stopover town. Life on the go is progressive but not good for the soul. I pitch a tent here, buy food there and pack-up after breakfast. While i couldn't be sure of the day or date, at least i can tell you what i've had for dinner each night. After all, food is important and you are what you eat.

If that really is the case; i'm rich, creamy and i'll leave you wanting more.

Venice and it's surrounding mainland are ideal for some stopping, relaxing and pitching up but not taking down. The famous city is a calming and picturesque 30min water-bus away, the beach is visible from the tent and fresh fruit and veg are everywhere.

Welcome to Italy.

Tourists amble. Gondola drivers sing and look cool in stripes. I admire the view.

Venice is a painting. The sparkling blues and greens of the water dance in sunlight. As evening approaches and the sunset begins it's own grand show, those same colours make love to the warm shades of reds, oranges and lilacs of the buildings. I'm a voyeur enjoyer.

My dad always told me to keep my wits about me when in another land. I love a nice pair of wits. Here i have all the wits and pieces i need. Now my wits also include my best "bonjourno", "ciao" and "grazie mille". Why simply thank someone when you can thank them a million with an extra two syllables?

Internet cafe time is up.

I'm off for another gelato.

Peace, Love & Calories...

-Glenn x

Lucky in Ljubljana

2009-07-09T00:18:00.002+09:00

Lucia is a kind soul. Always maintaining a smile and carrying an air and grace of carefree eternal youth. She owns a toystore here on Gallusovo Nabrezje. The store is a treasure chest for the young, the silly and the curious. Memories are jogged by the toys and games which decorate each shelf. Displays display all things colourful and fun.I'm not superstitious or religious, but i believe in good vibes and positivity. And i like to travel with a charm or mascot. The mascot who began the trip with me was a small but powerful porcelain guardian angel.

I'm not a violent person either, but i'm sorry to say i smashed the angel into tiny pieces. She was the devil in disguise. She brought nothing but expensive repair bills and un-certainty. Also, i'm not sure if guardian angels are fully suited to provide care and fortune on the road. In this sunny existence of ours, i deem myself fortunate enough. If i have any, i assume all my guardian angels just want to lay down and watch a movie.

So, with thanks to Lucia and the toystore here in Ljubljana, i have a new lucky charm. It comes in the form of a green (for positivity & good fortune) kaliedescope. It hangs on the mirror of the jeep. It provides a blanket of good vibes and an immediate & hedonistic escape from heavy traffic.

Joze Plecnik might not have been thinking about hedonistic escapes when he created Ljubljana, but tonight i thank Slovenia's most celebrated architect. He designed a city that's been a great escape from the autobahn.

With ljove and ljight from Ljubljana, and beneath an umbrellor stolen from an Austrian hotel... -Glenn x

King of the Autobahn

2009-07-06T03:13:00.005+09:00

It's no wonder Germany is home to so many quality manufacturers of car. The entire country seems to consist of winding roads carving smooth curves through alpine forest. Everything feels and reads like a clip from Top Gear.

Audi's, BMW's, Mercedes and Porches all flew past my gentle, topless procession. Driving time in the newly fixed Suzuki is a slow and steady procession, takin' in easy and feelin' it breezy. Upon leaving AutohausPeter GmbH, "take it easy on the motorway", were the last words of advice given by Mr Peter. I olblige. And with 700km in two days, the jeep obliges too. Peter and his team testify true to the positve stereotype of German mechanics.

So, with this roadshow moving into a new moon of positive energy and forward motion, we've waved goodbye to Germany and tonight wave hallo to Austria. My inner self has room remaining for hearty sausage and single 0.5l servings of beer. As for my couchsurfing friend next to me (the Korean Princess), we're still attempting to find out whats German for 'non-fizzy water'.

Being back on the road means adventure is plentiful on the menu. I have much to tell but little time to tell it. From the lobby of a hotel, the slow but free connection and the knowing glare of staff who do not recognise me as a guest are pointers that it's time to leave.

Before i do, some holiday snaps to share...How do you like your eggs in the morning? I like mine with bed-hair.

Everything in the jeep is retro, even the sat-nav.

Germany into Austria... rolling hills of lush and green.

Dinner with friends...

As for the Austrian birds of human variety, they all appear to be in national dress. Maybe as it's a Sunday and maybe as this is a small town its the usual thing. I don't know. I would ask but they make me mumble my words and go weak at the knees.

Anyway, i've got clothes washing by hand to do.

Gutten Reis,
Glenn x

The Fairytale of St.Goar

2009-06-29T19:00:00.000+09:00

Once upon a time there lived a blissful optimist and a Korean Princess. They lived in a tent in the valley of the River Rhine. Each day they would wake up and make coffee in the back of their jeep, explore hills, castles and the townsfolk of St. Goar. And every evening they would cook, drink wine and dine under the stars.Life was perfect.

However, they dreamt of hills and townsfolk beyond St.Goar. So one day they packed their tent, frisbee and gas stoves into the jeep and left St.Goar. But they didn't get very far. 20kms along the road the jeep became broken.The blissful optimist and Korean Princess then made a home in the village of Simmern while they waited for news of the jeeps repair. Simmern was kind. The village provided a first-rate Suzuki dealer & workshop, refreshing Bitburger beer and a comfortable hotel on Schloss strasse.Even Frank Sinatra was happy to be in Simmern.The stay in Simmern was short. Having returned to homely Amsterdam, the blissful optimist and Korean Princess thought long and hard about a costly repair bill as the jeep lay restfully back in Simmern. The decision process aided by a very helpful and wise man and woman.

To be continued...

Moving, Grooving, Packing Up

2009-06-22T03:12:00.000+09:00

Spare bedroom, Amsterdamseweg. Somewhere between then and later. Packing up and moving out (for a while a least, maybe more).Having chose the luxury to stay at the family home throughout my time at university, i only imagine this is what it feels like to pack up and head home from college. My semester consisted of vegetarian cooking lessons, learning to appreciate wine, falling in love with a girl named Amsterdam and heaps of quality time with the worlds greatest room-mates. I'm happy with the weight i've put on in terms of experience and bric-a-brac.

Books titled the soul of education share a table with the staff rota of a golf store. A cycling map of the Netherlands is aged and used beyond its years. The framed portrait of Salvadore Dali is bordered by several polaroids of you, me and weekend visitors. A flyer serves as a subtle reminder of the great salsa dancer i could have become, 100euros for ten weeks and its place on the bottom of Februarys to-do list.Nearly 9 months but it feels like 5 minutes and 5 years. All at the same time.

In preperation for departure, i shake my backpack empty and rummage through a big walk-in cupboard. The combined treasures consist of:
Clothing
Several books
1 un-used webcam
12 Swedish Kroner
22 English pounds
1 championship manager CD
1 porcelin guardian angel
1 black, long-haired wig
4 Dutch language textbooks
1 birthday calendar
1 novelty microphone pen
5 drawings from appreciative students
46 polaroids of a Dutch cycle tour

From a walk-in cupboard to the back of a jeep. The backpack re-filled with summer t-shirts, clean pants, toiletries and flip-flops, then placed in the back of a jeep. And to complete this summers hippy and hedonistic vibe, a BBQ, a tent and my cajon make their home next to the backpack. I'm fully prepared for dinner and jamming under the stars.

First stop: Koblenz.
Departure: Tomorrow.

Bon voyage, and Happy Summer,
-Glenn

Lessons in Exploration

2009-06-14T06:10:00.003+09:00

An overcast but warm Sunday afternoon lends itself to attention divided by skype, maps, coffee top-ups and turning thoughts into words. Attention diverted from un-certainty and stillness to opportunity and living high, mighty and righteously. Among the scatter of the table, a leaflet advertises the Henry Hudson 400.The man above may or may not be Henry Hudson. No known portraits exist but encyclopaedias and history books around the world offer this as the real Mr Hudson. He was a 16th century English explorer. Amsterdam is where he called home and where he re-charged his ideas and limbs. I agree, Amsterdam is a great place to be, just be. Whatever that means for you. It's always nice to travel but the feeling of returning to the city where BMW's give way to bikes is warm.

Its sad the vocation of full-time explorer has disappeared from our collective existence. We've fallen into habits of consulting books, bombarding forums and finding comfort in knowing each corner of our globe is covered by a Lonely Planet guide. Personal experience and reflection teach that is both helpful and tragic. Sure, the LP books are helpful when you're stranded at Manila bus terminal at 2am on Christmas morning. I used mine as a makeshift pillow. But in the grander scheme of gaining an enriching experience from your inter-continental adventures, its no fun trying to explore surrounded by McDonalds signs and internet connections. Mr Hudson didn't have a Lonely Planet guide. He travelled with a thirst for adventure and childlike curiosity.

Children make good explorers. Their innocence eliminates risk and curiosity becomes the governing body. I express gratitude for the recent lower school assembly and the learning of Henry Hudson. I also express gratitude to the children i share my workspace with, i learn as much from them as they do from me.

So, with lessons in being open and being an explorer in mind, i'll soon take to the roads of central Europe to discover and explore tiny pockets and unknown (to me at least) villages of Germany, Austria, Slovenia, Italy and France. I'll spend no time on motorways, little time in cities and all my time with a Korean girl i've never met. The back of the jeep will be decked out with a tent, a backpack full of clothes, a BBQ, modest cooking utensils and no laptop.

When setting out on his explorations, Henry Hudson was searching for a northeast shipping route to India. My premise is much simpler. I'm travelling for hedonism. For pleasure. Because i want to. Because schools out for summer. Because i have some modest money in the bank. The pleasure of waking up on a beach to make bacon & honey sandwiches, the pleasure of driving through ancient French villages with a nice iPod playlist, the pleasure of making a bed under the stars, the pleasure of sharing a few minutes or a few days with friends i've not yet met, the pleasure of eating authentic cuisine & drinking locally made wine, the pleasure of no schedule, people to see or things to do, and the pleasure of packing life into the back of a jeep to move on to the next coastal village.

Apart from the mechanics of the jeep and the strings & pegs of the tent, my other tool in exploration is a website and philosophy called Couchsurfing. I've been a member for nearly 4 years and it's the only piece of social networking i swear by. In a nutshell, you build a profile and you're free to interact with the world under the premise of sleeping on the worlds sofa's and crashing it's spare rooms. In times when hitch-hiking is dying out, hospitality towards strangers can be hard to come by. Couchurfing has more than a million people registered in 232 countries. That's a million people open, ready and willing to meet you at the station, show you some sights, cook with you, share an evening, share breakfast and send you on your way.

And i'll return the favour.

Throughout these past 4 years, Couchsurfing has given my travel adventures flavour and stories i could never have imagined. I've met with strangers and departed good friends in far-flung corners of Asia, and hope to cross paths again. But in keeping with living now, Yumi is my newest Couchsurfing buddy.

Since close friends and their circumstances politely declined invitations to share my summer adventure, the thought of solo travel briefly flirted with me. After all, solo travel gives increased opportunity to slouching around in ones undergarments. As attractive and appealing that idea is, i decided to open up the passenger door of the jeep to Couchsurfers worldwide. Yumi replied to my invitation and after several e-mails she's already a friend. We share most things Korean, a love of Jaso Mraz and a favourite film. We'll meet for the first time when i pick her up at Frankfurt Airport.

Go build yourself a Couchsurfing profile and see what happens; couples, groups, the gay, the elderly, the rich, the poor and families are all welcomed.

Surf, host and explore where you live, you wont regret it.

It's easy like a Sunday afternoon.Thanks for hanging around,
- Glenn

P.S... For exploring acoustic music without standing in a large crowd, look no further than your own living room.

Todays Mood: Still

2009-06-04T05:19:00.000+09:00

Hands in pockets, body-weight leaning on shoulder
Supported by nearest and dearest
No hesitating, just waiting, days older
No news is good news and that's good news
No need to panic
Opportunity walks in these shoes

Not much else to report, i just didn't want loneliness being top story at this conversation station.

Namaste,
Glenn

Salt & peppers lonely hearts club

2009-05-29T04:57:00.003+09:00

I've been told this weblog of passing thoughts and minds-eye mutterings makes me sound lonely. As i craft this entry from a wooden deck on top of the river Amstel, i couldn't be happier in this moment of solitude.
Lonely i'm not, but i would prefer the chair opposite me occupied, and for the table to serve as a roof for an under-cover footsie match. The chair opposite is un-occupied, but it's ok. I want you to know that i'm in love with everyone and everything aound me, in one way or another.

I haven't wrote alot lately. An un-certain future the cause of energy placed elsewhere. Telephone calls, e-mails, applications, CV's and several teaching related accronyms all occupy top-spot in the league of this gentleman. Thankfuly though, another part of elsewhere consists of a summer tour. I'm not armed with an instrument or band, i don't sing or dance well without strong local beer and i'm not an artist or person of importance, but 'summer tour' sounds good.

With all this un-certainty regarding a next vocation and lifes post-August location, it's important to disappear into the sunset in an old Suzuki jeep every so often. Un-certainties will be certain, and writing from the road will be more frequent and less lonely.

Though for compensation, i do now carry a paper journal. It's with me everywhere i go and it's pages home to several half-completed poems and notes for a childrens book promoting the benefits of moderate use of marijuana. This will more than likely go un-finished and eventually, un-published.

As for this blog entry, there's no wi-fi on the banks of the Amstel so i'm scribbling this post on a Heineken beer mat and leaving it for you on the bar.Your friend by the river,
Glenn.

Before, during and after

2009-05-20T04:35:00.000+09:00

Before...During...After...

Life is just a series,

of before, during and after,
Don't think about your before or after during,
Never regret your during after,
Disregard yearning for the during before,
Live now and write a stupid poem,
Then write a few more.

Hasta pronto,
Glenn x

From Russia with love

2009-04-24T04:37:00.005+09:00

Having got the taste for life on the road, i'm spending all my online social networking hours on couchsurfing.com, tempting fate on message boards and interacting with several cities from the comfort of a dining table in Amstelveen.

After several weeks of inbox neglect, this invite looks promising...4 seems a little excessive but i sent a polite reply.

Maybe it's a proposition of fake marriage for a visa, maybe it's a genuine cup of something. I'll keep you up-dated.

In other news... working in a lively international school means i'm newly aware of events and happenings i'd have otherwise been regretably ignorant of. So, Happy International Book Day! Thanks to my class of 6 & 7 year-olds, i'm becoming re-acquainted with childrens books. My favourite is 'The Giving Tree' by Shel Silverstein.Tomorrow, i will go to school dressed as a tree. It's 'dress as your favourite book/charactor day'.

Happy Reading

Tour diary: long and boring

2009-04-18T04:48:00.019+09:00

The bike trip was a pleasure. Life on the road is good; fresh orange juice with a fresh focus on the next kilometres, drifting daily through changing landscapes & horizons, ending each tour leg with a refreshing beer, sharing a dinner table with different faces and waking up in a new bed ready to start the process once more. Bliss. I express deep thanks and gratitude to friends on the way, hosts, waiters & waitresses, the weather and conveniently located cafes.

* * * * * * * * *

Day 1 - Friday 10th April...
Apart from a very approximate route, one hostel booking and one stay with a friend of a friend, nothing was pre-planned. This long distance cycle trip came without a puncture repair kit, but came with a modest gram of white widow for the journey. Last nights dinner, Amstel bier, wine and 2am bedtime didn't dampen the spirit as i cooked a 7.30am uitsmijter breakfast for Neil and myself. Keith and Edi awoke to take photos and wave us off.We left behind the familiarity of Amstelveen and skirted around the huge complex that is Schipol airport. Invisible steps in the sky gently brought planes down around us as momentum took us to and through Haarlem. The start of any journey usually includes great momentum. Ours took us to a coffee on Bloemendaal beach before 11am. 33km.

Sandwiched between long, hard but scenic sand dunes was a toasted sandwich. Lunch in Nordwijk consisted of more Amstel and a ham en kaas toastie. Even sunstroke and dehydration couldn't stop us completing the longest leg of the tour. We arrived in Scheveningen for 5pm. 72km.

Pasta and chicken with a pesto sauce, devoured. Devoured on the sand in a very nice beach restaurant. Several evening hours were then spent with Lizeth and Tim at Crazy Pianos. 1am at the hostel and Neil heads to bed, i stay up an hour or so later talking and drinking with the Dutch & Australian owner and manager. Dutch and Australian is a good blend for a hostel management team.Day 2 - Saturday 11th April...
Awake at 7am with a moderate hangover. Spirits are lifted by a nice shower and a basic but delightful breakfast at the hostel. A Christian choir group of 30 or so Indonesian students give an impromptu performance in the courtyard. Standard.Delft is the half-way stop. We reach Delft after an hours cycling. 14km. Coffee and apple pie come before a leisurely stroll around the picturesque city known as 'mini Amsterdam'. Neil buys cycling shorts. We now both wear football shorts over the lycra to hide the embarrassing yet functional skin tight vibe.

We pass through Delftland en-route to Rotterdam; beautiful forests, national parks, small villages and nature reserves. I'm distracted from my headache. We reach Rotterdam for 2pm. 12km. Having made a late lunch in a shaded green area, i fall asleep on un-shaded grass. I awake to find my hangover replaced with sunstroke.

In search of a bed for the night, we cycle to a tourist information office who lead us to the Tulip Inn. We then cycle to the Tulip Inn where we get a 40% discount and a room up-grade. The receptionist advises that a safe place for the bikes would be in the room. We carry the bikes up two flights of stairs to the room. The balcony has a good view of the Erasmus Bridge.

A night of trawling Rotterdams bars and clubs had been on our invisible agenda, but after a relaxing bath each, headaches and aching limbs pave the way for a mild evening. We watch the latest instalment of the 'Fast & Furious' films at a huge Pathe complex. Further al-fresco dining followed and i'm almost sorry to say watching Match of the Day in bed followed that.Day 3 - Sunday 12th April...
Having purposely left the balcony door open all night, i awake to a cool breeze and a white curtain dancing in-front of the window. It's cool and overcast. Neil wakes up and we make a coffee in the hotel room before being on the road by 9.30am. A man on the bridge is amazed at the Polaroid when we ask him to take a photo.

It's easter Sunday and waitresses are impressed to simply have customers. We take tea in Oud Beijerland and lunch in Numansdorp. The waitresses are more than impressed by our journey so far. I'm impressed by a 2km tunnel running under a lake. The tunnel is for cycles only and has two huge elevators at each side. There is a sign specifying horse aren't permitted in the tunnel. The countryside rolls and the horizon changes subtly before revealing Sommelsdijk. 61km.

Cor and Simone are friends of Keith and Edi. I have met Simone once and Cor twice before. He's a great chef and we eat lamb chops in a honey & port sauce, roast potatoes and a tomato salad. Later, we watch the Masters golf on TV. Cor keeps referring to Phil Mickelsson as Phil Collins. Another bottle...Day 4 - Monday 13th April...
Due to a great breakfast and the other bottle, we don't hit the road until 11am. Today is a long stretch of cycling hopefully ending in Middelburg. The lingering grey mist doesn't clear and gets worse as we near the dams of the deltaworks. It's cold and we can't see 50m in front of us. We stop once for photos and once to eat the sandwiches Simone made us. We also stop at a fishermans cafe where everyone is drunk and older than 80. We cycle for 6 hours. 65km.Mist clears as we come in-land and approach Middelburg. It's a really nice student city, there's no chain stores, only small private shops and a cobbled square which is home to several cafes. We pick one with the most comfortable looking seats and order a beer.

Tonight we Couchsurf. There aren't many Couchsurfers outside the bigger Dutch cities, so we look forward to staying with Menno. Within 20mins of arriving we have helped move the kitchen outside and sit enjoying an easter Monday dinner of bread, cakes, painted eggs and cold meat cuts. The background sound of a 1930's German gramophone makes for smiles and warmth.After a refreshing shower, we take Menno and a friend, Kathryn from New Zealand, out for a couple of beers. The bar closes and we're asked to leave. We head back to room G and watch a film together, The Yes Man. I think i might try that for a month or so.

Menno will stay in his girlfriends room so Neil takes the bed and i sleep on a mattress on the floor, it reminds me of the floor sleeping mats in Korea. I dream about noraebang.

Day 5 - Tuesday 14th April...
Menno slept in and missed his class. This means we enjoy a breakfast together of ham & cheese toasties and coffee. After some farewell photos, we're on the road for 10.30am. Something doesn't feel right this morning. We encounter two sets of huge roadworks, make a wrong turning and have to wait for a farm lorry blocking the road.

After 20km i realise i have left my video camera and camera at Menno's. We make a water stop at a Shell petrol station. I SMS Menno to check and call tonights kind host, Ann (the mother of Lizeth) to check everything is ok. Menno will post the cameras and dinner is at 6.30pm.

The afternoon is a tough, long and straight road from Zeeland into Brabant. Apart from a lunch stop in Goes we chase horizons for 4 hours. 55km.We arrive in Hoogerheide at 4pm and relax in the sun with a couple of beers. I've visited the Boonstra family home a few times but never via cycle. I have to call once more for directions. Ann sends Liz's sister, Iris, out to meet us. After dinner and a nice warm shower, Klaas takes us on a walk around the surrounding area. He's a quality control manager at the Fokker air base which is hidden in the countryside.

Back at home we have a coffee while flicking through the Polaroids of the trip so far, then a beer while watching the Chelsea v Liverpool football match. I decide after the match that i don't like Rafa Benitez. Having witnessed such an epic match, Chelsea manager Gus Hiddink looked close to tears at the final whistle and appeared to try and hug Benitez. Benitez refused, shook hands in a business like manner and vanished down the tunnel. He should have hugged. Football is the real winner at occasions like this, a carnival celebration of the game.

Day 6 - Wednesday 15th April...
Klaas left for work at 7.30am, Iris wakes us up at 8am before she heads to school and Ann is busy with some e-mails. Me and Neil have breakfast while trying to remember the route Klaas advised yesterday. We plot it on our map and are on the bikes by 9.30am. The shortest route to Antwerpen would take a couple of hours and 32km alongside a motorway. We go through the forest of Groete Meer, the village of Huijbergen and enter Belgium at the small village of Heide.

Lunch is made in a small park outside Antwerpen. A petrol station sign states it's 28degrees. As we get closer to Antwerpen, cycle paths get worse and vanish into the busy roads. Foo Fighters play on my iPod and i enjoy swerving in and out of the traffic.An elderly Dutch couple take our photo on the main square in Antwerpen. 42km. We made it.

We locate a tourist information office and book a perfectly located hotel room for 48euros including breakfast.

Late in the afternoon, the blue skies and 28degree sunshine give way to a short storm of rain, thunder and lightening. We find shelter on the covered terrace of a restaurant behind the cathedral. Neil has beef steak and i have fish. We finish a litre of wine while waiting for the rain. We then find a sports bar to watch the FC Porto v Man Utd Champions League match.

An evening stroll and a further couple of beers ensue. Bedtime.

Day 7 - Thursday 16th April...
Now experts in enjoying a leisurely breakfast, we enjoy a leisurely breakfast. A short cycle to the train station follows and we pay 28euros each to take a bike and ourselves back to Amsterdam Centraal via Rosendaal. It takes 2.5hours.

Back in Amstelveen, we take a late lunch at Cafe 1890. We sit at the exact same table as we sat for dinner the previous Thursday evening. Come down complete.

* * * * * * * * *

If you've read this far you're either a real friend or a stalker. Whichever, leave a comment and i'll buy you dinner.

Boobs, breasts, wangers and a samurai

2009-04-08T19:56:00.005+09:00

Dear Blog,

I am a dead-beat dad. I have starved you of my time and attention of late. For this, i apologise. I have been spending more time in the kitchen, in bed, writing with ink on paper, pottering and buying a car.

I have starved you of my words, pictures and non-event events but i'll make it up to you.

See...

Last Friday was National Cleavage Day. To celebrate this important moment in our calendar, i went completely topless. My buoyant breasts were bouncing free and spurred on by a cool breeze in the spring sunshine.Despite keeping a blog, I sometimes don't reference myself very well. Therefore moments of contradiction and confusion are allowed. My love of cycling is still in-tact but my two wheeled bike now has a four wheeled brother. I'd say sister but the Suzuki Samurai is too rough and ready to be feminine.

He's fun to drive, was born in 1989 (and will soon be tax exempt), motions forward with a full four wheels, rattles, needs two new seats & a radio and together we'll explore & conquer Europe in the mild heat of June and July.

However, for the more immediate future, it's back to the bike. Neil arrives in Amsterdam tomorrow. After a steak dinner, a catch-up and a bottle or two of wine, it'll be 7 days and 350km of un-predictable Dutch weather. Stay tuned you.

In joy, your evening.

Coming soon: The Big Red Bicycle Tour

2009-03-22T04:27:00.012+09:00

1 rented Amsterdam street bike
1 town bike of 1940's Swedish design
1 polaroid camera
2 increasingly un-athletic guys from England
6 days
350 kilometers (approx)

No lycra
Tourists and residents-a-like now take their coffee outside. Daffodils fill green voids in the middle of roundabouts. My winter jacket has been replaced with a thinner and cooler jacket. Spring is in the air and everything feels a little more free, joyful, alive and sexy.

Throughout the fast approaching easter vacation, i aim to be free, joyful, alive and sexy in the following Dutch towns and cities, from the Netherlands to Belgium; Amsterdam, Amstelveen, Zandvoort, Scheveningen, Den Haag, Delft, Rotterdam, Sommelsdijk, Burgh, Middelburg and Bergen op Zoom.

Nearly a year after our South Korean walkabout (see here and here), Mr Neil Byrne will once again be my companion in moderate adventure. Last year it was hiking and bus-ing around the Korean peninsula, this year we'll be carving ourselves thighs like Ruel Fox while exploring Dutch cities, countryside & coastlines.If all goes to plan, a train ride back to Amsterdam and a well-earned sauna will ensue.

Zorba the Greek pie: A receipe

2009-03-17T23:01:00.000+09:00

Cooking is a new hobby. The kitchen is a nice place to be. If i had a Facebook account, i would up-date my status with; "does nice things with spinach."
I (middle) have many reasons to be thankful to these two people (left and right).

They are housemates, landlords, landladies, friends, family and sources of wisdom & inspiration. He (left) also happens to a be a great cook and she (right) is a vegetarian. This combination means that i'm learning to cook creative, eating healthier and breaking wind more often.On the sideboard:
A glass of beer to sip while preparing
Pastry
Fresh spinach
Feta cheese
Eggs
Cream
Oregano, salt & pepper,
Potatoes
Various greens, reds, yellows and oranges for your favourite salad

On the iPod:
I prefer latin or reggae in the kitchen. As it's getting close to summer and we made the switch from red to rose, lets go for some feel good sunshine Bob Marley.

First, gather an oven dish and grease with butter or from forehead if it's a hot day. Take a square of pastry and make a cut in each corner approx. an inch long. Fold up and squeeze tight to form a modest pastry tray or raft. One average person will eat two of these.Fill half your raft(s) with chopped and squeezed spinach. Take a second to enjoy a sip of beer.Next, crumble some feta over the top of the spinach. Then in a bowl, beat a couple of eggs and add cream. Stir, little darlin' stir it up (that line as a cooking pun was stolen from Jason Mraz, thank-you, J). Pour the desired amount over the spinach and feta, sprinkle with oregano. Be generous. Put your generosity in the oven for 20mins at 250 degrees.Meanwhile, for dishes on the side I prefer a leafy salad with cherry tomatoes and fried potatoes. Serve with a smile, salt, pepper, mayonaise for the potatoes and salad dressing. As spring is in the air, go for rose. Enjoy.What's English for bon appetit?