It's been a while, there's some catching up to do

It's been some time since my last post, but more since the last documentation of events - considering I did Queen's Day and Dublin back-to-back, I should have written them as such. But I've been lazy and committing it all to text has gotten away from me.

So, on the 5th of May, I jetted my way over to Dublin with barely a Country Road bag full of clothes, ready to meet up with Shivs (whom I hadn't seen since I left Sydney the first time in January), Dalts and Tones (missing since the end of last year), Brent (still sorely missed since London) and Rats (and old school friend I hadn't seen in ages). Fumbling around the airport, I managed to make it to O'Connell St and called Brent, who suggested meeting up at the 50m high spike in the centre of the city. Genius idea for a meeting point (though all credibility was lost when I found out the Irish use miles for distance but kilometres per hour for speed... seriously). We met up, said our hellos and wandered off to find our hostel. Brent can take full blame for the shithole that was our accommodation, but I'll get to that later. Dumping our bags, we proceeded to crash in the common room, me recovering from a hang over from work and them from a horror 20 hour bus trip with stops through the night. There was a short walk/reconnaisance, but minds were elsewhere.

It wasn't long before Dalts and Tones arrived and the drinking could commence. We headed to Temple district and got stuck in. Not much more needs to be explained about the night (not that I remember much of it). We headed from bar to bar, sinking pints of Guiness (that I now have a fond affinity with) until I could barely walk. The halftime kebab was my downfall, but after some 'light relief', I was back on my feet and we continued on. Highlights include meeting Brent's Irish mate Ciaran who, having seen some attractive (but not really) girls walking up the street, proceeded to address them in his Irish-accented, Viennese German. Before he could finish his line, the girls had delievered theirs - a hearty 'fook orff'. We fell over laughing quite quickly. The total ban in all bars was a godsend - everyone felt so much 'cleaner' for lack of a better word. But Rats was thinking ahead and persuaded me to buy him some snuff. Racking up lines on our hands in every bar we were in must have looked highly suspicious, but having everyone sneeze straight away perhaps shed some light on our true motivations.

The next morning I awoke early with a killer hangover, so disappeared into the streets to find some Gatorade, panadol and sustenance. Most people had sorted themselves out by 12pm, so we went down to watch the football and start drinking again. This time, I decided that pacing myself was a better option and managed to stay ahead of the pack. A conversation with a 60 year old couple turned interesting when they started lining up our snuff on the table at 4 in the afternoon. Brent was feeling a little worse for wear, but Dalts, Shivs and I kicked on. We met some very strange girls in a random Irish pub, but I can't remember much of the conversation whatsoever. They were ridiculously stupid, but anything more escapes me. We ended up with nowhere to go at the end of the night, though Shivs and Dalts kicked onto the Viper Room where I was too cheap to drop E15 on the cover charge with half an hour til closing.

The next morning was just as seedy, but this time I had been monstered by bed bugs. Disgusting to say the least. More fucking around, but Brent and I were on a tight schedule to get back to work, so we disappeared that arvo for our respective flights.

The next week was quiet, except for some heavy work at 180, but Shivs arrived for a short stay on the 18th (what was a public holiday, but I was in the office anyway). Getting in early in the evening, we dumped the bags and headed to 'Cargo' (a.k.a. Verck). A few beers there and we moved to the 'Sheaf' (a.k.a. Cafe van Zuylen) and drained another pint or two. I was trying to organise a drink with a Dutch friend of mine, so after some text ping pong, contact was established and we decided to walk to the other end of the city to grab another few beers. It's quite a trek from Sheaf (at Spui) to Cafe de Pijp (de Pijp) but we undertook our mission with vigour. I think Shivs appreciated the walk because he was vocal on said Dutch friend's physical appearance.

The next day, we did a bit of exploring (having slept in til the afternoon) and then started drinking at the FA Cup Final. From there, we just moved around the city, from bar to bar, chatting and drinking ourselves into oblivion.

Shivs stayed til Thursday, so did his touristy shit while I was at work. The only other real event of note was watching the Champions League final at my office in our conference room. I was having a beer with my Account Manager (who also gets the Shivs Nod of Approval) and Shivs dropped by, sank some beers with us and watched the game. As it happens, on colleague is a AC Milan fan from his childhood in Italy and displayed many characteristics synonymous with Italian football fans - the reason he was in the office is because he said that he'd do something at a bar that wouldn't guarantee his safety.

Shivs left on Thursday and Tash McCarthy arrived on Saturday. It was great to catch up after having not seen each other for ages, but I have to say, I was very impressed with her drinking ability. A long night of drinking on Saturday and some experimentation with local produce on Sunday made for two fantastic nights.

It's fast approaching midnight (thanks DJ Shadow) so I think I might end it here. A quiet few weeks in store (unless I get to France in 10 days or so), then a trip to London and JBo coming over with a posse - should be great fun...

Queen's Day 2007

It’s been a couple of weeks since the last post, but what a couple of weeks! First Queen’s Day with Tommy G (the biggest national holiday in the Dutch calendar), backed up with a long weekend in Dublin; simply epic.
Friday night, after work, involved work drinks to welcome in the holiday season. Expecting Tom to get there about 9pm or so, I’d duck out, dump his bags and bring him back to festivities before heading out. But I get a call at 6 and he’s missed his flight. Went… (wait for it) to the wrong airport. Only in London, with 4 options, could you go to the wrong airport. No matter – he’d be a little later that night but I’d be several more free beers down at the office. By the time he did arrive, I was well on my way to plastered, having just had a lively discussion about the pros and cons of Xbox vs. PS3 which nearly came to blows (in fact, I don’t really have an opinion on the matter, but stirring him up was way too much fun).
Having found Tom, we dumped his bags and headed out to Spui (pronounced Spow I’ve now learnt) to meet Anno and more of her French friends. Essentially Tom and I got stuck into the beers but the difference between the two parties was noticeable – the extended drinking on my side versus the subdued marijuana-induced coma of the Frogs. In fact, I’m not sure how appreciated my exuberance was. Either way, Tom and I enjoyed ourselves to the wee hours and then stumbled home to crash.
The next morning was consumed with the search for a reasonable café for breakfast (not a meal I’ve been accustomed to in Amsterdam due to my propensity to the snooze button). Wandering the canals for nigh on an hour, we eventually came across something that resembled a café and sat down. From memory, which is thoroughly hazy, and no photographic evidence until much later that night, we chilled in the apartment sinking beers and watching Arnie back to back. Eventually we headed down to a café in De Pijp (the Surry Hills of Damage) that, once we finally found it sans directions, turned out to be a winner. €5 for some of the strongest mojitos I’ve ever had meant that loosening up wasn’t a problem. But our party had other ideas – a house party further into the depths of unknown territory. With more battle communications and some of the best gut-instinct map work you’ve ever seen, we appeared at the front door… just as the decision was made to head to another bar. Essentially a venue too small for the amount of people we had (which ignores that fact that it already had its own thriving contingent of drunk Dutchmen) we were jammed up into one corner. But the alcohol and conversation flowed freely and again, we stumbled home hammered (only this time it was an hour long covert op north – not the most pleasant march home I’ve ever had).
Waking up the next day, we were determined to achieve something, so it was decided Tom and I would head to the Rijksmuseum and, if we had time, the Heineken Experience. After brushing the option of a one and a half hour cut-in at the Anne Frank house (though the offer was most generous), we strolled down to Museumplein where we did a speed-through of the Rijksmuseum, limited to one minor wing for renovations. We then waltzed down Museumplein and up to the Heineken Museum, getting there seconds before it closed. Actually, it HAD closed but I sweet-talked the hot door-bitch into letting us in, haha. What a joke the Heineken Experience is. We burned through it in no time, only waiting to experience being a beer going through the bottling process and at the bars to score our free beers. And to play a drum-kit made of giant beer bottle tops – standard.
It was Sunday night by this stage, ‘Queen’s Night’ – the day before the holiday when everyone just heads out to get blind. The streets were heaving and there were people everywhere. After wandering around, Anno called to see where we were and we ended up in the most rammed street, sneaking beers and talking shit. The night is a blur, but Anno came back to see my apartment with Tom and I and then she and I disappeared back into the streets with a bottle of wine and two glasses to find her crew. Class.
Queen’s Day is simply ridiculous. The canals are flooded with people on both sides who are still drinking from the previous night. There innumerable boats with a driver, a DJ and 40 dancing people busting out their best moves as they meander down the canals. Every 10 metres or so, someone is stroking their narcissistic DJ alter-ego by pushing their speakers and decks out the window for the benefit of dancing revellers below. With plenty of time, Tom and I explored the Vondelpark, full of kids performing and families undertaking the traditional garage style in the park (no one pays tax on Queen’s Day and it has become a tradition to flog your shit). Tom stepped up to the plate with the ‘crush-an-egg-with-a-boule-and-win-a-six-pack’ and scored the beer on throw number 3 (he only mentioned afterwards that he’s actually pretty awesome at boule).
We wandered back through Museumplein, where DJ Tiesto was headlining a massive free concert (we’re talking 2-3 times as big as main stage at Big Day Out) and back to canals. We missed Puck (her friend had taken a glass shrapnel wound to the foot and retired hurt) but we met with Anno and her friends toward the end of the night.
I needed to be up for work the next day and Tom had an early train to Dusseldorf, but it was with GREAT reluctance that we surfaced at 8am the next day. What an epic long weekend!