Thursday, February 23, 2012
Friday, July 15, 2011
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
The Last Coffee Shop
The last coffee shop I visited was near the Hilversun train station. Not Hilversun Noord Station, the one three minutes south where I got off to make my transfer to Berlin an hour before and realized it didn't exist. Just plain Hilversun - the station commonly referred to as "Nenkbeench" or "Nobench" by the Dutch, as it is thought to be the only multi-platform station in the region, perhaps all of Europe, that offers nowhere for its passengers to sit while they wait for the next train.
The coffee shop was called "Coffee Shop." A middle-aged Middle Eastern man of medium height and build was behind the bar - with exactly four feet of counterspace on either side of him, if I recall correctly. He was speaking in Arabic with three other men. He said, "hello" to Anthony and I. We said we wanted drinks and he pointed to the joints menu. I said lemon iced tea and he handed me a can of peach iced tea. We went to the back and rolled a joint from coffee we already had. Then I thought it best not to smoke in the shop, equating it to bringing your own six pack into a bar. Then I thought it best not to smoke at all, equating it to purposefully making myself easily confused before engaging in an activity that I already failed at while I was less easily confused. The iced tea was terrible, like drinking the saliva of someone who'd been chewing gummy peach rings.
The coffee shop was called "Coffee Shop." A middle-aged Middle Eastern man of medium height and build was behind the bar - with exactly four feet of counterspace on either side of him, if I recall correctly. He was speaking in Arabic with three other men. He said, "hello" to Anthony and I. We said we wanted drinks and he pointed to the joints menu. I said lemon iced tea and he handed me a can of peach iced tea. We went to the back and rolled a joint from coffee we already had. Then I thought it best not to smoke in the shop, equating it to bringing your own six pack into a bar. Then I thought it best not to smoke at all, equating it to purposefully making myself easily confused before engaging in an activity that I already failed at while I was less easily confused. The iced tea was terrible, like drinking the saliva of someone who'd been chewing gummy peach rings.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
A Tribute to Mr. Horvath
Peter!
You, who
picked me up, plus one, from
the train station and did not
hesitate to put us both up for five
nights in your spotless living room.
You, who
had one of the largest pizzas
I have ever seen waiting on
your dining room table,
who,
took us to the pub that night,
though you had to work
the next morning.
You, who
brought us along to your hometown
to meet your wonderful parents, who
had the best meal of my trip
ready to eat, and who got us
drunk on beer and Hungarian liquor
at two in the afternoon, and gave
us wine, more liquor, and cigars
as parting gifts.
You, who
drove us further, to another town,
and introduced us to more of
your family, warm and welcoming
despite hardly understanding us,
at the birthday party for your
one year old cousin, Bence.
You, who
drove us still further, while
we slept, to the hometown of
your girlfriend Anna, where you
took us to the party, a DJ
festival at an arena, and...
And Anna's parents, who put
us up that night in their
new home and fed us
breakfast in the morning.
And you, who
took us Go-Kart racing that
day on the fastest Go-Karts
I have ever seen.
You, who gave me perfect
directions (bus, train, bus)
to the airport, and showed
me the cheapest flight to
Amsterdam.
You, who
cooked for us,
fed us,
paid for far too much of it,
who let us use your washing machine,
even your toothbrush (just kidding... or am I?)
Mr. Horvath, you, I salute!
Take care, Peter. Hope to see you again soon.
Click here for some Budapest pictures (admittedly I may have gotten carried away with Picassa photo editing)
You, who
picked me up, plus one, from
the train station and did not
hesitate to put us both up for five
nights in your spotless living room.
You, who
had one of the largest pizzas
I have ever seen waiting on
your dining room table,
who,
took us to the pub that night,
though you had to work
the next morning.
You, who
brought us along to your hometown
to meet your wonderful parents, who
had the best meal of my trip
ready to eat, and who got us
drunk on beer and Hungarian liquor
at two in the afternoon, and gave
us wine, more liquor, and cigars
as parting gifts.
You, who
drove us further, to another town,
and introduced us to more of
your family, warm and welcoming
despite hardly understanding us,
at the birthday party for your
one year old cousin, Bence.
You, who
drove us still further, while
we slept, to the hometown of
your girlfriend Anna, where you
took us to the party, a DJ
festival at an arena, and...
And Anna's parents, who put
us up that night in their
new home and fed us
breakfast in the morning.
And you, who
took us Go-Kart racing that
day on the fastest Go-Karts
I have ever seen.
You, who gave me perfect
directions (bus, train, bus)
to the airport, and showed
me the cheapest flight to
Amsterdam.
You, who
cooked for us,
fed us,
paid for far too much of it,
who let us use your washing machine,
even your toothbrush (just kidding... or am I?)
Mr. Horvath, you, I salute!
Take care, Peter. Hope to see you again soon.
Click here for some Budapest pictures (admittedly I may have gotten carried away with Picassa photo editing)
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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