The other day I told a friend that I didn’t really have an opinion on Dutch culture, since it’s not hugely different from what I’m used to. That’s absolutely true.

Since I assume most of you don’t know this, I have had the weekend from hell. The combination of lots of hard work, three dead hard drives in one day, and a harsh wanker course co-ordinator has resulted in my spending roughly 24 hours straight panicking. I’m now on a train, having reconstructed the most urgent lost work, and I’m attempting to get to Amsterdam to meet with some friends. It’s Sinterklaas day in Amsterdam, it’s a Sunday so every other route is down (more…)


Why yes, it is a mini travel journal. Only broken down in handy bullets. Cause this is the internet. And the internet loves lists.  (more…)

There’s a number of really good reasons to take public transport. It’s good for the environment, it adds social experience, in some cases it’s cheaper than cars and it avoids traffic jams, accidents and death.

Yet somehow the majority of people prefer to sit in the tin death traps that are cars and face at least two crawling, snaking queues every day. I think I know why.


There’s something almost poetic about driving in the middle of the night.

The little country me and my little car frequent during the day is a busy place, full of big cars cutting in front of you, of teenaged schoolchildren with not enough sense of safety, of traffic jams and red lights.

Not so at night. All of a sudden the blearing, bustling traffic has made room for space. Pedestrians and cyclists are nowhere to be found. The very few cars you meet in the fog are other lone travelers heading home, absorbed in their own little world. The last thing they’re doing is cutting in.

The massive flow of impressions and information you get while driving during the day has been reduced to a trickle, leaving room for music.


For some reason, a lot of people hate their capital.

Long, thoughtful articles are written about why the Flemish don’t like to go to Brussels, most peripheral French people don’t like Paris, and several of the Brits I know hate London with a vengeance.

Well, sorry to my British friends, but I quite like the place. Mostly cause it’s one of the more… schizophrenic cities I’ve been to.


 Personally, I think my geographical skills are excellent. Sadly, I’m the only one that would define them like that.

You see, I usually get to the place I want to be, eventually, but not always by the route I had planned. Thus, about a quarter of the places I’ve visited in my driving life were seen unintentionally, stumbled upon when I really wanted to be somewhere else. There’s a myriad of tiny boring village centers and tree-lined streets that I’ve driven through, that really shouldn’t be more than a name on a signpost to me.

This doesn’t, however, mean that I want some electronic bitch telling me where to go.


 “I’m an alien, I’m a legal alien, I’m an Englishman in New York.”
There’s probably more appropriate songs, but it’s the only one that came to mind. So yeah, I’ve been to Vegas. And there are really no words for how bewildering an experience it was.
That won’t stop me from trying, though.