tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-838484152268423402024-03-14T01:30:37.227-07:00The Way I See ItIsaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-45485293432318811292012-12-14T05:07:00.001-08:002012-12-14T05:07:00.699-08:00Reply to The Toronto Star: Why Do People Hate Him (Justin Bieber) So Much?<p align="left">In its article dated December 13, 2012, the <em>Toronto Star</em> was asking <a href="http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/article/1301739--justin-bieber-murder-plot-why-do-people-hate-him-so-much">why do people hate Justin Bieber</a>. That came following the revelation of <a href="http://www.thestar.com/news/world/article/1301429--justin-bieber-two-men-accused-in-plot-to-murder-castrate-pop-star">a plot to murder (!) Bieber</a>.</p> <p align="left">Finally an interesting question to ponder with.</p> <p align="left">I’ll start by saying that the plot to murder Mr. Bieber is insane, backward, unacceptable and is a terrible thing to read about. While I certainly am not Justin Bieber’s fan – not even in the slightest – it doesn’t matter what you think about the person and/or the music he is performing, plotting to murder the youngster is just plain wrong. I hope the people who were charged with this will be brought to trial, and if found guilty, will receive the maximum punishment allowed by Ontario’s law.</p> <p align="left">As I wrote above, I am not a fan of Justin Bieber’s music. With regards to Bieber’s <em>person</em>, I can’t say I hate him (or love him) for the mere fact that I don’t know him. As a matter of fact, I consider prying into strangers’ personal lives – whether they are celebrities or not – as an excellent exercise in wasting precious time.</p> <p align="left">Still, I have my own opinion as to why Bieber is so disliked. My opinion is that there are a few reasons for this, most of which have nothing to do with Bieber’s personality.</p> <h2 align="left">Reason 1: The Person</h2> <p align="left">No, <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-2194124/Justin-Bieber-drives-100-000-chrome-wrapped-car-Los-Angeles.html">driving a $100,000 car through the streets of Los Angeles</a> doesn’t (or at least shouldn’t) render Bieber a subject of hate. Jealousy? maybe. Hate? definitely not.</p> <p align="left">People who hate Bieber because of his wealth are living in denial. Luck has it upon our society and we live in a capitalist one. Bieber rides his vehicle and treats it exactly the same way that I treat my 1998 Honda Accord, or the way that you treat your 2008 Ford Focus. $100,000 for Bieber is what $50 are to you and me. It’d be safe enough to assume that, of those who hate Bieber because of his wealth, I could find close to zero who would refuse being as rich as Bieber is.</p> <p align="left">So yes, it is OK to be jealous. Most people in the world would have liked the idea of not having to work 9 to 5 jobs for the sake of survival; but it is what it is. Whoever you are, there’s someone else who’s richer than you are, and if not – then there’s some else who aspires to be as rich as you are. But to actually <em>hate</em> the guy for his wealth? give me a break.</p> <p>That being said, <em>disrespect</em> may be in order. On that front, I can’t help but reminiscing over <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktor_Frankl">Viktor Frankl</a>’s immortal “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man%27s_Search_for_Meaning">Man’s Search for Meaning</a>”, where he claims that <em>freedom</em> and <em>responsibility</em> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Statue_of_Responsibility">go hand in hand</a>. People would respect Bieber much more, had he put his immense financial & influential resources towards good use. And no, <a href="http://www.ivillage.com/justin-bieber-helps-spread-word-fans-good-cause/1-a-422240">replying over Twitter to someone about supporting organ donations</a> is not enough; neither is <a href="http://www.looktothestars.org/celebrity/justin-bieber">supporting all sorts of charities</a>.</p> <p>We’d prefer to see Bieber to more than just saying “OK” to his PR folks when they ask him whether he’s interested in donating to a certain charity. We’d prefer to see some <em>active</em>, <em>personal</em> involvement for good cause. Bieber is 18 years old, with his entire life in front of him; now is the time to be personally involved in something good for humanity’s sake, in a way that risks a bit more than his chequebook.</p> <p>Other people claim they “hate” Justin Bieber because he has a negative impact on culture. This I’m not sure I agree with. Many decades ago, <em>The Beatles</em> weren’t welcome in the USA for this very same reason. What seems like “negative impact” today, may as well be perceived as “positive impact” years from now. It is too early, in my opinion, to judge Bieber’s case at the moment.</p> <h2 align="left">Reason 2: The Music Industry & Dehumanization</h2> <p align="left">This one has little to do with Bieber’s personality, and has everything to do with the music industry.</p> <p align="left">Something terrible is going on with the music industry as a whole, which can be explained by the very existence of this very term, “music industry”. Music became an industry. Not that it wasn’t an industry before, of course; but still, you have to be living under a really heavy rock in order to not realize that the race towards money and fame seems to drive more artists nowadays than it did 50 years ago.</p> <p align="left">Can you seriously compare today’s Justin Bieber; or the various sorts of gangster-wannabe rappers; or the forcibly-provocative figures such as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicki_Minaj">Nicki Minaj</a>; or the forcibly-extravagant of… well, too many names I could place here and I prefer to insult them all equally so I’ll avoid naming names – can you compare those to Bob Dylan? John Lennon? Mark Knopfler (well, you saw this one coming, didn’t you)? Robert Plant? Freddie Mercury? Eddie Vedder? Pink Floyd?</p> <p align="left">You can’t. It’s not that the latter group isn’t (or wasn’t) popular. It’s simply that the latter group is a group of <em>musicians</em>, and the former group (Bieber et al) are a group of <em>PR machines</em>.</p> <p align="left">Can you compare <em>any</em> of Justin Bieber’s lyrics to, say, this?</p> <blockquote> <p><em>The captain, barely breathing, kneeling at the wheel <br />Above him and beneath him fifty thousand tons of steel <br />He looked over at his compass, and he gazed into its face <br />Needle pointing downward, he knew he lost the race</em></p> <p><em>In the dark illumination he remembered bygone years <br />He read the Book of Revelation, and he filled his cup with tears <br />When the Reaper's task had ended, sixteen hundred had gone to rest <br />The good, the bad, the rich, the poor, the loveliest and the best</em></p> <p align="left"><em>(from Bob Dylan’s “Tempest”, 2012)</em></p> </blockquote> <p>The above is not even an old song. It’s brand new, 2012, from Dylan’s last album “<em>Tempest</em>”, telling in an <a href="http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Tempest-lyrics-Bob-Dylan/5CE3920A11A5CFA148257A780014B884">extraordinarily beautiful words</a> the story of the Titanic sinking.</p> <p>I think you see my point already. The popularity of musicians today – much of which is controlled by the media – is very loosely correlated to those musician’s actual contribution to the music world. Neither Bieber, nor Minaj, nor Lady Gaga, nor… well, nor pretty much any “current” PR machine could <em>never</em>, <em>ever</em>, exhibit even a tad of Dylan’s songwriting skills.</p> <p>So what’s happening here? there’s a group of people – who, personality-wise, might otherwise be really great, who knows – who are being nicely wrapped by money-making PR businesses who dehumanize them and provide them to us, the music consumers, as <em>products</em>. We’re having the product shoved into our faces (and our ears), touting the product’s worthiness based on criteria that has <em>nothing</em> to do with music (for example: being handsome; being sexy; being sensational; being rich) – and that’s when the <em>Halo Effect </em>and <em>Attribute Substitution </em>kick in.</p> <p>The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halo_effect">Halo effect</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attribute_substitution">Attribute Substitution</a> are two psychological phenomena that are so profoundly common that I can hardly imagine any PR machine <em>not</em> basing itself upon them. Read about them and you should be able to figure things out.</p> <p>I guess that what I’m saying is, that the mass disrespect towards Bieber might actually have something to do with the fact that the amount of PR attention that he receives is completely and utterly disproportional to his contribution to culture in general, and music in particular.</p> <h2 align="left">Reason 3: Reward for Hard Work?</h2> <p align="left">Most people still associate “reward” with “hard work”. Be honest with yourselves: who amongst us hasn’t been told repeatedly during their childhood years, that good things come to those who work hard? that reward and hard work are intertwined and inseparable?</p> <p align="left">It can be understood, then, why most people exhibit a fair bit of frustration when they witness that there are exceptions to this rule. In that respect, there isn’t much difference between the disrespect people feel towards Bieber and the disrespect certain people feel towards the Royal Family, for example. I admit to belong to that group: while I am not in the position where I struggle for my existence, I still find it frustrating, at times, to witness people getting rewarded for doing very little.</p> <p align="left">We encounter such frustration whenever we identify a gap between someone’s <em>perceived intrinsic value</em> and their <em>reflected value</em>. In other words, we tend to exhibit negative feelings towards people who <em><u>we</u> </em>perceive as having put very little effort into being successful, and at the same time being extraordinarily rewarded for it.</p> <p align="left">That, however, isn’t Bieber’s problem. The world is ever-changing; values that used to hold true before, aren’t necessarily holding true nowadays. In today’s day and age, reward and hard work aren’t tightly correlated as before. You really don’t need much <em>intrinsic value</em> to become rewarded, especially when you correlate “reward” with “money”. To become rich, you don’t necessarily have to work hard – at least not as hard as you’d have to work 30 or 40 years ago.</p> <p> <hr /></p> <p>Signing off this post while Bob Dylan’s “Tempest” still rings in my ears.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Isaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-18623673072229082302012-11-20T16:51:00.001-08:002013-09-10T22:52:36.831-07:00War, 2012<p>I am writing this while sitting in my apartment’s solarium. The view from the 27th floor (well, it’s actually the 23rd floor, considering the fact that there are no floors numbered 4, 13, 14 and 24. The number “4”, in Chinese, rhymes with the word “death”) is spectacular. Mostly cloudy; it rained for a very short while, and the sun is now making an appearance somewhere, casting some light over the city.</p> <p>It looks something like this:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-mIDlfRsc0Qg/UjAFHcZwd3I/AAAAAAAAfSY/gasb9gG2yRY/s1600-h/P1050405%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050405" style="display: inline" alt="P1050405" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-GMM2Vi9JhwY/UjAFHybwpNI/AAAAAAAAfSk/vkmK9Nd4i_c/P1050405_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="277" /></a></p> <p>It has been a very rough week. My entire family, and most of my friends, live in Israel. Unless you have been living under a rock over the last week or so (and if you did – I envy you), you are most likely aware of the fact that last week, after 12 years during which rockets have been fired by the Islamo-fascist regime called <em>Hamas</em> (along with its partners, carrying names such as <em>Islamic Jihad</em> and so on) onto towns in southern Israel, the government of Israel decided (finally) that the situation doesn’t make any sense and started <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Pillar_of_Cloud">Operation Pillar of Cloud</a></em>.</p> <p>The entire worldwide attention suddenly shifted around in an amazing pace. As soon as the operation started (by obliterating Hamas’ chief of staff, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahmed_Jabari">Ahmed Jabari</a>, who, in 1998, <a href="http://www.timesofisrael.com/ahmad-jabari-1960-2012/">ordered his soldiers to open fire at an Israeli school bus</a>), the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casualties_of_the_Syrian_civil_war">30,000+ casualties in Syria</a> – murdered by Syria’s own administration – didn’t matter anymore; world hunger, other worldwide conflicts, the limping worldwide economy – all of these simply vanished off the radar, and the entire world turned its attention to Israel, the <em><a href="http://www.bobdylan.com/us/songs/neighborhood-bully">Neighbourhood Bully</a></em>, who has decided to take on the indescribably-unacceptable act of protecting its own citizens.</p> <p>One day after the operation started, rockets – fired by Hamas – <a href="http://www.vancouversun.com/news/Aviv+shaken+rocket+scare/7565319/story.html">hit central Israel for the first time</a> (just for providing the unaware reader with some proportions, “central Israel” is located 80km away from Gaza. That’s about 50 miles. <a href="http://blog.isaac.shabtay.com/2012/11/80km-from-anywhere-almost.html">Here, this might help</a>).</p> <p>Even though the governments of Israel over the years have made it a norm for its southern residents to live under rocket fire for 12 years – yes, there’s no typo here; 12 years. That’s how twisted Israeli politics can get – still, a mental barrier shattered to pieces once rockets started hitting Tel-Aviv. That, considering the fact that the current Israeli government is the most right-winged government in Israel’s 64 years of existence.</p> <hr /> <blockquote> <p><em>“Religion is what keeps the poor from killing the rich” <br />   - Napoleon Bonaparte</em></p> </blockquote> <p>The social media, of course, wasn’t left behind. I have spent hours doing my best to defend Israel’s position in various forums and threads, with very mixed results.</p> <p>Here is what I have learned:</p> <ul> <li>Individuals who base their opinion solely on what they hear in the media are very unlikely to have any sort of perspective. That is true regardless of how developed is the economy where such individuals live; this seems to be some sort of a global truth. </li> <li>It is virtually impossible to have Islamo-fascists (and their supporters) take any sort of responsibility over the repercussions of terrorism acts. That, again, has very little to do with <em>where</em> these people live. As a matter of fact, one of the most twisted-minded individuals I had the misfortune to discuss with happened to be a Canadian, living right across the bridge in North Vancouver. </li> <li>The interpretation people provide to religion – <em>any religion</em> – has always been, and is most likely bound to always be, the number one reason for warfare. This is especially true for monotheistic religions, where “my God is true, yours is garbage” is not an uncommon value. </li> <li>I don’t have enough brainpower to cope, conversationally, with people who lack the sense of personal, and communal, responsibility. Such people I am simply allergic to. </li> </ul> <p>And finally, to my Israeli friends, this one is for you:</p> <p>There is, unfortunately, very little point in trying to use social media to convince others that you are correct when it comes to Islamo-fascism. Even if there <em>is</em> a point, the methods in which you’re trying to convince others are rather pointless:</p> <ul> <li>Those who already understand the dangers of Islamo-fascism don’t require convincing in the first place. </li> <li>Those who already bought into Islamo-fascism, didn’t buy into it based on proper research and independent, critical thinking. They bought into it as a result of being brainwashed – either by mass media, family, friends, you name it – and your arguments are very unlikely to change that. </li> <li>A true Islamo-fascist will never admit any wrongdoings of Islamo-fascist regimes. </li> <li>(<strong><u>This one is important</u></strong>) Those who are undecided, but haven’t yet bought into Islamo-fascism, have already demonstrated their ability to withstand the pressures of mass media and superficial allegations. They aren’t impressed by all sorts of pointless images and tables, showing graphs of rockets being fired by each side. Just as they didn’t buy into graphs, tables and images spread by Islamo-fascism, they aren’t going to react to graphs, tables and images spread by Israel’s supporters. <br /> <br /><em>That is not the way to do it</em>. <br /> <br />So how this should be done? Here: <ul> <li>Class up. Don’t bring yourselves down to the level of those whose wrongdoings you want highlighted. Control your temper. </li> <li>ALWAYS present facts. </li> <li>DON’T confuse facts with fiction. </li> <li>AVOID, to the greatest extent possible, presenting opinions. This is the key issue here: people who have the ability for critical thinking simply don’t buy into attempts of others to influence their thinking. Present the facts to them, and <em><font size="4">have them reach the conclusions themselves</font></em>. </li> <li>Read the last bullet again loudly. <strike>Sip, rinse, spit.</strike> </li> </ul> </li> </ul> <hr /> <p>It’s 4:40pm now. Starting to get a little dark. The BC Place, located right in front of my apartment, is starting to show some colors:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-hb6gMfN2Fpk/UjAFIVNs5KI/AAAAAAAAfSs/PP4hl-JoxzI/s1600-h/P1050410%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050410" style="display: inline" alt="P1050410" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-vUeRqHWz_po/UjAFI0usQjI/AAAAAAAAfS0/_MXiou3P1pM/P1050410_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="277" /></a></p> <p>It’s a pretty sight.</p> <p>Soon, I will head over to a nearby coffee place and continue working on the music score for something I have been working on, for a while. If it wasn’t for rockets flying over the heads of so many people I care for, I would have said that life is just about perfect at the moment.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Isaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-66318627795296132002012-11-15T10:35:00.001-08:002013-09-10T22:51:10.644-07:0080km from Anywhere (Almost)<p>Some of my friends might be listening to the news in their home countries and hear that Israel, “once again”, “overreacts”.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-g-AMfhV2xj4/UjAEyo4Zx_I/AAAAAAAAfSI/MVwgYZOM5bc/s1600-h/80km%25255B3%25255D.png"><img title="80km" style="display: inline" alt="80km" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-OGzpSwYkXEk/UjAEzCjnU2I/AAAAAAAAfSQ/NB7mf_TcXqM/80km_thumb%25255B1%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="492" height="262" /></a></p> <p>To help my friends get some perspective, I went through my Facebook friends list and, using <a href="http://www.freemaptools.com">http://www.freemaptools.com</a>, created some links to help understand what 80km means.</p> <p>Why 80km? 80km is the range of missiles fired from Gaza into Israel.</p> <p><strong>How to use this table</strong>: find a city near you, and click the link beside you. Imagine you live in that city, and rockets are fired at you from any point within the green circle. Conversely, imagine that rockets are fired from the center of the green circle, and your house is anywhere within that circle.</p> <p>Overreacting, huh?</p> <p>(I have close to 300 friends, from many places around the world; naturally, I didn’t cover everything. But this should give you some idea)</p> <h2>Europe</h2> <table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" width="488" border="1"><tbody> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203"> <p align="center"><strong>City</strong></p> </td> <td valign="top" width="283"> <p align="center"><strong>Link</strong></p> </td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Delft, The Netherlands</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.009507&clng=4.360514999999964&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.009507&clng=4.360514999999964&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.009507&clng=4.360514999999964&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Norwich, UK</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.630886&clng=1.2973550000000387&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.630886&clng=1.2973550000000387&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.630886&clng=1.2973550000000387&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Dagenham, UK</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.53889&clng=0.14742999999998574&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.53889&clng=0.14742999999998574&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.53889&clng=0.14742999999998574&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Lyon, France</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=45.764043&clng=4.835658999999964&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=45.764043&clng=4.835658999999964&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=45.764043&clng=4.835658999999964&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Dalfsen, The Netherlands</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.507755&clng=6.259667000000036&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.507755&clng=6.259667000000036&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.507755&clng=6.259667000000036&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Paris, France</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=48.856614&clng=2.3522219999999834&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=48.856614&clng=2.3522219999999834&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=48.856614&clng=2.3522219999999834&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Prague, Czech Republic</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=50.075538&clng=14.437801000000036&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=50.075538&clng=14.437801000000036&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=50.075538&clng=14.437801000000036&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Sofia, Bulgaria</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=42.696492&clng=23.326010999999994&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=42.696492&clng=23.326010999999994&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=42.696492&clng=23.326010999999994&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Stockholm, Sweden</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=59.32893&clng=18.064910000000054&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=59.32893&clng=18.064910000000054&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=59.32893&clng=18.064910000000054&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Helsinki, Finland</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=60.169845&clng=24.93855099999996&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=60.169845&clng=24.93855099999996&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=60.169845&clng=24.93855099999996&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Dublin, Ireland</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=53.349443&clng=-6.260082000000011&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=53.349443&clng=-6.260082000000011&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=53.349443&clng=-6.260082000000011&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Amsterdam, The Netherlands</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.370216&clng=4.895168000000012&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.370216&clng=4.895168000000012&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.370216&clng=4.895168000000012&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Antwerp, Belgium</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.219216&clng=4.402881999999977&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.219216&clng=4.402881999999977&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.219216&clng=4.402881999999977&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">London, UK</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.507335&clng=-0.1276829999999336&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.507335&clng=-0.1276829999999336&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=51.507335&clng=-0.1276829999999336&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Valencia, Spain</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=39.470239&clng=-0.3768049999999903&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=39.470239&clng=-0.3768049999999903&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=39.470239&clng=-0.3768049999999903&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="203">Barcelona, Spain</td> <td valign="top" width="283"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=41.387917&clng=2.169918999999936&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=41.387917&clng=2.169918999999936&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=41.387917&clng=2.169918999999936&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> </tbody></table> <h2>North America</h2> <table cellspacing="0" cellpadding="2" width="488" border="1"><tbody> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199"> <p align="center"><strong>City</strong></p> </td> <td valign="top" width="287"> <p align="center"><strong>Link</strong></p> </td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Guelph, ON, Canada</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.544805&clng=-80.24816699999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.544805&clng=-80.24816699999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.544805&clng=-80.24816699999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Waterloo, ON, Canada</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.464258&clng=-80.52040999999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.464258&clng=-80.52040999999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.464258&clng=-80.52040999999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Vancouver, BC, Canada</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=49.261226&clng=-123.11392699999999&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=49.261226&clng=-123.11392699999999&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=49.261226&clng=-123.11392699999999&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Toronto, ON, Canada</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.653226&clng=-79.38318400000003&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.653226&clng=-79.38318400000003&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=43.653226&clng=-79.38318400000003&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Nashville, TN, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.166667&clng=-86.78333299999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.166667&clng=-86.78333299999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.166667&clng=-86.78333299999997&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Flagstaff, AZ, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=35.201352&clng=-111.639249&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=35.201352&clng=-111.639249&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=35.201352&clng=-111.639249&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Santa Cruz, CA, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.974117&clng=-122.03079600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.974117&clng=-122.03079600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.974117&clng=-122.03079600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Los-Angeles, CA, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=34.052234&clng=-118.24368500000003&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=34.052234&clng=-118.24368500000003&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=34.052234&clng=-118.24368500000003&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Clearwater, FL, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=27.965853&clng=-82.80010299999998&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=27.965853&clng=-82.80010299999998&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=27.965853&clng=-82.80010299999998&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Salem, OR, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=44.942898&clng=-123.03509600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=44.942898&clng=-123.03509600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=44.942898&clng=-123.03509600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Rogers, AR, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.33202&clng=-94.118537&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.33202&clng=-94.118537&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=36.33202&clng=-94.118537&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Long Valley, NJ, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=40.785933&clng=-74.78016400000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=40.785933&clng=-74.78016400000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=40.785933&clng=-74.78016400000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Arlington, TX, USA</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=32.735687&clng=-97.10806600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=32.735687&clng=-97.10806600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=32.735687&clng=-97.10806600000001&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a></td> </tr> <tr> <td valign="top" width="199">Jasper, AB, Canada</td> <td valign="top" width="287"><a title="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.879277&clng=-118.07925599999999&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00" href="http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.879277&clng=-118.07925599999999&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00">http://www.freemaptools.com/radius-around-point.htm?clat=52.879277&clng=-118.07925599999999&r=80&lc=FFFFFF&lw=1&fc=00FF00</a> <br /> <br />(oh well. You have the Rocky Mountains to protect you, but anyway.)</td> </tr> </tbody></table> Isaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-7004729727879328682012-11-08T21:39:00.001-08:002013-09-10T22:46:09.072-07:00Headlines; Israel; Knopfler/Dylan Tour 2012 (Part 1)<p>Last time I wrote in here was on August 25. I was going to write a series of posts about <em><a href="http://blog.isaac.shabtay.com/2012/08/what-makes-for-good-software.html">what makes for a good software professional</a></em>. I had many ideas to write about – actually, I still have – however life seems to have had different plans for my free time.</p> <p>Other than being caught up with a lot of work, I also went for a short visit in Israel to spend some time with my beloved family and friends. It was the first time in ten years (!) since I spent the Jewish holidays’ time in Israel. I’m not religious by any means, but there’s something about the atmosphere in Israel during the High Holidays that makes it very special. And it was.</p> <p>And just as it was special, it was hot. I arrived to Israel on a Saturday, noon time. Temperature outside was around 28℃ and I felt as if I’m going to have to peel my own skin off, in order to stay cool. From the airport, I headed straight to my sister’s house, where some extended family members were seated having cold drinks and snacks on the patio.</p> <p>I looked at them.</p> <p>– “How on earth can you withstand this heat?”</p> <p>One of them looked at me as if I have just arrived from outer space.</p> <p>– “Heat? It’s nice outside! Can’t you feel the breeze?”</p> <p>It’s been ten years since I last felt the full force of Israeli summer. However, as it turns out, what I thought to be unbearable heat was actually considered mild weather in Israel nowadays. I was later told that, during the month of July, there was a period of about two weeks during which you couldn’t possibly be exposed to the sun for more than a few seconds without desiring to curse the entire world and its sister.</p> <p>I have no idea how people there stand the heat. Humidity at around 3,000%. You take a shower, wipe yourself dry, and on your way back to your room to get dressed – you’re already sweating again. Insane.</p> <hr /> <p>Two weeks earlier, at one pleasant Saturday evening, I spoke to my father on the phone. He was telling me – as he usually does – how unbearable life in Israel has become. I won’t get into the details (now) but suffice to say, “security” is not the only problem Israel is facing. The country has been led by a few incompetent governments that pretty much wiped out the entire so-called “middle class”.</p> <p>So, I decided to write something. Israel’s Prime Minister happens to have a Facebook page, where he posts populist propaganda in Hebrew as well as English. Fifteen minutes later, a post – in both Hebrew and English – written by yours truly, made its way there (see <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Netanyahu/posts/10151018732242076">here</a>).</p> <p>I don’t know what it was that prompted me to do so, but I also contacted <em>Y-Net</em>, which only happens to be the most popular online Israeli newspaper, and asked them if they would like to publish my article. I got an email back within 5 minutes: apparently, someone there got the impression that my writing could be of interest to others.</p> <p align="left">The next day, I went for a hike in the <em><a href="http://www.vancouvertrails.com/trails/stawamus-chief/">Stawamus Chief</a></em>, north of Vancouver. Just to give you a taste as to why this hike is so popular, consider these:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-H0BkPHzEJ-s/UjADgykIkUI/AAAAAAAAfQU/GUf9eUUOaNg/s1600-h/P1050094%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050094" style="display: inline" alt="P1050094" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-JNQLJlnQleU/UjADhdGiDLI/AAAAAAAAfQc/JWqp7Q7BQS8/P1050094_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="135" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6WIgDxi5VAU/UjADh3mvW0I/AAAAAAAAfQk/HMdf2HefuaQ/s1600-h/P1050131%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050131" style="display: inline" alt="P1050131" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-yi7UIYPDIhk/UjADiYI-_HI/AAAAAAAAfQs/pJVGfeynJSQ/P1050131_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="135" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-TJ6iUCePgss/UjADi6yFqWI/AAAAAAAAfQ0/vWVXNdVC_0I/s1600-h/P1050144%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050144" style="display: inline" alt="P1050144" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-HByiRmVsZBk/UjADjcfulvI/AAAAAAAAfQ8/mndaXjGp0OI/P1050144_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="135" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-pmvSG_fHuvc/UjADkLLUcrI/AAAAAAAAfRE/lBwHazCklqU/s1600-h/P1050147%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050147" style="display: inline" alt="P1050147" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-6pD3GpqmsHo/UjADkjSrd1I/AAAAAAAAfRM/UUlVWtuhlq0/P1050147_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="135" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-CoJa-7KGE5g/UjADkwlddJI/AAAAAAAAfRU/_FoiOO5EFTs/s1600-h/P1050151%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050151" style="display: inline" alt="P1050151" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-z2YGiJSYdBw/UjADlq5LTXI/AAAAAAAAfRc/Q1SMbE1QMVU/P1050151_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="135" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4WEQ2GUXk7U/UjADmdVisGI/AAAAAAAAfRk/DDuOcSIOkNA/s1600-h/P1050170%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050170" style="display: inline" alt="P1050170" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-31EV9ApaG7w/UjADm17s_PI/AAAAAAAAfRs/R0EBDNdRrIM/P1050170_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-7dsoWpR5oJM/UjADnX376cI/AAAAAAAAfR0/FbblBbLjvBw/s1600-h/P1050187%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050187" style="display: inline" alt="P1050187" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-SqZGweUpUz8/UjADnzLXm9I/AAAAAAAAfR8/IghIfj2cycg/P1050187_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="135" /></a></p> <p>As I was struggling to make my way up, I suddenly got an email: my posting has made it to Y-Net’s front page, in both the <a href="http://www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-4275560,00.html">Hebrew</a> and <a href="http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-4275872,00.html">English</a> sites.</p> <p>Turns out that my posting has hit a painful spot amongst readers. Comments were mixed, with some of them agreeing with my message and others being <em>extremely harsh</em> towards me – personally. Israelis absolutely hate it when outsiders criticize them, let alone when the outsider is someone who grew up there and decided to emigrate in search for a better life; needless to say, that hatred did find its way out in the form of extremely abusive comments.</p> <p>Later on, a flurry of Facebook friends requests and private messages made its way to my inbox. The articles were also linked-to by a few online magazines that cater towards Israelis (and former Israelis) living abroad.</p> <p>Regardless, I was happy for the opportunity I had to sound my voice; and just as I was happy for that, I was sad for the fact that Israel is being ruled by fascists and this is very unlikely to change soon.</p> <hr /> <p>Back to Canada on October 6. Four days later, a visitor who answers to the name <em>Jeroen Gerrits</em> made his appearance in Vancouver’s international airport, in preparation for our joint short attendance in this summer’s tour.</p> <p>Oh, the tour. Yes, I completely forgot. Mark Knopfler and Bob Dylan – having toured Europe last autumn – are doing this again, this time in the USA and Canada. For all sorts of reasons, a full tour attendance wasn’t on my plans this year; instead, I opted at following the tour from Vancouver to Los-Angeles. We’ll get into the reasons later. Or not.</p> <p>Showed the Dutchman around the city for a couple of days, and then, on October 12, it started. Knopfler and Dylan’s tour made it to Vancouver, performing in the Rogers Arena on Friday evening.</p> <p>Admittedly, it was strange – even very strange – to be able to leave my apartment and attend a Knopfler concert by merely walking a few blocks. As I live in the heart of Vancouver’s downtown, all major venues in the city are within walking distance and the Rogers Arena is one of them. Strange, really strange; usually, I fly to attend concerts; I drive; I sail; I’m being picked up by UPS trucks; but <strong><em><u>walk</u></em></strong>?! from my own apartment, into a Knopfler concert? that’s unheard of.</p> <p>More about the tour – in the next post.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Isaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-47934591420425148492012-08-25T14:55:00.001-07:002013-09-10T22:40:03.199-07:00What Makes for a Good Software Professional?<p>Sitting in <em>Blenz</em>, in Horseshoe Bay; it’s sunny outside but I figured I should finish this post before embarking on a pleasant stroll here (picture taken from within the cafe):</p> <p align="center"> <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-7DtbYy8tlvA/UjACL4T4DBI/AAAAAAAAfQA/hFtgvoM8fq8/s1600-h/P1050057%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1050057" style="display: inline" alt="P1050057" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-n-H62SBwQls/UjACMKmuAfI/AAAAAAAAfQI/2jLnW70WT0c/P1050057_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="277" /></a></p> <p>My software development career “officially” started when I was 18 years old (“officially”, as prior to that I was still doing software development, just not in a career capacity). Since then, I held two permanent positions.</p> <p>The first one lasted six years in an establishment I am not in the liberty to elaborate on.</p> <p>The second one was with the Santa Clara-based security firm <em>McAfee</em> (back then, it was still called <em>Network Associates</em>, until they acquired <em>McAfee</em> some time in 2004 or 2005 as far as I can recall).</p> <p>That last one lasted slightly more than a year. Then, one day in May 2004, I decided that I am no longer going to be fully committing myself to one department; one cubicle; one company; one interest. I decided that my professional destiny is to become a freelancer – spend my career working with multiple establishments, <u>over the long run</u>, and help them grow.</p> <p>In June 2004, my career as a freelancer kicked off and is still going to this day. I worked with many companies, across multiple industries, fulfilling various roles. Whether I am good or not at what I do – that is up to my clients to decide; however, I do have my own perception of <em>what makes for a good software professional</em>, and I am here to write about it. Whether you agree with it or not, is up to you.</p> <h3>Hands-on Experience & Responsibilities</h3> <p>Why is hands-on experience important?</p> <p>Granted, the software industry is over-saturated with software professionals (often dubbed “consultants”) who visit clients, write documents, tell people what should be done and haul away to their next project with a different client.</p> <p>I always had a problem with such an approach towards career development, for a couple of reasons.</p> <p>The first reason has to do with actual skills development. I have worked with hundreds of peers over the years, and I can safely state that there is a strong correlation between one’s level of hands-on experience and one’s quality of deliverables. As far as I am concerned, a software professional who claims to be top-notch without having hands-on experience is not entirely different from an M.D. who claims to be an excellent surgeon based on just reading and studying material, without having much hands-on experience cutting through flesh.</p> <p>This is not to say that “theoretical experience” is not important; it is. However, it is by no means enough (and I’ll elaborate on that in my next post).</p> <p>The second reason has to do with responsibility. I happen to be a strong believer in “practice what you preach”. If I am to cast my opinion in the ears of an information technology director of a company, I want to take full responsibility over the opinion and advice I provide.</p> <p>Too often in this industry, I run into individuals who consider responsibility to be a liability; I just can’t get my head around that. When you avoid putting yourself in the position of being responsible for the consequences of your clients following your advice, you automatically give up one of the most important tools – if not the most important tool of them all – to help you become a better professional over time. Not only that, but you also lose credibility – and without credibility, there is very little for you to do in this field.</p> <p>“Easier said than done” is the most understated value in the software industry today. Normally, the “easier said” part of the equation is done by salespeople, pundits and other non-hands-on-experienced individuals who are eager to make a point (or a sale). The “than done” part is obviously not “their problem” – that part is deferred to “later”. Someone else’s problem. “<em>I’d just like to get paid for the ‘easier said’ part, thank you</em>” kind of thing.</p> <p>I choose to operate differently. I never have, and never will, sugar-coat bad news or make things appear easy while they’re not, just to make a point. A top software professional is <em>not</em> someone who sugar-coats inconvenient truths; instead, it is someone who knows how to deliver bad news in a constructive manner, and build a case (for example, for a project) based on merits rather than wishful thinking.</p> <p>Next up, in a few days: <em>theory</em> vs. <em>practice</em></p> <p>Isaac</p> Isaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-29989627081344832682012-08-17T20:48:00.001-07:002012-08-17T20:48:46.794-07:00The Software World & Me<p>As of writing these lines, I am 34 years and a half old. This means that, for more than a half of my life, I have been doing software (and systems) programming, development and architecture. </p> <p>I remember, when I was a kid, a company named <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commodore_International">Commodore</a> and another company named <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atari">ATARI</a> came up with gaming consoles. I don’t remember how old I was; can’t be more than 7-8 years old. My cousin (R.I.P) had one, and I just knew that I must obtain one for myself. Alas, there’s very little that a 7-8 years old megalomaniac kid can do to obtain technological wonders that, back then, were very, very expensive. My dear father, witnessing my immense desire for one of those toys, got me one. </p> <p>A short while after entering the wonderful world of computing, I started thinking to myself – how are these things really done? I mean, what brings a small box-like metal object, lying on my floor, display moving objects on my television and respond to my commands? </p> <p>I was determined to know what on earth is it that makes this metal box react. From there on, it didn’t take much time to understand what a <i>computer program</i> is. </p> <p>I dragged my father to a nearby computers store (back then, they weren’t aplenty), and I got a wonderful book, explaining how to program in a programming language called <i>BASIC</i>. My first computer program wrote “Hello world” on the screen, an endless number of times. </p> <p>10 years later, it became a profession (well, I did learn to program stuff slightly more useful than printing “Hello world” repeatedly). 17-18 years later, it still is. </p> <hr /> <p>Over the years, I learned (by myself; I’m not a huge fan of studying in courses, classes or other arranged mediums) to program using many programming languages: Assembler, PL/I, COBOL, REXX, C, C++, Python, ADA and – most recently (that is, 12 years ago) – Java. </p> <p>Professionally, I fulfilled in a large variety of roles, ranging from system programming for mainframes (oh, those good old days) to functioning as a hands-on technical architect (“hands-on” meaning that my role usually involved more than just sitting on my ass writing documents and drawing diagrams). </p> <p>I have worked in the public sector; the private sector; the financial sector; the telecommunications sector; the consumer products sector; the e-commerce sector; and others. </p> <p>So, I did learn a thing or two over the years. Therefore, software development being such a prominent part of my life, I decided to, occasionally, share some of my knowledge & experience with others. Being a rather busy individual, I can’t predict how often I’ll be writing about software development here… but we’ll see.</p> <p>For now, though…</p> <p><a href="http://ca.linkedin.com/in/isaacshabtay"><img border="0" alt="View Isaac Shabtay's profile on LinkedIn" src="http://www.linkedin.com/img/webpromo/btn_viewmy_160x33.png" width="160" height="33" /> </a> <br /><a href="http://stackoverflow.com/users/443716/isaac" target="_blank"><img title="profile for Isaac at Stack Overflow, Q&A for professional and enthusiast programmers" alt="profile for Isaac at Stack Overflow, Q&A for professional and enthusiast programmers" src="http://stackoverflow.com/users/flair/443716.png?theme=dark" width="208" height="58" /></a></p> <p>-- <br />Isaac</p> Isaac Shabtayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17000427782527486260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-27146781015070495102012-05-26T19:22:00.001-07:002013-09-10T23:23:54.283-07:00Checkpoint, May 2012<p>Been quite a while since I wrote anything here. Well, I suppose that when life is so eventful, priorities kick in and things that are less urgent get stuck somewhere in the backburner of my mind.</p> <p>So, lets see how things have been here since last October. The end of the last year were rather complicated as I was preparing for a visit in Israel in December. That, however, wasn’t supposed to be an ordinary visit. Instead of a 2-3 weeks visit, I had the idea of making that particular trip a long one.</p> <p>In early December, I collaborated with Vancouver-locals <em>Rivka Stein</em> and <em>Leora Israel</em> to create this—my first attempt at playing anything on guitar in front of any sort of audience. Leora sang, Rivka edited the video and my friend <em>Oren Steinitz</em> from Calgary did the mixing for us—and the result was rather pleasant. Here, take a look.</p> <div class="embedded-video" style="width: 448px"><iframe style="height: 252px" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4AnY7IFbnPg" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div class="embedded-video-caption"> <p>The first and (most likely) the last time I ever attempt covering any Mark Knopfler song.</p> </div> </div> <p>I will never sing again.</p> <p>The next couple of months were beset by all sorts of emotional rollercoasters which, fortunately for you, aren’t going to be detailed here; and on December 14th, 2011, early morning, as my belongings were already stored in friends’ places, my ex landlord gave us (my father was visiting me at that time) a ride to the airport, where we took a flight to Israel.</p> <h2>Wonderful Time… Almost</h2> <p>The first two weeks in Israel were a lot of fun. Met with a few friends, spent time with family. Even took a trip to Jerusalem, which is one of the most astonishing cities I have ever been to.</p> <p>Then—I believe it was around December 28—I went to meet my friend Omer and his wife Efrat, a lovely couple from Tel-Aviv. We were sitting in a restaurant called “<em>Benedict</em>”, which serves all-day breakfasts (good ones, though; not your typical America-style greasy spoon breakfasts). Chit chatting about all sorts, when suddenly I felt a pain so sharp and so sudden that, for about 10 seconds, I wasn’t able to focus my sight on anything.</p> <p>“What the f**k was that”, I thought to myself; but the pain went away as quick as it arrived, so I really didn’t know what to think about it.</p> <p>Walking back home, I started feeling a bit strange. I had no idea what was going on but I felt tired, sluggish, irritated. Something wasn’t quite alright but I couldn’t pinpoint it.</p> <p>The next couple of days I spent hoping that this weird sensation around my groin area would go away already. That, unfortunately, didn’t happen. And then, at the new year’s eve, I was sitting down for coffee with an old-new friend, <em>Sharon</em>, who happens to have quite the background in paramedics.</p> <p>Five seconds after I finished describing exactly what it was that I had been feeling, she told me that she is absolutely confident that this is a hernia. For obvious reasons, a more thorough diagnosis did not take place.</p> <p><em>Hernia</em>? me? no. What the hell, these things don’t happen to me. Where the hell did that come from?</p> <p>Over the next couple of days, the pain increased to the point when it was no longer bearable. Something had to be done.</p> <h2>Surgery & Recovery</h2> <p>Once I found a surgeon that was available to consult me and operate on me—Professor <em>Avraham Czerniak</em> (and the story of how I got to him is extremely coincidental and amazing; respecting the privacy of the people involved, I will spare you from the details. I will just say that he is one of the best & most respected surgeons in the country)—indeed, it turned out that I was suffering from <em>Inguinal Hernia</em>. Due to the extreme pain involved, as well as other factors, the dear Professor advised that I should be operated on right away.</p> <p>A few days later I was admitted to <em>Assuta Hospital</em> in Tel Aviv. Surgery took about 45 minutes, and after a short night stay in the hospital, I was released home.</p> <p>And then… then the pain started. Completely coincidentally, I caught a virus or something that made me cough a lot. Now, I should tell you, that when you have stitches in your stomach and in your groin, coughing becomes an activity that is not fun at all—no matter where you came from. Absolutely excruciating pain. It took about a week before I was capable enough to walk from the living room to the bathroom without taking any break.</p> <h2>Back to Canada</h2> <p>It was not fun at all, I tell you. I spent another month there, hardly ever leaving home; as the surgeon advised that I check back with my family doctor in Canada within a month, I had to reschedule my flight ticket, and then, at the beginning of February, I bid everyone adieu and boarded a flight back to Vancouver.</p> <p>There was no chance in hell that I could have survived the long, 16 hours flight, tucked in an economy class seat. If there was ever the right time to upgrade to Business Class, that was it; $800 later, I was seated in Air Canada’s Business Class, offering champagne (which I couldn’t drink, as I was on medication) and a marvellous seat that reclines 180 degrees into a bed. I was therefore horizontal for the entire flight. I felt like absolute crap… and my only consolation was that it could have been much, <em>much</em> worse had I flown in Economy Class.</p> <p>Recovery, still, took a while. Wasn’t at all easy, considering the fact that I entered a brand new apartment, which meant that I had to pay a few visits to IKEA to furnish it all (my previous apartment was rented fully furnished). It wasn’t about a month later when I could finally enjoy being back in Vancouver, looking at the city from a balcony 27 floors high.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-apPWH1Q54TM/UjAB2eZs6DI/AAAAAAAAfPg/Kp3iSR1sb6M/s1600-h/463540_10150784355842073_561867072_10130560_383510088_o%25255B4%25255D%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="463540_10150784355842073_561867072_10130560_383510088_o[4]" style="display: inline" alt="463540_10150784355842073_561867072_10130560_383510088_o[4]" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Y__pjSR5YJk/UjAB268hvOI/AAAAAAAAfPk/I2egC8mamQo/463540_10150784355842073_561867072_10130560_383510088_o%25255B4%25255D_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="277" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-IiHxITHzRM0/UjAB3YrK00I/AAAAAAAAfPs/IJKe7XYdcMs/s1600-h/398745_10150557821247073_437174498_n%25255B4%25255D%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="398745_10150557821247073_437174498_n[4]" style="display: inline" alt="398745_10150557821247073_437174498_n[4]" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-R90lhX1yKio/UjAB30rASZI/AAAAAAAAfP4/ntOjohp6M_8/398745_10150557821247073_437174498_n%25255B4%25255D_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="328" /></a></p> <hr /> <p>Signing off this short post while I am again in Israel. Showed up here a few days ago to surprise my family… that went well.</p> <p>Having said that, I am very concerned with this country. Every time I come here, I realize that yet something else is missing, or has gone awry. This time, it’s all about the situation with the immense influx of African refugees/infiltrators/jobseekers (depends on who you ask, you’d get different answers) into the country, and some government-run insanity that’s going on around here. More on that in my next post.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-88597552574748717072011-10-25T14:20:00.001-07:002011-10-25T14:20:41.761-07:00Why I Will Never (Again) Own a BlackBerry<p>Now there’s an unusual post, considering the fact that over the last three years I have been writing about travel, <em>Mark Knopfler</em> concerts and general musings, often to readers’ dismay.</p> <p> <hr /></p> <p>I purchased my first (and only) BlackBerry back in March 2009. That was about 3 years too late—I had always wanted to be email-available from the road, partly due to my occupation. So, on March 2009, I finally kissed my old 2G phone goodbye and decided to promote myself to a <em>BlackBerry Bold 9000</em>, switching carriers along the way (from <em>Telus</em> to <em>Rogers</em>, as I prefer GSM technology over CDMA/TDMA, mostly due to the ability to switch SIM cards when I travel).</p> <p>I remember I was thrilled with my new purchase. Being able to communicate with the world while not sitting in front of my laptop… that was a new thing. With time, I came to realize that owning a smartphone is, essentially, owning an ad-hoc brain extension. Whatever information you wanted to have, at any point of time—you could have by virtue of hitting a few keys on the BlackBerry’s keyboard.</p> <p>Also, I used to live in <em>Waterloo</em>, <em>Ontario</em> for about 8 years. Coincidentally, that is where <em>Research in Motion</em>—BlackBerry’s maker—is headquartered. In fact, RIM is one of Waterloo’s biggest employers: they own huge real estate in the city of Waterloo, hiring countless students on co-op terms (thereby contributing to Waterloo’s economy while reducing their products’ quality. What can you do. You always get what you pay for, and when you pay $11/hour for a student to resolve bugs in your operating system, you’re bound to fail) and carry the reputation of a great company to work for.</p> <p>Two years and a half later, though, I am sitting in front of my computer, my BlackBerry lays down upon the desk looking as useless as it can be, and writing a blog post about why I am unlikely to ever own a BlackBerry again. Might be surprising to some, as I have been an avid BlackBerry user & advocate since the day I purchased one.</p> <p>But the time comes when you just can’t take it any more, and the time has come. I thought maybe I should write something up, as food for thought for whoever is considering (or will be considering) buying a BlackBerry. Some lessons I had learned and disappointments I had experienced.</p> <p> <hr /></p> <h3>The Operating System</h3> <p>The first problem I have with BlackBerry is the company’s (RIM’s) policy and tradition of keeping their operating system (“BlackBerry OS”) up to date and bug-free. The BlackBerry OS is certainly not bug-free, and I certainly am not expecting it to be bug-free; but it just seems to me that the company doesn’t do enough in order to make its operating system stable.</p> <p>Due to strange agreements between BlackBerry and mobile carriers—an agreement that end-users end up suffering from the most—the process of introducing fixes to the operating system is very complex, resulting in updates being available on an annual, or semi-annual basis at most. Each operating system version fixes a few issues and introduces new ones.</p> <p>One of the issues that made me decide to get rid of my BlackBerry is a strange memory leak that started manifesting itself after I upgraded my operating system about one year ago. I have to reboot my phone once a day in order to keep it alive, and that is regardless of the number of applications I have installed on it. The operating system simply fails to clean after itself, resulting in the handset becoming unresponsive as the day goes by until you have to reboot it, or it reboots itself.</p> <p>Now, who do you turn to when you have a problem like that? nobody. There really is no convenient way to report a problem and have it fixed. Call RIM? forget it. Prepare yourself for a long and expensive process of troubleshooting. Ask people online? sure, that’s free… as long as your time is worth nothing.</p> <p>People seem to be reporting similar issues in online forums, but really nothing is being done to resolve operating system glitches. The only “solution” for one’s misery is to upgrade their phone, as new phones support newer operating systems. Well, that’s a very clever way for RIM to make money, I suppose.</p> <h3>BlackBerry Internet Service (BIS)</h3> <p>For a BlackBerry device to connect to the Internet—be it for email retrieval or web surfing—all communications must go through special servers. In layman’s terms: between your device and the universe of the Internet, there exists a “middleman”. Every data packet that leaves your BlackBerry, has to go through BlackBerry’s servers (hence, the “middleman”) before reaching its destination, and the same holds for the response you get from that destination.</p> <p>One of the benefits of this “middleman” (at least that’s how RIM is marketing itself) is that the group of servers compresses data on-the-fly, thereby reducing the amount of data that is being transferred over the air. That’s why, with a BlackBerry, you can do much more with 1 megabyte of data than what you can do with another device (such as an <em>iPhone</em>).</p> <p>That used to be a very important selling point. Data transport used to be <em>very</em> expensive a few years ago, but not anymore. Today, for example with <em>Rogers</em>, you can’t possibly get a data package that includes less than 500MB of data, and it costs pennies to get more data allotment.</p> <p>So now that data is relatively cheap, other factors come into play that demonstrate that requiring that “middleman” is a huge pain the butt.</p> <h5></h5> <h5><u>Outages</u></h5> <p>For a period of a few days in October 2011, BlackBerry users worldwide were left in the dark following a technical problem with RIM’s central servers. Apparently RIM wasn’t (and perhaps still isn’t) very serious about its infrastructure backup strategies, so a glitch in one data center made most BlackBerries in the world become as useful as bricks.</p> <p>RIM’s response, as a company, was extremely disappointing. For days, it didn’t communicate about the problem at all, leaving users further in the dark with respect to what’s going on. When it was all over, they decided to reward people with $100 credit towards purchasing BlackBerry applications—an outrageous form of compensation, given the fact that BlackBerry’s applications are too expensive to begin with, plus they’re worth of shit.</p> <p>It simply doesn’t make sense to have a “middleman” for data transport when it provides very little benefit while subjecting you to severe outage risks.</p> <h5><u>Roaming</u></h5> <p>Here comes the really big pain, which is, for the most part, responsible for my decision to leave the BlackBerry world once and for all.</p> <p>In order to connect to the Internet, BlackBerry users must have access to BIS servers (those “middlemen” I had mentioned above). Right now, they get BIS access through their mobile providers—for example, I get mine through <em>Rogers</em>.</p> <p>Now lets say that you own a BlackBerry device and you need to get roaming. You get on an airplane, and nine hours later arrive at <em>The Netherlands</em>. You turn on your BlackBerry.</p> <p>From there on, you are no longer on your local network (<em>Rogers</em> in my case). You are a guest on a different network (in The Netherlands, for example, <em>KPN</em>, <em>Vodafone</em> and <em>T-Mobile</em> are very popular).</p> <p>Thereafter—regardless of the phone you use, not just a BlackBerry—you are subject to roaming rates on everything you do with your phone. The rates you’re paying are predetermined by your mobile carrier at home and are divided between voice rates (calls you make), text rates (for SMS messages you send and/or receive) and data rates (per kilobyte of data being sent by your phone and received by it). You can purchase all sorts of “roaming packages” from your mobile carrier at home, to sweeten the pill; but still we’re talking about a lot of money.</p> <p>For example, consider Rogers in Canada. If you don’t get any data roaming package, you will pay 3 cents per kilobyte of data usage. That’s $30 per megabyte. My monthly usage is about 80 MB; that amounts to about $2,400 a month. With data roaming packages, prices drop by as much as 80%, so the $2,400 can be lowered to $480. This still is a <em>lot</em> of money.</p> <p>So now comes the fun part. The savvy traveller might say—heck, I’m in Europe; I’ll just go ahead and buy a local SIM card, put it in my BlackBerry, top it up (using a pre-paid payment scheme) and there I go, surfing the net in local rates.</p> <p>And therein lies the problem. The vast majority of mobile carriers internationally, while being very happy to provide you with a SIM card that has data functionality on it, will be unable to provide you with access to their BIS servers (the “middlemen”), unless you sign a contract with them. Why? because the mobile carrier’s BIS servers cost them money and they can’t come up with a pre-paid pricing model that will make it effective for them.</p> <p>The only company I found that will provide you with BIS access on a pre-paid basis is <em>Orange</em> in the UK. That, however, is only useful if you travel in the UK. Anywhere else, you’re screwed.</p> <p>If, instead of a BlackBerry, you get a smartphone that doesn’t require a “middleman”, then you’re home free. You save hundreds of dollars on roaming fees, and are welcome to surf the net through your phone in local rates.</p> <p>So, apparently this issue has been bothering people for ages. RIM listened, and a few years ago they came up with a plan to resolve the issue. Instead of subscribers having to be hosted on mobile carriers’ BIS servers, the subscribers will be able to get BIS services directly from RIM. In such a scheme, you don’t need any favour from the foreign mobile carrier in order to get onto their BIS servers; all you need is data connectivity, and your pre-existing account with RIM will ensure you get BIS access everywhere.</p> <p>Sounds fantastic… however RIM, to this day, hasn’t done <em><strong><u>ANYTHING</u></strong></em> about it. That goes in line with RIM’s ongoing policy of completely ignoring their customers’ needs.</p> <p>RIM started as a company that caters to businesses; the first BlackBerries were used in the corporate market, and only after iPhone started wreaking havoc in the consumer market, RIM decided to show some presence outside the corporate world. They have failed, and they are still failing—not only because of being technologically behind (which they certainly are. Compare the latest iPhone and the latest BlackBerry), but mostly because RIM hasn’t fully adopted the “consumer” thinking yet.</p> <h3>Applications</h3> <p>BlackBerry App world.</p> <p>An operating system providing the facilities to create mediocre applications at most. And the next generation (QNX) may only shine due to its ability to run Android applications… using an emulator.</p> <p>Need I say more?</p> <hr /> <p>Goodbye RIM. It’s been nice… to an extent. I’m moving to Android.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-19224298734925008892011-10-21T14:04:00.001-07:002013-09-10T23:25:20.552-07:00Concert Day (Last One, for Me): Ahoy, Rotterdam, The Netherlands (October 21, 2011)<p>It does feel a little strange waking up for the last concert for me in a Mark Knopfler tour, which isn’t the last one for Mark & the band as well. It’s been quite a while since this band performed without me in the audience.</p> <p>Right from the get-go, it was a hard decision for me to make. There were a few factors involved in the decision; and to those of you who still consider “money” to be the primary barrier to cross, let me assure you that “money” wasn’t a factor. I’ll just say that, attending this entire, relatively short 33-concerts tour would force me to make sacrifices that I am not in the position to make as it might have adverse impact on many things down the road.</p> <p><em>Rotterdam</em> isn’t too far from <em>Delft</em>—about 15 minutes by train. The concert was scheduled to start at 7:30pm. Knowing in advance that that would be the last concert for me in the tour, I opted (along with Jeroen) at a general admission ticket so we knew we should be there early.</p> <p>Nobody was into the idea of working too hard, then. Left shortly past noon to a local restaurant in Delft, figuring that lunch is going to be the last main meal for the day. A local festival was taking place in Delft’s city centre.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-59PKdTN0N4s/UjAAjPv77PI/AAAAAAAAfMs/9z-dteeJBbA/s1600-h/IMG_3667%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3667" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3667" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-E7QCSBJhCr8/UjAAjlJ5W2I/AAAAAAAAfM0/n3lL-nQtI7M/IMG_3667_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gDX2JRY3YqI/UjAAkM82k_I/AAAAAAAAfM8/JYqLUwqP58E/s1600-h/IMG_3669%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3669" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3669" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-p9EHaiHnyuk/UjAAkkyy7OI/AAAAAAAAfNE/wIgzbeTlG6Y/IMG_3669_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>This cart you see above is quite the Dutch feat. It’s called “<em>Draaiorgel</em>”—basically, a <em>street organ</em> which traditionally is being powered by turning a wheel, but nowadays is mostly electronic.</p> <div class="embedded-video" style="width: 448px"><iframe style="height: 277px" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/izQdXOsP_00" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div class="embedded-video-caption"> <p>Draaiorgel in Delft, The Netherlands.</p> </div> </div> <hr /> <p>Don’t ask me why—that I don’t know myself; perhaps a psychologist could tell—but when I travel, I exhibit a slightly different personality than when I am at home. One big difference is, that when I travel, I tend to strike conversations with strangers much, <em>much</em> for frequently. When I travel, much of the shyness is left somewhere in Canada’s airports for me to pick up when I come back. For some reason, when I travel I feel more liberated than when I am at home—very strange especially considering the fact that I live in Vancouver, which certainly is of the more “liberated” (spirit-wise) cities I ever had the pleasure to step in.</p> <p>When you strike up conversations with strangers in foreign countries, you can learn a lot about people and cultures. It’s amazing how much you can learn about a place just by listening to people talking and paying close attention to the most miniscule body language.</p> <p>And what I found out in The Netherlands is something rather strange. It happened, many times before, when I would approach someone, start talking and very shortly after you realize how <em>other people</em>, even not being any part of the ongoing conversation, begin listening. Not just listening, but evidently talking with others about the very fact that you went up to someone and struck a conversation.</p> <p>You then turn and look at these other people; sometimes they look back at you and smile, sometimes they look away as if being ashamed of something.</p> <p>Later, when conversation somehow fades away, other people around approach you and start talking to you. It’s just as if you have unlocked some door that people were “secretly” waiting to be opened by someone else. That someone is you.</p> <p>By actually striking up a conversation with someone you have never met in your life, you suddenly become an item of interest. Why is that? having discussed that in depth with Jeroen (who happens to be Dutch, which helps getting at interesting conclusions), it turns out that the Dutch people aren’t very well known for their tendency to walk up to strangers and talk to them unless they have a <em>very good reason</em> to do it.</p> <p>This is in total and sharp contrast to most places in Canada I had been to, and I should tell you that I’ve seen more of it than perhaps 99% of Canadians. In Canada, talking to complete strangers is not considered an unusual act—in fact, it happens quite often, so often that you can’t avoid doing it yourself even if you came from a country where such actions are frowned upon (try striking up a conversation with strangers in <em>Israel</em>; see how far you get).</p> <p>There’s obviously no “good” and “bad” here. I am just a visitor in this beautiful continent and this sweet green country of The Netherlands, so the best I can do is speak on my own behalf. I’m wondering what it is in the common Dutch mentality that prevents them from stepping up and talk to strangers. Is it being afraid of violating other people’s personal space? What is it that they’re trying to avoid? What is it that they’re scared of? Or is it the altogether lack of desire or interest in talking to strangers and communicating with new people?</p> <hr /> <p>The distance between <em>Delft</em> to <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rotterdam_Centraal_railway_station">Rotterdam Centraal</a></em>—Rotterdam’s central train station—is about 12 minutes by train. <em>Rotterdam Centraal</em> is one of the most important and busiest train stations in The Netherlands; many international trains pass through this station that serves as a hub to most local trains as well. You can reach pretty much anywhere in The Netherlands by hopping on a train, tram or metro line in this stations.</p> <p>The station has been going through extreme renovations over the last few years—renovations that are expected to end some time during this decade.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-T2gtIQsKXKg/UjAAlWKzrjI/AAAAAAAAfNM/3gPxwXio6XY/s1600-h/IMG_3670%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3670" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3670" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-y8dM36p7xMg/UjAAmB14NOI/AAAAAAAAfNU/JdRZFkhhBLU/IMG_3670_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-T-ibcq1qT3Y/UjAAmTspXmI/AAAAAAAAfNc/hcHEGDnf9-I/s1600-h/IMG_3671%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3671" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3671" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Qi1eJpSF8o4/UjAAmyhNTcI/AAAAAAAAfNk/0h9WbGBNhHk/IMG_3671_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Rotterdam’s metro station is some impressive giant piece of construction—very well lit and signed, tourist-friendly—much unlike, say, <em>Antwerp</em>’s.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-eCHE4byPWaI/UjAAnnk9kBI/AAAAAAAAfNs/CWpCPT3k8wE/s1600-h/IMG_3672%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3672" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3672" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-mNknyEGVux0/UjAAoPhqRaI/AAAAAAAAfN0/6SkKlzbmmPc/IMG_3672_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-9H26vvZFzbY/UjAAo2jwycI/AAAAAAAAfN8/RlWUaI5LEls/s1600-h/IMG_3673%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3673" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3673" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-HAPedW-wwJo/UjAApJ6-atI/AAAAAAAAfOE/sLsE3aCkYpQ/IMG_3673_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>It was an easy 10 minutes ride to the <em>Ahoy</em>.</p> <hr /> <p>The <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ahoy_Rotterdam">Ahoy</a></em> is Rotterdam’s premier sporting arena. Other than sporting events, this arena also hosts concerts. <em>Red Hot Chili Peppers</em> performed here just a few days ago; <em>Tina Turner</em>, <em>Iron Maiden</em>, <em>Alanis Morissette</em>—these and many others have performed in this venue over the years. Mark Knopfler’s band played here a few times before, the last time being during 2008’s <em>Shangri La</em> tour. During 2010’s <em>Get Lucky</em> tour, the <em>Ahoy</em> was going through renovation which may be the reason why all three concerts of the band that year were done in Amsterdam’s <em>Heineken Music Hall</em>.</p> <p>Early entry (ahead of the public) was provided for this concert. Instructions called for gathering in a specific place by 6:00pm, then to be led to the arena before the doors are opened for the general public. Signage in the area wasn’t very conclusive as to where it was exactly that we were supposed to be waiting, or what is going to happen.</p> <p>We arrived at the agreed-upon location for early entry, and found it to be like this:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-VaPXjXGLe6w/UjAAphUFf5I/AAAAAAAAfOM/QW8SYv6VWN0/s1600-h/IMG_3674%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3674" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3674" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Vouk99d5TAw/UjAAqXBt4AI/AAAAAAAAfOU/bZtnuaWUfF8/IMG_3674_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>That is, pretty empty (that’s a few bagged sandwiches you see there, as well as Jeroen’s jacket). Well, not much can go wrong here.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-9WiTArZvaCE/UjAAq8yNdII/AAAAAAAAfOc/MUIpMdoTFsk/s1600-h/IMG_3676%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3676" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3676" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_4j9Cf4MLLg/UjAArRiyJpI/AAAAAAAAfOk/n4eU1ihKSdo/IMG_3676_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-b6My5ciMqLA/UjAAr_Rw4CI/AAAAAAAAfOs/MRnjwDXKXQY/s1600-h/IMG_3677%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3677" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3677" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Xw4IFubqpxE/UjAAsWFnGHI/AAAAAAAAfO0/LxtXj_0BkjM/IMG_3677_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Later on, <em>Ingrid</em> showed up, coming back from a nearby restaurant. People started showing up shortly after, and continued to accumulate until 5:45pm.</p> <p>Now there’s something that prompts anxiety in people when it comes to general admission shows, especially for people like myself who aren’t exactly the type of people to elbow their way anywhere. I have had my share of troubling general admission concerts during last year’s tour and let me tell you, I’m more than willing to acknowledge that I’m not the type to fight over my place in non-existent line-ups.</p> <p>Some of the Canadian politeness must have sunk into me over the years; put a typical Canadian in such general admission shows in Europe, and you got yourself a pretty anxious individual. We simply don’t like being crowded and we don’t like to fight each other, or race each other, for the purpose of being another inch closer to some guys playing instruments on stage.</p> <p>In some places, people take these things very seriously and it’s not very hard to reach a point where things get out of control and all you need is just one idiot to start a fist fight. Not my cup of tea.</p> <p>Nobody really tried to keep track of who arrived first. Sure, when the first few people arrive, it’s easy; but when there’s 100 or so people there, people who arrive later take advantage of the mess that is already ensuing and, from there on, it’s the law of the jungle: the strongest survives, the rudest prevails.</p> <p>The big doors were open and we were all let into a chamber for yet another waiting area, where we were left to stand for another half an hour or so until the sign has been given and an attendant led us to the arena’s door. I was happened to be the third one to enter, after some asshole elbowed me as we were entering; luckily he was about twice my age so my revenge involved showing him some dust as I went blazing through the <em>Ahoy</em>’s dark space.</p> <p>I wasn’t very far from spending the night in hospital, though. As I gained top speed, I suddenly realized that there’s some metal construct running through the arena, apparently to cover some cables but effectively looks like—and acts like—a speed bump. I realized the existence of this obstacle in the last millisecond and was able to skip it with only hurting my toe. Thank you, Mr. Engineer McAssholeson, for this brilliant design.</p> <p>A few seconds later I was already seated with my back to the stage, my legs spread out (that’s “general admission concerts 101” for you) and trying to evaluate the damage inflicted upon my toe. Not much.</p> <p>People kept coming, until the doors were opened for the general public when scores of people came running inside at once. Within less than a minute, it was all over. Now all that was left was to wait.</p> <p>Nature called for a short restroom visit about 30 minutes before the concert’s commencement. Now that’s the routine I probably hate the most. When you’re in a general admission concert, occupying prime real-estate, you have to carefully plan your restroom visit. Remember: leaving prime real-estate is easy, but getting back there can be tricky. Everybody wants to see you get the fuck out, nobody wants to let you in.</p> <p>Took me some 5 minutes of self-convincing that there’s no way in hell I can survive this concert on a full bladder, and then I decided to make my way out in the worst method possible—walking in 90 degrees to the stage, cutting through the audience straight up.</p> <p>In retrospect, there’s a problem with this approach. For a successful comeback, it is vital that the same people who you came across on your way out—will be the same ones you encounter on your way in later. People (at least in The Netherlands. I’m not entirely convinced this would work in Italy or Spain) are more likely to let you pass through if they can remember you going past them on your way out.</p> <p>Therefore, it makes (again, in retrospect) much more sense to do it differently: rather than cutting through the audience in 90 degrees to the stage, you should first go sideways to the very edge of the stage, and then off to your business. That’s simply because you’re bound to meet exactly the same people on your way in, as on your way out.</p> <p>Anyway, getting back to my prime real-estate wasn’t too hard (although I did have to circumvent a few people who miraculously lost their hearing when I asked them to move aside a little) but I realize that, had I done that 5-10 minutes later, I’d never make it to the stage.</p> <p>So, to summarize:</p> <ul> <li>Finalize all restroom visits at least 30 minutes before the show. </li> <li>Go sideways to the edge of the stage, then out. </li> </ul> <p>Remember this and you should be fine… in most cases.</p> <p>7:30pm arrived, the lights went out and there it was—the last show for me, for this tour.</p> <hr /> <p>So after the Paris show, the band went to Antwerp for some mediocre audience attendance which was, well, annoying. It was good to be in Rotterdam in that respect: the Dutch audience is quite the lively one, plus Mark and the band have a firm fan base in this country. I couldn’t have imagined a better way to bid this tour goodbye, than standing in the front row of such an ecstatic & supportive audience.</p> <p>Seeing many people jumping and moving clearly does something to the band, Mark included. Mark has been in a very good mood so far this tour, and it seems like Rotterdam brought his good mood to a new peak. I can hardly recall such a vivid, smiling, active Mark Knopfler over the 130+ concerts I have attended.</p> <p>Everybody played brilliantly in Rotterdam making this concert equal, in quality and overall experience, to the <em>Paris</em> concert, rendering them both as memorable experiences.</p> <p><em>Why Aye Man</em> started the show. Typically in this song, Mark shines during the solo parts before and after the last verse. This time, the solo involved playing some interesting harmonies only rarely before heard (by yours truly). One could sense that Mark is in “experimentation mode”, and coming up with such harmonies “on the fly” isn’t very easy, especially when you intend the outcome to be pleasing to the ear. And it was.</p> <p>Same strategy was taken during <em>Hill Farmer’s Blues</em>. Pleasant harmonies, plus, this time, Mark has been witnessed working extensively on his Gibson’s highest frets, conquering pretty much whatever the Gibson’s neck had to offer with respect to pitch. At times during this solo, it was so good and brilliant that band members started smiling. I, myself, was so impressed with what was going on that, for a few seconds, I shut my eyes just to be able to absorb everything. If there was one recording-worthy <em>Hill Farmer’s Blues</em> so far for this tour, Rotterdam’s must have been the one.</p> <p><em>Corned Beef City</em> reappeared on the set list, as well as <em>Privateering</em> which is now an inseparable staple of the show. The next highlight was <em>Marbletown</em>’s jam session when the entire band seemed as if they were going ape-shit over something. All inhibitions were left somewhere between Antwerp and Rotterdam and what we got was a jam session that blew minds away. Not just ours, but also the band’s.</p> <p>Typically, after an unusually outstanding Marbletown jam session, Mark holds the lower B♭ and vibrates it for a few seconds before signalling the band for the final G5 strike; this time, it was held for ages, extracting notable smiles from the band and loud laughter from the audience, followed by a warm, hearty smile by Mark himself who proceeded to strike that G5 and conclude a <em>brilliant</em> Marbletown performance.</p> <p><em>Speedway at Nazareth</em> and <em>So Far Away</em> concluded one of this tour’s best concerts (so far; unfortunately I won’t be witnessing the rest of the concerts) leaving the audience in complete awe.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Hy3xH9jD70w/UjAAs-HVAwI/AAAAAAAAfO8/qUDCQ5v-LhQ/s1600-h/IMG_3680%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3680" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3680" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-JU0t-vdiIpE/UjAAtpCktOI/AAAAAAAAfPE/slXolDAVZfI/IMG_3680_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/--dSX5GMn9dM/UjAAuMom-iI/AAAAAAAAfPM/IsykbmEeSZI/s1600-h/IMG_3681%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3681" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3681" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6PlwdAjbE1s/UjAAu6UUQMI/AAAAAAAAfPU/FZoAX9zZ2Qs/IMG_3681_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <hr /> <p>As Rotterdam is so close to Delft by train, Jeroen and I were initially in the idea of staying for Bob Dylan’s concert. You know, this being the last concert experience this year and all.</p> <p>That, however, has changed after the band’s concert. I was so overwhelmed, that I decided that there is no way I’m going to let overly loud music ruin it for me. Unsurprisingly, others (Jeroen and Ingrid included) shared the same opinion. We simply decided to leave about 10 minutes before Bob Dylan’s concert.</p> <p>The looks we got were… well… implying a huge deal of surprise. It’s very unusual to see a group of people, who were holding the most precious pieces of real-estate in the arena, simply turning around and leaving the hall <em>after the opening act</em>, not to return. We offered our prime space to whoever was happy enough to take it.</p> <p>On my way out sifting through the masses, someone asked me if I’m really leaving, joking that if I go to the restroom, he won’t let me go back to my spot. I replied that I have no intention to return, and got an extremely surprised look in return.</p> <p>Well, what can I say. It <em>was</em> a brilliant show—a perfect way for me to end my share of the tour.</p> <p>Went for some drinks with Ingrid in the pub located right inside the <em>Ahoy</em>. A few others joined us shortly after; we left the premises minutes after Bob Dylan’s show concluded.</p> <p>Quick subway ride to <em>Rotterdam Central</em>, and as we were about to board the train back to Delft, it was announced that there was a “collision” (read: suicide) on the tracks between <em>Schiedam Centrum</em> and <em>Delft</em> so the train is going to stop in <em>Schiedam</em>, where busses will await the passengers to drive everybody to <em>Delft</em> so they can continue their journey. A mild annoyance but nothing to cry about.</p> <p>Back at Jeroen’s apartment, a good cup of tea went down smoothly, followed by a good night sleep.</p> <hr /> <p>I will be staying in Delft until Sunday afternoon when I will be taking a flight back to paradise—that is, the city of <em>Vancouver</em>. You know that you’re happy where you live, when you look forward to go back home after taking a vacation.</p> <hr /> <p>Well, this was a short run through Europe for me, attending a few shows of what I still think is the best musicians’ line-up active today. It’s been a pleasure meeting old friends as well as new people; hopefully you found my experiences interesting. Who knows, if there’s a next tour, we might run into each other again.</p> <p>Cheers, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-3258665059528517572011-10-20T17:55:00.001-07:002013-09-10T22:28:33.952-07:00From Paris to Delft & Concert Day: Sportpaleis, Antwerp, Belgium (October 18-19, 2011)<p>Being it raining in Paris on Tuesday’s afternoon, I gave up my plans for an afternoon walk and decided to arrive at Paris’ <em>Gare du Nord</em> earlier than later. My train was scheduled to leave at 6:25pm; it’s two metro lines from the hotel, in rush hour, so I figured I’d rather avoid taking risks.</p> <p>Rush hour in Paris’ metro system can be harsh. The French people—and the same holds for many other European countries—aren’t as protective of their own (and others’) personal space. Torontonians—forget about the crowdedness of your subway lines; Vancouverites—consider the <em>Canada Line</em> and the <em>Sky Train</em> as paradise. In here, people smash into each other in the metro lines, until the doors fail to close, which is when the last one who attempted entry is being ejected while cursing the world.</p> <p>That explains the slight sense of anxiety I got, when I realized that I’m carrying a big backpack on my back, and a small one on the front. How the heck am I going to get myself onto such a packed train? For the direction I needed, trains arrived at the frequency of once every minute or two, and still there were loads of people on the platform.</p> <p>Miraculously, as the next train arrived, I found myself standing facing the door of a relatively “spaced out” carriage. Shoved myself in and felt blessed to be alive.</p> <p>Off the M8, hopped on the M4, two stations to <em>Gare du Nord</em> and left the metro area. <em>Gare du Nord</em> is a big train station, and just as much as it is big, it is busy. It was rush hour, and billions of people seemed to know exactly where they’re headed to—except myself. Trying to follow the signs to the <em>Intercity Trains</em> section, I ended up walking in a loop. I then realized that a sign with an arrow pointing <em>down</em> means “go straight”, and not “go down the stairs”.</p> <p>Fantastic.</p> <p>Arrived at the train station two minutes before the departure of the 5:25pm train. For a second I thought about boarding it instead of my train (which was scheduled for one hour later), then I decided I’m not in the mood of rushing everything so I stayed for tea in one of the cafe’s around.</p> <p>People. People. And more people. Everywhere you look, you see people. Then you think your eyes have just discovered a spot without any people in it, so you stare… and then there’s people there too.</p> <p>So many people. This city is very, <em>very</em> busy.</p> <p>Twenty minutes to departure, I decided to board the train. That may sound odd to you but this is one of the things you learn once you almost get burnt. Depending on the country you’re in and the train you take, these trains can be long. <em>Very</em> long. The <em>Thalys</em> train (which is a fast train) leaving Paris and terminating in Amsterdam (with stops along the way) is actually composed of <em>two trains</em> chained together; at some stop along the way (I think in <em>Brussels</em>), the two trains become separated and each one goes its own way.</p> <p>It took me about 4 minutes just to walk to the carriage I was assigned to (typically, fast trains operate on reserved seating basis; you can’t possibly board the train unless you have a seat reserved. Sometimes, the booking of the ticket is a separate transaction than the seat reservation, which tends to be confusing. In short, make sure you know what you’re doing), and it was raining. Arrived soaking wet, and squeezed my ass onto the seat. A particularly lovely lady was seated next to me; of course I took every opportunity I had to make her feel sorry for it. To the front, a mother and a daughter who later on made a few attempts to teach me Dutch, to no avail.</p> <p>At some point past <em>Brussels</em>, the announcer went on the airwaves and announced that due to a “collision” on the track between Antwerp and Rotterdam, the train will be diverted to <em>Utrecht</em> so may people on board kindly make alternate travel plans. The “collision” ended up being a collision between a huge train to a human who opted at terminating their life.</p> <p>Apparently, these occurrences are not uncommon in The Netherlands. Apparently it is not that hard, for those who really lost any interest in continuing to live, to cross the fences in various locations along The Netherlands’ vast railway network, and throw themselves onto an approaching train. As sad as such occurrences are, each such unfortunate meeting between flesh, bones & metal ends up in wreaking havoc along public transportation lines.</p> <p>If you happen to be on the train that hit a person, the train halts and you are not allowed to leave the train until railway clean-up, as well as full investigation, is completed. That can take hours. At the meantime, other trains become diverted to neighbouring stations, and sometimes—that is, if the transport authorities are kind enough—busses are summoned to help.</p> <p>Anyway, I really didn’t mind the delay too much. I was surrounded by interesting conversation partners so it’d be very hard to bring me to a point of suffering; my only problem was that I was growing very tired as it’s been very tiring couple of days in France.</p> <p>Eventually, we all arrived at Utrecht each went their own way. My next task was to get to the train that will take me from Utrecht to <em>Den Haag</em> (well, that’s “The Hague” for those of us who care not for Dutch), and then take another train from <em>Den Haag</em> to <em>Delft</em>.</p> <p>As I arrived at the platform, armed with two backpacks, I had nothing better to do so I commenced with people-watching. That ended up with finding yet another interesting conversation partner for the ride. Turns out to be a PhD for finances, studying in Tilburg and she is absolutely convinced she was able to resolve some complex financial / mathematical / optimization problem I’ve been fighting with, concerning optimal methods for investment portfolio rebalancing with constraints upon selling (if you don’t immediately understand what I’m talking about, don’t try re-reading; it won’t help).</p> <p>I’ll believe it when I see it.</p> <p>Anyway, that once again demonstrated to me how dynamic and surprising life can be. Things happen to you when you do this kind of frantic travel: trains collide with people (or other objects), getting delayed; you sometimes lose your way here or there. But sometimes, even when things look bleak, good things can come out of it. Seriously, the best you can do when things seem to be falling apart is just accept it, smile and try to make the best out of the situation. When you’re in a situation when the only way is up—don’t bother looking down. You already know what’s in there: nothing. Look up instead. It’s pretty much the most sensible thing you can do.</p> <p>Arrived very late at <em>Delft</em>’s train station. For whatever reason—even though I’ve been in this place so many times before—I couldn’t quite recall how to get from the train station to Jeroen’s place, given that it was dark and everything. My stupid BlackBerry’s GPS decided to die on me, so a 5 minutes walk ended up taking 25 minutes to complete, including repeated attempts and pleas on my behalf for the GPS to start working again. It did. I was saved.</p> <p>I was relieved. No more sleeping in hotels this time around; I’m going to be staying at the same place for a few nights in a row. Good to be on solid ground again.</p> <hr /> <p>Jeroen, my good friend from The Netherlands who everyone who’s been reading my blogs is surely aware of his existence, works in a company comprised of people who are much like him: polite, and very smart. Apparently, though, the week before, there was something else that was common to all of those genius folks working together—they were all sick like stray dogs with some sort of a virus. Apparently brains that are smart enough to predict the water levels along The Netherlands’ shoreline weren’t smart enough to conclude that perhaps the best way to cope with illness is simply to stay at home.</p> <p>(I’m kidding. They’re nice people. I’m sure nothing was done on purpose)</p> <p>Anyway, I was greeted by an extremely sick Jeroen whose voice suddenly much resembled that of one, <em>Bob Dylan</em>. I think I’m onto something.</p> <p>The following day was the day of the <em>Antwerp</em> concert. Nothing out of the ordinary. A short lovely lunch in Jeroen’s workplace, where I usually come across interesting things. So you probably all already know that the nice Dutch people are well in the habit of populating bread with strange materials. How about this?</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-V20ZfOjxztQ/Ui__flKCmpI/AAAAAAAAfMY/Qav-SNsOFrs/s1600-h/IMG_3663%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3663" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3663" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-dBON95JEhGI/Ui__gL2DDBI/AAAAAAAAfMg/XDckmEBx3ws/IMG_3663_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>This is a <em>chicken satay</em> spread. Yes. You know that dish you sometimes order in Thai restaurants? Good. Now instead of it being served warm, think of it being served cold; and instead of it being served on rice or noodles, think of it being spread onto a slice of bread.</p> <p>Does it make any sense to you?</p> <p>To me it doesn’t. I was astonished. Puzzled, I asked—“what’s next? a <em>fillet mignon</em> spread?”, only to be presented with another spread titled “American Fillet”, which supposedly is exactly what I was “looking for”.</p> <p>Insane.</p> <p>A couple of hours later, we went to the train station to catch the train to <em>Antwerp</em>—some one hour and a half away from Delft, connecting in <em>Rotterdam</em> (which is where all bloody Dutch trains connect).</p> <hr /> <p>If you ask a Dutch person “how do we know that we crossed the border from The Netherlands to Belgium?”, the reply will be something along the line of “it’s when things start looking grey, boring, depressing and cold”. Is it? Well, perhaps. I can see how one would reach that conclusion. Not too long after we crossed the virtual border to Belgium, I fell asleep.</p> <p>When Douglas Adams’ “<em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Life,_the_Universe_and_Everything">Life, the Universe and Everything</a></em>” was being published in the USA, it couldn’t pass censorship due to certain swearwords appearing in the text. There is a short paragraph in the book discussing the “most offensive word in the universe”: the original text had the word “<em>Fuck</em>” there, but in order to pass censorship in the USA, Adams chose to replace it with the word “Belgium”.</p> <p>This country doesn’t seem to be receiving much credit from the world, lets put it that way.</p> <p>On February 2011, Belgium broke the world record for a sovereign state not having a functioning elected government—a record that was previously held by <em>Iraq</em>. Something strange is going on in this country.</p> <p>Arriving at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antwerpen-Centraal_railway_station">Antwerp’s central station</a>, the first thing you notify about it is that it is big. How big? Really big. It spans four levels—two of them underground—serving local, inter-city and international trains. Train travellers in Europe are very likely to pass through this station when crossing western Europe in any direction.</p> <p>Just as this train station is big, it is also beautiful. <em>Newsweek</em> has rated this train station to be the “4th greatest train station in the world” back in 2009. Do a “Google Images” search on it; you won’t regret it.</p> <p>Still, something was missing in this station. It’s called “life”. It was about rush hour, and the station was almost empty of people, which gave it all kind of an eerie look. It was also strange to find out that, during what one would deem to be “rush hour”, there’s no working information booth whatsoever. Signage being confusing at times, we decided to go for a bite before finding out for sure how to get to the venue (we had a general idea).</p> <p>Stepping into a deli in the train station, I got the very same feeling about Antwerp as I got last time I was here, one year ago. It appears to be… how to call it… lifeless. Perhaps I got this feeling because a day prior I was in one of the world’s most liveliest cities—<em>Paris</em>; but still, I couldn’t avoid that feeling. You get that feeling just looking at people’s faces. There’s a great deal of depression there. Tiredness. Exhaustion. Greyness. People seem to be out of place, quiet, shy. Looking down. As if attempting to not be seen.</p> <p>Boring, too. Apparently, people in the deli were so bored out of their asses, that when Jeroen asked them what’s the best way to get from the central train station to the venue, it sparked a discussion (between the deli’s workers and a few locals who happened to be dining there) that lasted more than <em>half an hour</em> about the best way to get there. And it’s not like there’s a million of ways to do the trip; as the crow flies, the distance between the station and the venue is 3km. Walking fast, that’s a 40 minutes walk. But still, the very presentation of such troubling puzzle appeared to have injected life into people.</p> <p>Bah. I missed Paris.</p> <p>Trying to find our way to the tram (which is also called “metro” there) through confusing signage, we finally made it to the correct platform, only to find that the “subway” (or “tram”) consists basically on one small carriage that, had it not contained people, you’d be 100% convinced that it is used to transport goats from one field to another. More depressing carriages I have only seen in <em>Poland</em> last year, where I had the pleasure of being transported in a metal box that looked more suitable for transporting the manure of horses with balance problems, than humans.</p> <p>As it was close to show time, it was crowded as hell, too. It’s about 5 minutes tram ride that feel like 50; eventually, we arrived at a station so conveniently named “<em>Sport</em>” and were happy to be ejected of this cattle transporter. The venue, <em>Sportpaleis</em>, was right there.</p> <hr /> <p>Last year, the tour made a stop in Antwerp and performed in a venue called “<em>Lotto Arena</em>”. This time, the venue was the <em>Sportpaleis</em>; that explains my astonishment when I existed the train station and found out that, what the heck, that’s exactly where the concert took place last year. Turns out that the <em>Lotto Arena</em> and the <em>Sportpaleis</em> are adjacent to each other. The <em>Sportpaleis</em> is the bigger one.</p> <p>The venue’s reception area was far from being inviting. First of all it was jam-packed with people smelling of beer, and with beer smelling of people. Toilets on the premises are not free—that’s €0.40 per visit. Well, it is a sports arena after all so expecting much more would probably be a mistake anyway.</p> <p>Tickets: 5th row all the way to the left. Bummer. <em>Lane</em> & <em>Katrina</em>, my friends from <em>Flagstaff</em>, <em>Arizona</em> were there too after having taken the train from <em>Paris</em>. Now there’s an interesting couple for you, sharing an amazing life story, brilliant people I’m always happy to see. In Paris, Katrina promised to provide me with a tasty gift in Antwerp. She did.</p> <p>So there’s this guy named <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pierre_Herm%C3%A9">Pierre Hermé</a></em>. I have never heard of him before and therefore should feel ashamed. This guy is a French pastry chef who is extremely famous for his macaroons. According to <em>Wikipedia</em>, the French Vogue magazine described him as the “Picasso of Pastry”. Katrina, then, thought that it would be a great idea to provide me with a sample of this guy’s macaroons—a thought that was very much called for. This sweetheart carried a macaroon for me all the way from Paris.</p> <p>Right from the first bite, you feel that macaroons should, by law, be standardized for greater size. At least premium macaroons as this one. It was so good. Just so good, feeling as if exactly twelve angels are dancing inside your mouth. I am therefore deeply indebted to this wonderful couple, and will, obviously, pay a visit to this guy’s pastry shop next time I’m in Paris.</p> <p>The concert started at 8:00pm. As the last train from Antwerp back to Delft was scheduled for 10:00pm, we already knew we’re not going to stay for Bob Dylan’s show.</p> <hr /> <p>Well we obviously weren’t in Paris anymore. Even though the performance, by itself, was <em>very good</em> featuring further elaborations of songs all of which have been played before—one thing was sorely missing and it was the audience. I’m not sure how many people were there in the audience during the Antwerp concert—well, it’s a large venue and not many empty seats were left unoccupied—but, audience-wise, it was as if the audience wasn’t there. Again, I might have had that impression because two nights prior I was a part of the best audience so far, in Paris.</p> <p>The audience in Antwerp seemed to be reserved and not much responding to the great performance they were witnessing. I would attribute this to the general atmosphere you get when you spend time in Belgium… some sort of indifference. It seemed to be very hard to excite these people with anything, at least that’s the impression I got.</p> <p>Set-list-wise, no surprises there. <em>Privateering</em> was the only unreleased song to be played, <em>Brothers in Arms</em> and <em>Speedway at Nazareth</em> switched places and, as customary these days, <em>So Far Away</em> ended the show. Exciting solos during <em>Hill Farmers Blues</em>—I have to say, <em>way</em> too exciting for the audience that had the privilege to witness them. The only times when the audience seemed to have wielded noises close to being interesting were at the beginning of <em>Brothers in Arms</em> and the end of <em>Speedway at Nazareth</em>. Well thanks Belgium.</p> <hr /> <p>As soon as the encore was done, we stormed out of the venue. Nobody wanted to miss the train back to <em>Delft</em>, as it would mean spending a night in this lonely city.</p> <p>Arriving back to <em>Antwerp Centraal</em> by tram, we had to actually leave the station and re-enter it. Bizarre design, I’d say: from the metro, you’re ejected to the station’s <em>parking lot</em>, then have to find your way (through insane signage) back to the station <em>after practically exiting it</em>. Upon re-entry, I looked around and then I figured something interesting about this place.</p> <p>The surrounding of <em>Antwerp Centraal</em>, in the dark, is the perfect location for filming a murder scene. There’s everything: extremely high ceilings; dark, grey colours; vast emptiness; buildings and business around the station, looking as if they’re just waiting to be demolished.</p> <p>Empty.</p> <p>Empty.</p> <p>So empty.</p> <p>Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I was happy to be back in The Netherlands.</p> <p>Late night sleep after popping some <em>Bob Dylan</em> tunes on Jeroen’s stereo, and off I woke up ready for the last concert (for me) in the tour—this time, close to “home”: <em>Rotterdam</em>, some 15 minutes train ride from Delft.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-7080725639313323982011-10-18T17:39:00.001-07:002013-09-10T23:33:36.104-07:00Concert Day: Palais Omnisport de Paris‐Bercy & Half Day Off, Paris, France (October 17-18, 2011)<div class="indented"> <p>(This is a very long post. A lot has happened in Paris)</p> </div> <p>Having consumed the monthly amount of sugar & carbohydrates over the course of fourteen hours, falling asleep was far from being easy, and almost as hard as staying asleep. The 36 hours I spent in Lille have been the most gastronomically-enjoyable hours I have had in months, and I was thankful for it while the enjoyment lasted… but once I realized I’m failing to fall asleep, I started cursing myself for being such a moron.</p> <p>My train was booked for 10:00am sharp, taking the <em>TGV</em> fast train to Paris—about one hour ride. The reason I had booked it that was was that I wanted to spend as much time in Paris as I could—which also explains why my train out of Paris (back to Delft, The Netherlands) is scheduled to leave at 6:30pm on the day before the Antwerp concert.</p> <p>My short stay in Paris during the last tour has been one of the most enjoyable periods, much due to the fact that I was accompanied by a strange, yet hilarious, fellow who goes by the name <em>Elian</em>. I was looking forward to be in Paris again, then. Quickly checked out of the hotel in <em>Lille</em>, featuring a superbly, unbelievably rude & senseless receptionist, left my backpack there so I can once again pay a visit to a nearby <em>Paul</em> patisserie for a quick croissant.</p> <p>It was good.</p> <p>Back to the hotel, picked up my backpack, crossed the road and boarded the TGV train, which left precisely on time. First class, comfortable seat and within an hour I arrived to <em>Gare du Nord</em>.</p> <p>Welcome to <em>Paris</em>.</p> <hr /> <p>The city of Paris is not just a big city. More than it is an accumulation of a huge mass of people, it is, first and foremost, a <em>symbol</em> which carries a wide variety of connotations with it. Paris to Europe is what New-York is to the USA: one of a kind, in more ways than one. Many more ways.</p> <p>There is everything in this city. Really, everything. For everyone. Each and every type of visitor(s)—be it a solo traveller, a group of friends, families—can easily spend a couple of weeks in this city before beginning to feel as if the city has exhausted itself. Architecture; brilliant parks; monuments; museums; culture to no visible end; and, of course, restaurants offering any sort of food you can imagine—and when I say “any sort of food”, I really mean <em>any sort of food</em>.</p> <p>In Paris—much as in France as a whole—dining in restaurants usually addresses a different need in one’s life, than it does in, say, North America. While of course exceptions exist, the vast majority of North Americans go to restaurants for the purpose of eating and/or drinking. In France, restaurants are an experience. Sure, you can find places that will cater to your stomach only (I’m talking about French equivalents to chains such as <em>Kelsey’s</em> in Canada or <em>The Spaghetti Factory</em> in the USA); these are referred to as “fast food” places. “Acceptable”. Places such as <em>McDonald’s</em> are regarded with an incredible sense of disrespect and mockery, for a good reason—for similar prices, you can get much better meals elsewhere. That explains why you’re very unlikely to encounter dozens of <em>McDonald’s</em> or <em>Subway</em> in Paris (or France as a whole); they simply are not needed.</p> <p>While you can find any sort of food here, the French cuisine really isn’t for everyone. Not because it is ugly or distasteful, but mostly because what different people have in mind when they think about a “meal”, and what they end up getting. If you step into a French restaurant when you’re starving and head straight into the main course, you are extremely likely to become disappointed, not because the food isn’t good but because it didn’t address your body’s primary need, which is to become <em>full</em> and <em>quickly</em>. In French restaurants, portions are relatively small and cater not to your stomach, but mostly to your brain. Instead of putting time into thinking how to serve <em>a lot</em> of food with acceptable taste, the French prefer to put emphasis on quality, texture and delicate flavours (sometimes so delicate that you need to work hard to process).</p> <p>It is food to enjoy and savour, rather than to become full of. Therefore, here’s a tip: if you’re starving and planning on going to a French restaurant, don’t jump right into the main course but start with a starter first, or consume some tasty breads beforehand (most restaurants serve bread and dips as an accompaniment to your meal).</p> <hr /> <p>There’s one more thing I feel some strong desire to write about, and it is the stereotype often associated with French people, with respect to their manners, specifically towards people who don’t speak French and happen to find themselves lost in a country where English isn’t quite practiced.</p> <p>How many times have you heard stories of a friend or an acquaintance of yours, approaching a local in France, speaking English and getting a “cold shoulder”? I’ll allow myself to assume that the answer is “yes, I have heard that before”. Such stories, over the years, contributed to the stereotype about the French being arrogant, rude and merciless.</p> <p>Having been raised in a country with common mentality similar to that of the French, and having lived almost one third of my life in Canada (which is the other extreme), I should say that I find this stereotype misleading, and more importantly—unfair towards the French people. And I will explain.</p> <p>The English language isn’t much promoted in France. The French language, more than just means for communication between humans, is also a symbol. It’s an entire culture. The French people are proud of their culture, their values and their language: this is <em>not</em> to say that they underestimate or undervalue other languages (such as English).</p> <p>When you approach a local in France, while wearing a distraught face, and start talking to them in English as if you’re assuming that they can speak the language, the shrug you get in response is not a shrug of arrogance. I take it as unfair and inappropriate, to interpret this as arrogance; yet, having this being done to me a few times, I can see why so many people make that prejudice. If you pay close attention to their faces and their body language, you are bound to discover that this is not arrogance, but instead the sense that they really can’t help you or don’t know how to help you.</p> <p>OK, so they don’t fall on their knees with pleas for you to understand them (using body language) and why they can’t help you; but that’s not because they are rude. They are simply being honest and straightforward.</p> <p>Besides, between us… rather than considering the French to be rude, it is much easier for me to identify with the proposition that Canadians and Americans are, more often than not, over-polite.</p> <p>What I have found is this: if you approach a local with a smile (rather than a frown) and first <em>ask them</em> if they speak English (even just asking “English?”), you are very unlikely to get a shrug back. They will definitely try to help you as much as they can; sometimes, they won’t be able to but you still won’t feel as if you’re being ignored or pushed away.</p> <p>At least it works for me, and I know that it has nothing to do with my smile, or my charm; both are known to have offended before.</p> <hr /> <p>Socially speaking, my time in France has been the best so far in this trip, simply because I know a lot of people, ever since the last tour. The evening in Paris topped it all, really; as it shortly will be revealed.</p> <p>About a month ago, a charming lady I was working with (well, now that we don’t work together, I am in the liberty of stating such a fact) handed me a bunch of unused metro tickets (if you’re reading this—thank you, <em>Amandine</em>) which were put into some good use by yours truly.</p> <p>As soon as I arrived in Paris’ <em>Gare du Nord</em>, I took the metro to the hotel—hopped on the M4 to <em>Strasburg-Saint Denis</em> and then changed to the M8 towards <em>Daumesnil</em>, a short walk from the hotel—<em>Grand Hotel D’ore Bercy</em>, located about 15 minutes walk from the <em>Palais Omnisport</em> where the concert was going to take place. It was too early for checking in, though; left all bags there and hopped across the street for the nearest restaurant. One of those so-called “fast food” brasseries, that surpass North American outlets of most chains with respect to quality and taste; some steak and salad and I was good to go.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-p9qlQj_abhc/Ui_wtXo14FI/AAAAAAAAfJ4/VQICFopIChQ/s1600-h/IMG_3650%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3650" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3650" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-ctLtNGEsuUw/Ui_wt051bkI/AAAAAAAAfKA/3hub5K9zzO8/IMG_3650_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-OgFDr2asx5U/Ui_wuRZ2miI/AAAAAAAAfKI/kmRySQbe_sM/s1600-h/IMG_3652%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3652" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3652" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bR4jCwYN1Rg/Ui_wvAE2ujI/AAAAAAAAfKQ/337emmiOZbs/IMG_3652_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The surroundings:</p> <div class="embedded-video" style="width: 448px"><iframe style="height: 277px" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vA9P5Fazk94" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div class="embedded-video-caption"> <p>Around Daumesnil’s metro station</p> </div> </div> <p>Back at the hotel for check-in and quick setup. Not bad. Well, hotels in Paris are <em>expensive</em> (mine was a 3-star hotel—definitely acceptable—for the price of €111 per night. Prices become extremely stupid once you jump on the 4-star wagon, and I dare you look at prices of 5-star hotels in the city centre. You will feel weakness in your knees) so I consider myself being lucky with this one. Small room, but comfortable enough for a one night stay.</p> <p>As writing is often my first priority, I spent the next hour or so completing the previous post, even though the weather was excellent outside. It is such times—that is, spending time writing instead of going out and enjoying brilliant weather—that I realize how important writing is to me. Anyway, it was already close to 3:30pm when I finished writing and uploading my post. Got everything I need for a city stroll and stormed out of the hotel.</p> <p>That was more or less exactly when <em>Nelly</em> (should you choose to read on, you’re bound to encounter Nelly again, in some strange context) sent me a text message saying she’s in town. I first met Nelly last year—a cute, funny, compassionate (and slightly, just slightly, strange, but in a good way) lady—as I was crisscrossing Europe following this band, and we remained in contact ever since. We agreed to meet at the venue and spend the afternoon together until show time.</p> <p>Was good meeting with Nelly again. Off to a nearby cafe and before we knew it we were basking at Paris’ brilliant sun, seated in a cafe just outside the venue.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XXhDTUIGxNg/Ui_3kAsMKRI/AAAAAAAAfKg/FUkEsQFv-0U/s1600-h/IMG_3654%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3654" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3654" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-16bN0m90cG8/Ui_3kmDwSnI/AAAAAAAAfKo/N9AsD5Y5AF0/IMG_3654_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Caught up with what’s going on with life until I saw two familiar figures getting out of the <em>Bercy</em> station. These were <em>Katrina</em> and <em>Lane</em>, a couple of avid travellers I had met in the USA last year and remained in touch with ever since. Wonderful couple, can’t possibly say enough good things about them.</p> <p>Time came to collect our tickets. Contrary to last year, this time everything worked perfectly with absolutely no mess at all. Tickets been collected, we went out for some fresh air when more familiar people came by and joined us—<em>Vincent</em>, <em>Brigitte</em>, <em>Marithe</em>, <em>Marco</em> to name a few. Definitely a social highlight of the tour.</p> <blockquote> <p>Quite frankly I was a bit humbled to find out that most of them remembered my name, and I certainly am happy to find out that last year’s excursion contributed something to their lives, through writing, in much the same way that it contributed to mine.</p> </blockquote> <p>About an hour prior to the show’s scheduled start time, I went ahead and entered the venue.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-ggVr8vDxWnw/Ui_3lF2AnII/AAAAAAAAfKw/fbSgmV1YB64/s1600-h/IMG_3656%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3656" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3656" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-m_mBHCDKppk/Ui_3lbZvs4I/AAAAAAAAfK0/jtzhgl7Hp9w/IMG_3656_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-GMYlZUqDx5E/Ui_3l2L-WiI/AAAAAAAAfLA/2Zm2DsTE0PI/s1600-h/IMG_3658%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3658" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3658" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lKpElYYmuMc/Ui_3mUZ9zoI/AAAAAAAAfLI/G2zJud7Lfuw/IMG_3658_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>My seat—front row, quite at the center of things.</p> <hr /> <p>We all had some time to kill before the concert. Katrina & Lane introduced me to two folks who were handed free tickets to the show, courtesy of the couple’s kind soul. Turned out that one of them is a former Israeli now living in Paris, so it was quite the treat to spend some time speaking my mother tongue.</p> <p>At some point, Nelly came by feeling a bit frustrated of her seat, at the left-hand side of the stage.</p> <p>—“Maybe I can sit on you”, she said.</p> <p>—“Maybe”, I replied.</p> <p>—“But it may be a problem, my bottom is too big”.</p> <p>I was trained in early childhood to never agree nor disagree with such comments, whether they are true or not (my opinion in this particular case is confidential). Regardless of what you say, you end up being in some sort of trouble.</p> <p>—“Well we can give it a try”, I said.</p> <p>So, a quick dry run has clearly demonstrated that it was, after all, feasible to divide the seat in two, horizontally. We made sure (of course) that this unique seating arrangement doesn’t interfere with the audience surrounding us. As I am taller, and there was enough chair-space to host both bottoms, we agreed that this would be our seating plan for the night.</p> <p>(Some pictures of this arrangement have been taken by Lane, however they’re not in my disposal at the moment so you’ll have to use your imagination. Just don’t overuse it, though; it seriously was all platonic. At least for me)</p> <p>Shortly after 8:00pm, the lights went out and the show started. Certain band members, Mark included, took notice of our unusual disposition and went on smiling. And then they played…</p> <p>And they played very, very well.</p> <hr /> <p>So “how was the concert”, you may be asking. Well, this show broke a new record of awesomeness for this tour, despite a few mishaps here and there. I suppose it was a combination of a particularly enthusiastic audience, great venue and all band members appearing to be in quite the good mood.</p> <p><em>What It Is</em> was the concert’s opener this time around, and right from the beginning one could notice that Mark and the band receive—appreciatively—immense love from the audience. No longer could one pinpoint a distinction between those who came to see Mark & the band, and those who came to see Dylan, at least not from where I was seated.</p> <p><em>Cleaning My Gun</em> followed with full power as usual, rocking the Bercy’s roof off, including powerful solos and a small mishap towards the end. Recently Mark has been in the habit of moving quite often during the performance, exchanging all sorts of gestures with other band members; at the end of <em>Cleaning My Gun</em>, though, he appeared to have skipped his usual gesture to the band (well, at least towards Ian) and so poor Ian had to realize that the song is about to end in two seconds and improvise something. For the untrained ear—read: the ear that hasn’t heard this song played live multiple times—it was a non-issue.</p> <p>We also had a wonderful rendition of <em>Marbletown</em>, arguably the best one in the tour so far and in line with the top <em>Marbletown</em> performances of last year’s tour. It just went <em>really</em> well, especially during the <em>Marble-Jam</em> section when band members delegated control to one another seamlessly (which is, really, one of the factors for determining the quality of a <em>Marble-Jam</em>). Had Nelly not been seated where she was, I’d definitely get up for a standing ovation.</p> <p>The show proceeded top-notch quality all throughout. <em>Haul Away for Home</em> has been skipped (again), in favour of <em>A Night in Summer Long Ago</em>. The latter has been played exactly twice (out of 87. Or was it three times?) during the last tour—once in the USA (I believe it was in the second <em>Los-Angeles</em> show) and once in Europe—in <em>Paris</em>, making it a relatively rare song to be listening to played live.</p> <p>Another high point in the evening was a certain twist during <em>Song for Sonny Liston</em>. Once the Mark-Glenn duo was done and it was time for the last verse, Mark proceeded to sing the last verse, hardly touching the guitar at all. The domination of his voice over the audible spectrum, with a rather minimal involvement of the guitar, made for a blessed twist in the song making the last verse sound deep, personal and dramatic. Interesting twist… making a song sound better by playing <em>less</em> guitar.</p> <p>Audience was ecstatic throughout the show. Once <em>Marbletown</em> was over, people stormed towards the front (the all-so-pleasant <em>Running of the Bulls</em>). People from the back rows somehow found themselves leaning upon the rail (how the hell did they do that, I don’t know). The venue’s security staff had no chance to make people sit down again so they gave up without even trying. People who remained seated called upon those who stood to sit down, only to be yelled back at in some mean French tone that I could only interpret as “oh, just shut the hell up”. We all remained standing till the end of the show.</p> <p><em>Speedway at Nazareth</em> was up next, a song that isn’t of my favourites but clearly, yesterday, I was in minority. The audience went berserk as the song’s heavy part commenced—actually, so ecstatic that I doubt anybody noticed that something was missing. As Richard went to take the <em>Gibson</em> for his usual role in tearing the airspace with cranked-up Gibson tone set on the Treble pick-up position, he went ahead to strum it with full power, just to realize that no sound was emitted. Until the song’s end, attempts were made to fix the error to no avail; it wasn’t hard to notice that T.C, as well as Richard, were very surprised of the ordeal as everything seemed to be in place but still no sound. Still, the final <em>A-</em>chord strike of the song sent the audience flying in full rainbow colours to the sky: audience participation, taken to the extreme. Awesome.</p> <p>The intermission before the encore gave T.C and others some time to track down the problem with Richard’s cabling setup. <em>So Far Away</em> started playing and the problem has been resolved about two seconds before it was time for Richard to strike his first <em>B</em> chord on the MK Stratocaster he was holding. Life’s back to normal; a sweet <em>Dire Straits</em> reminder for the audience and the show was over.</p> <hr /> <p>I will risk being thrown sharp objects at by devout Bob Dylan followers: as the concert was over, I knew that it would be very hard for Dylan to follow the spectacle we had just experienced. Mark and the band provided a concert that is an absolute nightmare to follow. Then again, I do appreciate the fact that I may be slightly biased.</p> <p>Armed with earplugs, I re-acquired my seat (which was occupied by someone for the duration of the intermission between concerts) and was ready to watch Bob Dylan do his best to follow Mark’s set. Right from the beginning, it was obvious that a full vision of the stage would be impossible. People just stood there—that is, people whose original seats are not even close to the front—and refused to move. At some point, security staff arranged it so the left-hand half of the stage was where people were allowed to stand, and the right-hand side of the stage was seated only.</p> <p>As I was almost at the very centre, I basically saw one half of the show… until things started getting uglier. Every now and then, another moron decided to test the consistence (or lack thereof) of the security staff’s definition of “half”, and came to stand past the middle of the stage. My repeated attempts to sway some of these people away have been answered by either complete ignorance, or some words in French I couldn’t make any sense of.</p> <p>Asking security for any sort of assistance seemed to be futile. At some point, once I could no longer see much of the stage, I simply got up, shoved a punk who was standing right in my face aside, and elbowed my way to the front. They say “When in Rome, be a Roman” but most of the time I tried to avoid taking measures that I feel uncomfortable with; yet this time, I really had no choice. It was either that, or see absolutely nothing.</p> <p>At that point, about three quarters into the show, the orchestra station was all up on their feet—not because Dylan’s show kicked ass, but mostly because you couldn’t see anything unless you stood.</p> <p>Did I enjoy it? Not that much. I like some of Dylan’s songs, but when it comes to live performances… I will just say that I prefer to stick with Mark & the band, and much so.</p> <hr /> <p>Dylan’s concert ended at around 11:00pm and the masses were pouring outside onto the streets. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining. There’s a brasserie named “Spectacle” right outside the venue; Nelly agreed to join me in for a quick snack, a delicious goat-cheese-on-toast salad. A few <em>AFMK</em> members were there for a post-concert drink, nice to see them of course.</p> <p>Salad was consumed with immense passion—time to go. Bid everybody farewell, walked Nelly to the nearest taxi stand and off I went on a 15 minutes walk back to my hotel.</p> <p>What a great day, mostly thanks to the people I came in touch with. Thank you all.</p> <hr /> <p>Initially I was intending to spend my half day-off in Paris going to visit a few places recommended to me by… well, lets just leave it at “someone I know” as it will make everybody’s life simpler. Unfortunately though, I slept in—I had to, as the preceding day was so eventful.</p> <p>I only left the hotel at around 10:30am, while finding out that Elian booked a restaurant for lunch at 1:00pm. Elian also recommended a patisserie named <em><a href="http://www.angelina-paris.fr/en/">Angelina</a></em>, located near <em>Jardin des Tuileries</em>. Took the metro there, about 20 minutes of an easy ride. Quite the impressive place (look at their website, see link earlier in this paragraph) that has a lot going for it.</p> <p><em>Angelina</em> has a “seated” part which is actually a tearoom, as well as an impressive display of desserts. The tearoom offers interesting meals for prices that I can only consider as “insanity”. If you don’t believe me, see their website. The cheapest breakfast goes for €20, however I should say that by the looks of it, it might as well be worth it. I would definitely give it a try, but it was 11:15am or so already, and knowing that lunch is due soon I decided to sustain my hunger.</p> <p>Well, not really. Back to Angelina’s desserts display, I decided to go for a croissant, as well as what they call “their specialty”: “La Mont-Blanc”. The only reason I took it was that it was the only thing that looked as if it could be consumed while standing up.</p> <p>It wasn’t that good, to be perfectly honest. I’ll try other things there, next time around.</p> <p>Elian’s office is a short 10 minutes walk from <em>Angelina</em>. It wasn’t raining, so a short pleasant walk in Paris was definitely called for.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-8QIUZmCcGNQ/Ui_3nCwcOjI/AAAAAAAAfLQ/c9Lzuu56RyM/s1600-h/IMG_3659%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3659" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3659" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-qI82067bUWA/Ui_3nS21SbI/AAAAAAAAfLU/Sd0EE-crZc8/IMG_3659_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Was good to see Elian again. Well, this fellow knows his food, as I can vividly recall from <a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com/2010/06/concert-day-palais-omnisport-de-paris.html">my last visit to Paris</a>, so I was looking forward to the upcoming feast. Once again, Elian didn’t fail to provide. Delicious cod fish rolled with some pastry… total bliss. While I didn’t take pictures of the main course (God knows why) but the desserts are here for your visual enjoyment; and we’ll start with “the thinking man”.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-vcbmAba0rcc/Ui_3n_taFMI/AAAAAAAAfLg/QiD4q39pVNM/s1600-h/IMG_3660-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-P7kEtAkOHb4/Ui_3oQs68WI/AAAAAAAAfLo/HrFMmYbCbA0/IMG_3660-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>Elian’s dessert contained extremely thinly cut dried apple.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-hp-5GXT1LRo/Ui_3o70wZnI/AAAAAAAAfLw/EVdOtF8vt2U/s1600-h/IMG_3661%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3661" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3661" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-rTSHEBZCP3E/Ui_3pmm3O3I/AAAAAAAAfL4/DVt1kQJF8FQ/IMG_3661_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The following magic trick, aimed at having the apple’s slice inflate, didn’t seem to work.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4NmyoxeK9aI/Ui_3qGfcNyI/AAAAAAAAfMA/tNqjcMcfHQ0/s1600-h/IMG_3662%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3662" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3662" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--6ge8Wx6Ock/Ui_3q4IOdDI/AAAAAAAAfMI/7SNkhf8GfE0/IMG_3662_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Delicious meal—thanks Elian!—and filling to the point that, from there on, I couldn’t really do anything useful anymore. My intention to complete this blog post in Elian’s building (it was raining outside so a walk was out of the question) didn’t end up working out, as I was staring at the screen not being able to do anything except digest the wonders I have let into my stomach just thirty minutes prior.</p> <p>Before I was able to fully recover, it was already time to go back to the hotel, pick up my backpack and head back to <em>Gare du Nord</em>, to take the train back to <em>The Netherlands</em>, where I will be spending the rest of my trip until Sunday (making day trips to <em>Antwerp</em> and <em>Rotterdam</em> to catch the shows).</p> <hr /> <p>Signing off this blog post while in Jeroen’s apartment in <em>Delft</em>. Got here quite late and it’s time for bed.</p> <p>I already miss France.</p> <p>Cheers, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-62577687502970006772011-10-17T06:43:00.001-07:002013-09-10T23:28:47.807-07:00Day Off & Concert Day: Zénith Arena, Lille, France (October 15-16, 2011)<p>Imagine you’re in a small hotel room in a foreign land. Small. So small that you can hear your breaths echoing. So small it makes prisoners in <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Quentin_State_Prison">Saint Quentin</a></em> feel very good about themselves. So small that it’d make <em><a href="http://richard-bennett.com/notes-from-the-road/mark-knopfler-and-bob-dylan-tour-2011">Richard Bennett miss his days in Nottingham</a></em>.</p> <p>The room isn’t very clean: the carpets have apparently not been vacuumed (or washed) since the first World War, the bathroom’s floor appears to be torn apart beneath the semi-plastic material they covered it with for attempting to convey some sort of an acceptable appearance.</p> <p>You lay down to sleep. Your eyes are shut but you’re feeling some tickling sensation on your feet, then up your legs. Ecstatic, you get up, turn the light on, pull the blanket off but you see absolutely nothing walking on you. The sensation goes away, but it returns as soon as you turn the lights off again.</p> <p>You’re thinking to yourself, “that’s it. It must be bedbugs or something”. But no, no bites. Just a tickling sensation all over your body, and that sensation intensifies the more you think about it.</p> <p>Know the feeling? Oh, you don’t? So it might as well be just me losing my mind. Anyway, that’s how I lost about an hour of sleep. I don’t know what made me fall asleep eventually, but I did, and luckily so—as I was expecting quite the hectic travel day from <em>Bournemouth</em> to <em>Lille</em>.</p> <hr /> <p>Getting from <em>Bournemouth</em> to <em>Lille</em> requires you to take a train from <em>Bournemouth</em> to <em>London</em>, then get to London’s <em><a href="http://stpancras.com/">St. Pancras International</a></em> train station, and then take the <em><a href="http://eurostar.com">Eurostar</a></em> to Lille. As the <em>Eurostar</em> is an international train, you have to go through a process similar to the one you take when you board an aircraft. Your luggage is screened; security checks; then passport control (by the UK authorities. Interestingly enough, there’s no passport control to go through once you get in <em>France</em>. I seem to recall it used to be the other way around). Arriving at <em>Lille</em>, you have to turn your watch one hour forward. The entire process—from the time you board the train in <em>Bournemouth</em> to the time you arrive in <em>Lille</em> takes about seven hours, assuming you’re allowing for enough gap in London, say 3.5 hours (total train travel time is about 3.5 hours).</p> <p>I was therefore not very willing to start the day. Upon waking up, I looked through the window and was amazed to discover no clouds at all, whatsoever, in the sky. Packed everything within a few minutes, checked out of this horrid hotel which I will never see again, and went outside. Crossed the road and enjoyed a beautiful view of Bournemouth’s beaches.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-fpHpSJRpt0k/Ui_jV2L4LBI/AAAAAAAAe8Q/0J5GM4RP7Sk/s1600-h/IMG_3588%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3588" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3588" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-KJk6rADEpsU/Ui_jWW-uLTI/AAAAAAAAe8Y/QAy90v3fJZM/IMG_3588_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ajBktCHGFBU/Ui_jXPZRSRI/AAAAAAAAe8g/i_3onCIX6cg/s1600-h/IMG_3589%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3589" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3589" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-9ZKjYgioFPk/Ui_jXdba7II/AAAAAAAAe8o/sJcYwwgbPp0/IMG_3589_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>It was sunny, but a bit chilly. If I had an extra hour just to sit there and breathe, I would; but it was 9:00am already—about an hour to departure, and I haven’t had breakfast yet—so I had to bid the good view goodbye and walk back to the train station.</p> <p>Across the train station, there’s a small plaza featuring a gym, a McDonald’s (how smart) and a small cafe. One mediocre sandwich and two sips of <em>horrendous</em> coffee later, went to the platform and waited for the train which arrived just on time.</p> <p>Two minutes into departure, as the coach I was on was already populated by extremely noisy and obnoxious people, one of the attendants bothered to announce to us all that, to her surprise (she has <em>just</em> found out), there are no functioning toilets on this train. I should tell you that the train had 5 coaches in it. Now to remind you, I had a bit of coffee before departing. Fortunately, the coffee was so disgusting that I couldn’t consume more than a couple of sips of it.</p> <p>Sure, I can carry two hours like this. No problem.</p> <p>Until the train stopped somewhere along the way, between two stations. “We’re in a traffic jam” the attendant called. Fantastic. And I thought that the reason we have trains around to begin with was to avoid traffic jams altogether.</p> <p>These are exactly the times when you thank yourself for allowing some good “safety interval” between connecting trains. Unless this train is delayed by an hour and a half, I should still be able to make it. We ended up arriving at London’s <em>Waterloo</em> station about 10 minutes late; the entire train unloaded itself into the toilets and I once again found myself roaming around Britain’s busiest train station, in terms of passenger throughput: <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Waterloo_station">London Waterloo</a></em>.</p> <p>After spending a few days in small cities in the UK, arriving to London can be a bit overwhelming. It can, and it was. No more tired faces; no more feeling as if the country is populated exclusively by the elderly. You’re suddenly swept in a sea of people, and you can’t possibly position yourself anywhere in the station in a way that will not disrupt others—especially in sunny, warm days as yesterday (I suppose such brilliant days are quite rare in UK’s Octobers).</p> <p>I was good on times so I decided to wander around the station. The <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Eye">London Eye</a></em> is practically across the street from the station, and so is <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westminster_Bridge">Westminster Bridge</a></em> which isn’t quite the unknown tourist location either. I decided to cross the bridge and enjoy the view, before taking the <em>Tube</em> to <em>St. Pancras International</em>.</p> <p>Crossing the bridge typically doesn’t take more than three minutes of continuous walk. Yesterday, however, it was different as the weather was so good that it seemed that no London resident opted at staying at home. The bridge offers wide sidewalks on both sides, however both of them were almost entirely static as shady, not-quite-trustworthy people were challenging innocent passer-byers with all sorts of tricks, mainly involving finding small items underneath ever-moving boxes.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-uVYpYP2l7MU/Ui_jYKtyfTI/AAAAAAAAe8w/jv0Vo9I3yv8/s1600-h/IMG_3590%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3590" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3590" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JsfEtw61v0U/Ui_jYt9UlRI/AAAAAAAAe84/ESwOTGDML28/IMG_3590_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6NSzQdhxqis/Ui_jZAsA5fI/AAAAAAAAe88/hr0doSe-FY0/s1600-h/IMG_3591%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3591" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3591" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-X5Qd0KIpRKM/Ui_jZn5wt6I/AAAAAAAAe9I/OVX9_9hdCxc/IMG_3591_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kxeQwfxpIkg/Ui_jaJqCseI/AAAAAAAAe9Q/yrhNKuiL_28/s1600-h/IMG_3592%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3592" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3592" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XnVMLflRS-U/Ui_jamBeTsI/AAAAAAAAe9Y/NLNC57IH9gU/IMG_3592_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-sV8haGD5KDU/Ui_jbH09n0I/AAAAAAAAe9g/xSqHrj58ZKM/s1600-h/IMG_3593%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3593" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3593" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-NV8GrMTArcE/Ui_jbpl9d-I/AAAAAAAAe9k/JzTgBeu3dFY/IMG_3593_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I got tired of the masses and was craving the peace and quiet of <em>St. Pancras International</em> (I have been there a few times before) so I decided to take the <em>Tube</em>. At last, after a few times in London, I had the common sense to actually go ahead and buy the <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oyster_card">Oyster Card</a></em>. This card actually guaranteed that you always end up paying the lowest public transportation fare, given all sorts of parameters (such as number of rides per day). My advice: if you’re going to be exploring London even for a day, don’t even think about doing it by individually paying for each trip, or buying individual passes. Get yourself an Oyster Card.</p> <p><em>Jubilee Line</em> for one station to <em>Green Park</em>, then the <em>Victoria Line</em> to <em>King’s Cross—St. Pancras International</em>… about 20 minutes and I was there. Finally, peace. Great lunch, check in, passport control and all I had to do was just wait.</p> <p>Everything going according to schedule, boarding went on smooth and I found myself in an half-empty coach. Laptop plugged to A/C outlet—done; BlackBerry recharging through USB cable—done. All set.</p> <p>Until a small girl seated right behind me started kicking my seat, which prompted me to start writing my thoughts about where this society is going (maybe I’ll publish it some day). Shortly later, the <em>Eurostar</em> started moving in immense speed; not much time passed before we were all cruising through the <em>English Channel</em>, and shortly later, we arrived at <em>Lille-Europe</em> train station.</p> <p>Welcome to <em>France</em>.</p> <hr /> <p>So the first thing I noticed once I departed the train and went on my way towards my hotel—a mere 5-6 minutes walk—was that we’re certainly not in rural England anymore. You suddenly feel a great sense of… well, how should I call it… “life”. Things seem colourful again.</p> <p>From <em>Lille-Europe</em>, which is the train station mainly used by <em>Eurostar</em> for international travel, to <em>Lille-Flandres</em>, which is Lille’s central train station, it takes about 5 minutes to walk. The hotel I was staying in, <em>Hotel Balladins</em>, was literally across the street from the train station, which initially raised a few concerns as hotels near central train stations aren’t known to be very pleasant. Then again, reviews that I had read implied that this hotel is something worthy of staying in, so I tried to keep my mood elevated and see where things are going.</p> <p>I was, actually, quite impressed. 3-stars hotel in such a location, surprisingly <em>very</em> quiet, for about €50 a night—seemed like a bargain (well, I <em>did</em> book it a few months in advance). Very clean rooms, comfortable bed, fantastic location—what else could one ask for.</p> <p>Hunger hit hard; quick set-up, unloaded everything I had on me and stormed out of the room in a quest for something to eat. The receptionist told me that I should be looking around the <em>Opera House</em> which is about 2-3 minutes walk away, so I left the hotel and started walking there.</p> <p>A smile took over my entire face immediately as I left the hotel and started walking towards the city centre. This is a gorgeous city.</p> <p>This restaurant—“<em>Les 3 Brasseurs</em>”—seemed very familiar until I realized that this same chain also exists in Canada. Look closely to the left of the restaurant’s sign; you’ll see a vertical sign saying <em>Hotel Balladins</em>—that’s the hotel I was staying at.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-XK8bS3-UT1s/Ui_jcKpaQzI/AAAAAAAAe9w/WU9yq1BQYJs/s1600-h/IMG_3594%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3594" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3594" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-7WwQs8OtnUo/Ui_jchJCueI/AAAAAAAAe90/nYBBjCOu-KE/IMG_3594_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Kept on walking, taking shots from around me.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-GKdUGAdpi68/Ui_jdAq7C0I/AAAAAAAAe-A/j5lztjP6TFE/s1600-h/IMG_3595%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3595" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3595" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Df5gcaVsIvM/Ui_jd8dknZI/AAAAAAAAe-I/oxgBrVH2SJA/IMG_3595_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-UcFVs9RPPF4/Ui_jeGCkeoI/AAAAAAAAe-Q/0dDS0CcnsJU/s1600-h/IMG_3596-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Ag2GDQSTQOo/Ui_je2y-XOI/AAAAAAAAe-Y/xG2uTp5oyWg/IMG_3596-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rSJYoWX8690/Ui_jfXk5dUI/AAAAAAAAe-g/33TC4JN93GE/s1600-h/IMG_3597-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-LVlfBc1vZ5w/Ui_jf5njLhI/AAAAAAAAe-o/dzSFMzx50vI/IMG_3597-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-lVUFbcYPCW8/Ui_jgaXECLI/AAAAAAAAe-w/zA6xhZKcbu0/s1600-h/IMG_3598%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3598" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3598" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-s7lHgGefoec/Ui_jg9D0DAI/AAAAAAAAe-4/VfziasAHFLI/IMG_3598_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Then I reached the city centre.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Aof-RrYH8Lo/Ui_jhb0LK8I/AAAAAAAAe_A/N3Itqe_3hSI/s1600-h/IMG_3599%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3599" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3599" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vskMvgRy69A/Ui_jhw7UnXI/AAAAAAAAe_I/XZyM7n0f1a8/IMG_3599_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-REpQ0LXITSs/Ui_jiSoZdrI/AAAAAAAAe_Q/Ubb0ZI-ukwc/s1600-h/IMG_3600%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3600" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3600" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ODTxxAyKyqI/Ui_ji9iD6GI/AAAAAAAAe_Y/PDAF4lo2qHg/IMG_3600_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-vOIkX_5fytE/Ui_jjWFj2GI/AAAAAAAAe_g/2wcgscFUXxU/s1600-h/IMG_3601%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3601" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3601" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-d3W6tJsxio4/Ui_jjwo2QuI/AAAAAAAAe_k/Kj7-D6Z0bl0/IMG_3601_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cQ-Fk3O7SPk/Ui_jkeqjH1I/AAAAAAAAe_w/cChUoErbdw0/s1600-h/IMG_3603%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3603" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3603" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Wz7T_eLsGMk/Ui_jk43XzRI/AAAAAAAAe_4/Z4vX0zHJm7Y/IMG_3603_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I mentioned, in one (or more) of my previous posts, <em>Barry Schwartz</em>’s book “<em>The Paradox of Choice</em>”, which does wonders to explain to its lucky readers how easily can a large variety make one’s life miserable. You get to understand the immense truth in it, once you realize that you’re starving and there are literally dozens of restaurants around you to choose from (and when I say “around you”, I mean within 2-3 minutes walk radius). I walked and walked around, encountering plenty of restaurants with all sorts of menus (mostly in French, of which I couldn’t make sense of whatsoever) but couldn’t quite figure out which it is that I <em>want</em> to enter.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-pNyaA1EbSto/Ui_jlQSv6jI/AAAAAAAAfAA/s9NpPgm9K90/s1600-h/IMG_3604%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3604" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3604" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-h3nByhYtXHU/Ui_jl2xdWEI/AAAAAAAAfAE/sjXSM0y_SNE/IMG_3604_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-UrofH75tgTM/Ui_jmYm9z0I/AAAAAAAAfAQ/z1VblCRu-Y0/s1600-h/IMG_3605%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3605" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3605" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Vh0YR2Ja6LY/Ui_jm0Ggs_I/AAAAAAAAfAU/gfXyqsZNHO4/IMG_3605_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>After trying out a few places—all being completely full (well, it was Saturday night), I ended up at “Les 3 Brasseurs” by my hotel. Good chunks of beef, as well as this lovely dessert.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-BxxbQ5ttihU/Ui_jncmG47I/AAAAAAAAfAg/0TBQqOZ9NSU/s1600-h/IMG_3606%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3606" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3606" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-qXTUH0WCcww/Ui_jnvkAFEI/AAAAAAAAfAo/tkaYFp64Yvw/IMG_3606_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Up to my hotel room…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-wXTqV5QG38w/Ui_joVSX4PI/AAAAAAAAfAw/BWgwljjvobY/s1600-h/IMG_3607%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3607" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3607" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bb2t_HXV1tw/Ui_jo12Sm9I/AAAAAAAAfA4/uNVoByJyi84/IMG_3607_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And I decided that that’s it. I’m in France; tomorrow will be <em>food day</em>.</p> <p>And it was.</p> <p>And painfully so.</p> <hr /> <p>OK so here is the thing about France and food. French people love their food. The French cuisine is considered by many to be the best in the world (I’m more in favour of the Italian cuisine, but I’d definitely be happy with French meals any time), and one of the things they take great pride in is their desserts.</p> <p>So, I decided to go on a little quest. Woke up early morning and went on to explore. Armed with a camera, I was looking for sweets.</p> <p>The first place I came across is <em>Meert</em>, which was a pity because I sort-of intended it to be the <em>last</em> place to go to, as it is quite the landmark for those with the sweet tooth. I sufficed with an exterior picture and moved on.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-QMVBJVm9lEw/Ui_jpXXqlKI/AAAAAAAAfA8/OJ5MMybJi-k/s1600-h/IMG_3609%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3609" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3609" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-wWAA_6b2RjE/Ui_jpxFaB4I/AAAAAAAAfBI/_Ztuk9XiJW0/IMG_3609_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Getting a bit lost at the city centre, I saw this nice establishment. It’s called “Paul”, and as I learned later, it’s not just a store but actually a chain. They are everywhere. So I stopped by and asked for a croissant.</p> <p>Great way to start a day: consuming a croissant before any sort of breakfast.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-K0KwhJ3UX38/Ui_jqTvogDI/AAAAAAAAfBQ/_H0JALluSkM/s1600-h/IMG_3610%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3610" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3610" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-KmUn4iHowQA/Ui_jq8xI2bI/AAAAAAAAfBY/gHa-L2RjeTA/IMG_3610_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I left the store holding the croissant in my hand. About 20 seconds later, it was all gone. It was actually so good that I couldn’t walk and eat it at the same time. It was all consumed within one meter radius of the store’s entrance. Just gone.</p> <p>Facing <em>Paul</em>, I noticed this nice store.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SxRgw8pljN4/Ui_jrROEflI/AAAAAAAAfBg/-GAQuP4h09Y/s1600-h/IMG_3611%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3611" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3611" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-OtRCJmo5kpc/Ui_jr1lvD5I/AAAAAAAAfBo/MAJ85EXowz0/IMG_3611_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Approaching, I encountered this.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-KSd4eBKoKjA/Ui_jsZ8madI/AAAAAAAAfBw/kKJTK0fjen8/s1600-h/IMG_3612%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3612" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3612" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-RiRRnu3-VkE/Ui_js_ib-mI/AAAAAAAAfB0/vJgDsND06sg/IMG_3612_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Now that’s a call for challenge. I mean, you see something like this, you just <em>have</em> to enter the store, regardless of whether the store is open for business or not. Luckily (for the store’s owner), it was open.</p> <p><strong><em><u>I should say that all pictures from the interiors of the stores were taken after requesting permission from the store’s owner (or attendant)</u></em></strong></p> <p>How about those macaroons (spelled “macarons” in French)?</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-4Npnk0Dyl8A/Ui_jtfYMe-I/AAAAAAAAfCA/1nxxhQjdIDc/s1600-h/IMG_3613%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3613" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3613" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-VcEe9QqA3Ls/Ui_jt11e5hI/AAAAAAAAfCI/ugaTSdig-EM/IMG_3613_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And these?</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mgg2pIWEsJY/Ui_juV_zjoI/AAAAAAAAfCQ/ZoaFWP1wRDI/s1600-h/IMG_3614%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3614" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3614" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-L2GWcaOMIjU/Ui_ju4PtphI/AAAAAAAAfCY/ul4h52rPBSk/IMG_3614_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-H-BRntbXimU/Ui_jvTEHfQI/AAAAAAAAfCg/lGyH7u54FtA/s1600-h/IMG_3615%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3615" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3615" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-h0b9oJY3hwU/Ui_jv0rQDjI/AAAAAAAAfCo/Ax8rMhjXHFY/IMG_3615_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>They also sell breads.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-mzPKVeDzY80/Ui_jwj3JmiI/AAAAAAAAfCw/DTjZwKIk7qI/s1600-h/IMG_3616%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3616" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3616" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-vQ5O4KurGnw/Ui_jxKD1PFI/AAAAAAAAfC4/WjlMPLRYaME/IMG_3616_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I spent about 10 minutes inspecting everything they had to offer—and, as you can see, we’re talking about quite the selection. Opted at a croissant (yes, another one) as well as another “puffy cake” which was wrapped in a box and later consumed with much love in the hotel room (see below for the “before” picture).</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-8qRjgWNnGPY/Ui_jxoXUPAI/AAAAAAAAfDA/9kxQmHMXlSg/s1600-h/IMG_3617%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3617" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3617" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-yoCyEuDqkVo/Ui_jyIakHpI/AAAAAAAAfDI/fV1MouOqMSc/IMG_3617_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-rL4896Ogt14/Ui_jyjiFDUI/AAAAAAAAfDQ/1wLqPZVxyGk/s1600-h/IMG_3618%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3618" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3618" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-chmm0ArIUOg/Ui_jzBAL2OI/AAAAAAAAfDY/dBuJigrbGl0/IMG_3618_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Being stunned by the celebration of tastes and flavours, I stormed out of the hotel room once again, trying to avoid thoughts of sweets by taking pictures of a gorgeous city centre in even more gorgeous weather.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Q9y0M_Spq8k/Ui_jzjOjffI/AAAAAAAAfDg/vr-7tu60f6A/s1600-h/IMG_3619%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3619" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3619" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-IxdXcDIozis/Ui_j0Oyl0EI/AAAAAAAAfDo/K1lxvKbHkkw/IMG_3619_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-JTnBHUQHmmw/Ui_j0_ONfyI/AAAAAAAAfDw/gV8IcWr3hiw/s1600-h/IMG_3620%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3620" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3620" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-hBhShPiv3LM/Ui_j1STWbqI/AAAAAAAAfD4/MG1IBT7f-O0/IMG_3620_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vat1N2p04No/Ui_j1-I8HgI/AAAAAAAAfEA/ohdKyunPksY/s1600-h/IMG_3621%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3621" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3621" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-DnNZ6kxgVkU/Ui_j2UzynvI/AAAAAAAAfEI/6DuuhAjONEQ/IMG_3621_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-aZWBBFiJh-0/Ui_j20zI1qI/AAAAAAAAfEQ/D1xb1bVwu9U/s1600-h/IMG_3622%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3622" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3622" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-IBrcV_8HZck/Ui_j3WSKZKI/AAAAAAAAfEY/XlrHpYD4LFc/IMG_3622_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-aj5lzIy9caE/Ui_j38VsfRI/AAAAAAAAfEg/Vl4Gv_R1cEU/s1600-h/IMG_3623%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3623" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3623" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3NyabplSdYk/Ui_j4JOtV6I/AAAAAAAAfEk/urrxM5FgZww/IMG_3623_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bZbeHYwDsfM/Ui_j4sW6PwI/AAAAAAAAfEw/zHiomd5gIUA/s1600-h/IMG_3624%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3624" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3624" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Z4skTslsWAQ/Ui_j5X7HkXI/AAAAAAAAfE4/SA0pq9gjQ7Y/IMG_3624_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Perfect time for getting some sun, so I spent about an hour over coffee in this nice terrace.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-iE7BaONsyDk/Ui_j54XXUyI/AAAAAAAAfFA/mG7Xj51eBxI/s1600-h/IMG_3625%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3625" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3625" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5Sa91rwDCKs/Ui_j6Y9WYeI/AAAAAAAAfFI/Yt7nRGO_v-w/IMG_3625_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And then, I felt I was ready.</p> <p>I was ready to go and explore new dimensions.</p> <p>I was ready to take on myself the great responsibility (and accompanying pleasure) of stepping into the shrine.</p> <p>I took upon me the quest to bring to you, my people, the blessing.</p> <p>I went to <em>Meert</em>.</p> <hr /> <p>The first thing you notice about <em>Meert</em> is the people who are constantly outside the store looking at the display window. There are often more people outside the store, gazing at the window and drooling, than people inside the store—that’s because prices here are <em>not</em> cheap. Most of the delicacies shown here go for about €5-6 a piece.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-cpPS7gUYyao/Ui_j7bucVPI/AAAAAAAAfFQ/abtasbeRMnk/s1600-h/IMG_3626%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3626" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3626" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SSfC4pwK7Gw/Ui_j70UKSzI/AAAAAAAAfFY/mKKsWv60Xlw/IMG_3626_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-GCXSCSkekRI/Ui_j8cx8IFI/AAAAAAAAfFg/0gGf-MVP6d0/s1600-h/IMG_3627%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3627" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3627" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-IuL28wHgtYg/Ui_j8yXFP6I/AAAAAAAAfFo/ibkFwK8-pyU/IMG_3627_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I then took the courage and went inside. Asked for permission and took a few shots…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-dx7OWn9dSoM/Ui_j9Z7u_yI/AAAAAAAAfFw/CMFxV-xOZCs/s1600-h/IMG_3629%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3629" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3629" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-wHtrrb82dZg/Ui_j98X91BI/AAAAAAAAfF0/e-3OivIuS-Q/IMG_3629_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-VmPbPMJMss4/Ui_j-RUrS3I/AAAAAAAAfGA/VCDjybhOCwg/s1600-h/IMG_3630%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3630" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3630" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9fGSR2pD7_4/Ui_j-nb8mAI/AAAAAAAAfGE/kWG8ZKpMWas/IMG_3630_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… As well as a video.</p> <div class="embedded-video" style="width: 448px"><iframe style="height: 252px" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0OSYb_IXFXU" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div class="embedded-video-caption"> <p>Meert’s desserts on display.</p> </div> </div> <p>What’s special about <em>Meert</em>, comparing to other locations I stepped into, is that these guys exercise extreme attention to detail when they design their desserts. Of course, it’s all relative; even the crappiest desserts store here would seem like heaven to the outsider.</p> <p>20 minutes later I was able to decide that I’m going for a cheesecake and some other chocolate-based cake. Wrapped it up for later and went back to the hotel for a short rest before the concert.</p> <hr /> <p>The <em>Zénith Arena</em> is located about 5 minutes walk south-east from the hotel I was staying at. The city centre is a few minutes walk west, so that was new unchartered territory for me. A bit of a shady walk, I should say; but still, the <em>Novotel</em> hotel is located at that stretch so I’m wondering how bad can that area really be.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-176WOQ9gguE/Ui_j_FNJZZI/AAAAAAAAfGQ/uuyoD2v07YE/s1600-h/IMG_3633-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-kzsQgY8vIb4/Ui_j_9b49kI/AAAAAAAAfGY/lDXNfFsfKpw/IMG_3633-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-PZd1SYIfNKo/Ui_kAallO4I/AAAAAAAAfGg/7pcMpy-tgHQ/s1600-h/IMG_3634-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-MNB9SU-zbc8/Ui_kAyUCn7I/AAAAAAAAfGo/fapdhbH-Dac/IMG_3634-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>One of the best ways to know that you’re close to the concert’s venue is when you’re encountering scalpers. Scalping is illegal in France but, just like many other French laws, this one serves as a mere recommendation, a “rule of thumb”.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-8iz-k4kjKtg/Ui_kBIBgkkI/AAAAAAAAfGw/Tnsz35ZPn9w/s1600-h/IMG_3635%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3635" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3635" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-VHziZZX8uTI/Ui_kBhdB2yI/AAAAAAAAfG4/G-GhDCyjgI4/IMG_3635_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Arrived at the venue and immediately met <em>Laurent</em>, a nice fellow with whom I stayed in touch with since the last tour. Was good meeting with him at last and catch up, as he was introducing me to this venue.</p> <p>At the front, there were a few lines that looked quite like what you might expect bull stalls to look like—the stalls that hold the bulls at bay before the wooden door opens and the bull rages into the arena. There weren’t many people there when I arrived, maybe a hundred or so.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-mGLRq-UKaPE/Ui_kCD0HXKI/AAAAAAAAfHA/Pfv-5Eu54pA/s1600-h/IMG_3636%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3636" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3636" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-8oUMGrWEs9k/Ui_kCsvfamI/AAAAAAAAfHI/M_3xHrCsdLU/IMG_3636_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The ticket office, shown in the picture above to the very right, was closed. That would royally suck for people who bought <em>general admission</em> tickets for venue pick-up, as such people would miss the chance being in the front (at least theoretically. As you shall see soon, there always are “creative solutions”). The way this venue is organized is that the floor is general admission, standing only, and there are terraces at the second and third floors for seated guests. As always, I opted at the seated option so I was certainly in no rush.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Cr9qoOrAo_Y/Ui_kDeoSCZI/AAAAAAAAfHQ/2eVb0j1VRD8/s1600-h/IMG_3637%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3637" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3637" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-E0sHFuANLyo/Ui_kD3_7TuI/AAAAAAAAfHY/8lgU2SEfhp4/IMG_3637_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p><em>Elian</em>, <em>Arnaud</em> and <em>David</em>, a trio whom I had met during the last tour (I still recall the awesome <em>wine</em>, <em>cheese</em> and <em>Stratocaster</em> eve in Elian’s place), drove from Paris and showed up shortly after. There we were, the five of us, waiting for the doors to open so we decided to go have a drink and a snack nearby. Beers for everyone except myself (I had coffee. I rarely drink alcohol; there needs to be an extremely special occasion for that to happen), some French fries (well, over there they’re simply called “Fries”) and back to the venue. While we were away, people kept arriving and now there were some sizeable queues everywhere.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-uIgElqlmdWo/Ui_kEu0fFiI/AAAAAAAAfHg/bJ8tFWCsoLw/s1600-h/IMG_3639%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3639" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3639" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Ivb7ZevmX7E/Ui_kFBHp00I/AAAAAAAAfHo/EwYFaAtIITQ/IMG_3639_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p><em>Brigitte</em> and <em>Marithe</em> were both there, good to see them both as well. We all lined up waiting for the ticketing office to open… well, as much as you can call it “line up”. This is not Canada. For an illustration what a French line-up looks like, refer to the picture below.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TH2rybqeVUE/Ui_kFgpuDaI/AAAAAAAAfHw/dQ0QRl7nQ_Y/s1600-h/IMG_3640%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3640" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3640" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-PgvFdEcSs2w/Ui_kGYTRFuI/AAAAAAAAfH4/41b6t4Pj1ng/IMG_3640_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>A typical Canadian encountering this would probably freak out and crawl back to his hotel. Line-ups appear to be deprecated in France to the same extent that they’re worshipped in Canada. In Canada, a line-up is where people <em>want</em> to be. It’s where they feel that they’re doing something right, something proper. Something polite. Yes, even in the French-speaking provinces. But in France…</p> <p>Shortly after 7:00pm, an attendant called the audience in line to stay calm and enter the venue slowly and not rush anywhere. Two minutes later, the gates opened and absolutely nobody followed any plea for peaceful entry. Well, it wasn’t as aggressive as in Spain or in The Netherlands (the latter might sound a surprise. The Dutch are indeed polite and orderly people, but when the time comes to race towards the stage in general admission concert… they’re different) but still it was nothing I’d ever wish to take a part of.</p> <p>The initial instructions for those who picked up their tickets (or bought tickets) at the ticketing office were to grab their ticket and then join the regular queue, effectively being the last ones to enter. That would suck the sweat of many perspiring horses for people who were there to pick up tickets for general admission. Not to worry, though. Some barrier has been moved and suddenly a new way existed to enter the arena.</p> <p>My seat, once more, failed to impress me or anybody. First row on the terrace, to the right—right in front of the stage’s left-hand speakers. Contrary to <em>Bournemouth</em> though, sound was surprisingly good, even in that location.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-H6BbNOHYrcc/Ui_kG8QgJ-I/AAAAAAAAfIA/Aly2VhODBQ0/s1600-h/IMG_3641%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3641" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3641" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-N9Bb_xgozE4/Ui_kHfICAjI/AAAAAAAAfII/V0YAPulSTHk/IMG_3641_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-kFAyc54EZcM/Ui_kH1oRLuI/AAAAAAAAfIQ/5EXMKAYJ8JQ/s1600-h/IMG_3642%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3642" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3642" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WdhvGln-Ymc/Ui_kIRf4CoI/AAAAAAAAfIY/7emHq849-SA/IMG_3642_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <hr /> <p>One of the things that were fascinating for me to learn last year as I watched 87 concerts in 21 different countries, was audiences’ behaviour and reception of the band. So, another proof for us not being in England anymore was the audience—by far, the most receptive audience so far this tour (not such a big deal, considering the fact that we have been mostly in the UK so far). I couldn’t help but smiling as I witnessed the great love being poured onto this band by this very receptive audience—it is truly heart-warming, even if you’re not a member of the band.</p> <p>I recall the French, Italian and Spanish audiences being the most receptive audiences, with the Italian & Spanish ones bordering on insanity sometimes (depending on the area. The more south you go, the more likely you are to encounter the seeds of audience insanity).</p> <p>And with this, folks, comes good performance. There is no way around it. With all due respect to this band—and some of you may have already understood the level of respect I have towards this band—they are not, and they <strong><em><u>can</u></em></strong> not, decouple their level of performance from the warmth of audience welcome.</p> <p><em>What It Is</em> opened the show, allowing the Lille audience to well demonstrate that we’re now in a warmer, more receptive place. <em>Cleaning My Gun</em> followed, rocking as usual except for a period of about 10-15 seconds when Ian Thomas had to play the drums with one hand, using the other to properly fit his earpiece. Unless you were looking at him at that time, you wouldn’t have noticed.</p> <p><em>Corned Beef City</em> is back in the game, spreading rock n’ roll dust all over the arena using three chords (C, F, G), one of which dominates about %98 of the song. Together with an excellent performance of <em>Privateering</em>, these were the two unreleased songs of the evening—<em>Haul Away for Home</em> being left out (insert an extremely sad face here). For pretty much everybody’s enjoyment, <em>Speedway at Nazareth</em> made a comeback. That is—everybody’s enjoyment but mine. Sorry, I just am not a huge fan of this particular song. Never was, unlikely to ever be. Shoot me.</p> <p><em>So Far Away</em> was the only Dire Straits song to be played, and concluded the show at around 9:15pm. Great show. Post-concert shoots follow.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ILWSG3tQxHY/Ui_kIj2YNMI/AAAAAAAAfIg/Wa4l-bXsOrM/s1600-h/IMG_3643%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3643" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3643" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-9gghVmseoG4/Ui_kJKnXZmI/AAAAAAAAfIo/XO1MObGfsOQ/IMG_3643_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-yFyiH34NPlA/Ui_kJsNzA3I/AAAAAAAAfIw/upjK1RFKuuA/s1600-h/IMG_3644%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3644" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3644" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vpg-aUb0-zc/Ui_kKCD6C9I/AAAAAAAAfI4/qE6qyLgrrUc/IMG_3644_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Some convincing having been done, I decided to pop some earplugs and stay for Bob Dylan’s performance. At the end of Mark’s set, I went for a breath of fresh air around the venue.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-cMSy9s4Zts4/Ui_kKtWYurI/AAAAAAAAfJA/izHw69sP4_8/s1600-h/IMG_3645%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3645" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3645" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-sI8J2MuVkDQ/Ui_kLL8Zc6I/AAAAAAAAfJI/Tw_oFT8stOE/IMG_3645_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-r6tGQm8U4po/Ui_kLp2x0bI/AAAAAAAAfJQ/AbZUQVIa9eU/s1600-h/IMG_3646%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3646" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3646" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-_zwYHat1Qt4/Ui_kMJv1baI/AAAAAAAAfJU/e3SSv0Fr6bU/IMG_3646_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>How about this. They serve crepes and Belgian waffles at the venue. Now how’s that instead of a hotdog.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-OjQPK9KGY9w/Ui_kMQvD99I/AAAAAAAAfJc/n5yNkRsrnuo/s1600-h/IMG_3647%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3647" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3647" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-w4dpbsrOdT0/Ui_kNEJ_PKI/AAAAAAAAfJo/Cy7D29wKKn8/IMG_3647_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Went back inside a few moments after Bob’s set commenced. Sorry to say but… no. I just can’t bring myself to the state of enjoying this show. Bob’s band is great, featuring top players but for me, vocals count a lot and even with earplugs in place I just couldn’t take it much further than 5-6 songs, at which point I got up and left the arena.</p> <hr /> <p>Back in my hotel, I decided I was starving. Some Shawarma from a nearby hole-in-the-wall did much to fix it (well, I was eating like a pig the entire day, so might as well finish it like a pig), and so did the two <em>Meert</em> desserts that were left. At 11:30pm, I was after dinner involving Shawarma and two brilliant cakes. It was then when I realized the immense level of insanity of the food I had been eating all day. Felt <em>really</em> bad, and had immense trouble falling asleep.</p> <p>Woke up this morning feeling like a dead horse after severe trouble staying asleep.</p> <p>Signing off this post from my hotel room in <em>Paris</em>.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-7592166523280120432011-10-15T17:21:00.001-07:002013-09-10T20:14:53.917-07:00Concert Day: Bournemouth International Centre (BIC), Bournemouth, UK (October 14, 2011)<p><em>The Royal Hotel</em>’s comfortable bed didn’t do much to encourage me to wake up so early in the morning—8:00am—to catch the train to <em>Bournemouth</em>. That, plus the knowledge that I’m expecting a relatively annoying train ride: leaving <em>Cardiff</em> at 9:30am, arriving to <em>Southampton</em> at 12:00pm, then taking the 12:24pm train to <em>Bournemouth</em>, arriving at 1:00pm.</p> <p>Well, I have had worse during the last tour. How could I possibly forget, for instance, those nightmarish night trains, or that <a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com/2010/07/concert-day-feste-marienberg-wurzburg.html">4 connections train ride from Locarno to Würzburg</a><em></em>. I suppose, after going through hell and back with train rides in Europe, very little can happen to actually surprise me but still I sort-of lost the will and patience to cope with such lengthy journeys.</p> <p>Weather-wise, it was a good day. As we rode south towards the coast, clouds started showing less and less frequently. The typical green landscape reflecting through the window—that of rolling hills and valleys, the occasional farm, goats and cattle along the way—looks much prettier when the sky is blue, I’ll give you that.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bv88iAzosMs/Ui_fxGUERpI/AAAAAAAAe2s/up9m6k-ieSg/s1600-h/IMG_3556%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3556" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3556" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-KTAEvAvq6VM/Ui_fyIGNO9I/AAAAAAAAe20/WEwjdWjMA_s/IMG_3556_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-yZs637V5xZU/Ui_fzFxTqeI/AAAAAAAAe28/bUfelPhAuio/s1600-h/IMG_3558%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3558" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3558" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lBAknHy6ZsU/Ui_fzmupTII/AAAAAAAAe3A/eJ8gSvH1OV0/IMG_3558_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Arrived at <em>Southampton Central</em> on time. Small, crowded train station with nothing much interesting going for it—one of those train stations one really looks forward to spend as little time in as possible. Hopped to the other platform, just in time to hear that the train to <em>Bournemouth</em> has been delayed about 15 minutes due to some vehicle striking the railway (or something like that) somewhere along the tracks.</p> <p>That’s why, after all, I prefer taking early trains—as early as possible. I can’t begin to describe the sort of anxiety one gets once plans seem to be falling through just because one train failed to arrive on time. Better get it over with fast; you can <em>never</em> have too much time on your hands when you’re doing such trips.</p> <p>Train was late about 15 minutes. Boarded and sat by the window, minding my own business until some lady boarded right after me and chose to sit at the seat next to mine.</p> <p>That usually doesn’t happen as my body typically acts like a reverse magnet on women. Sat down next to me, and me being myself, I just kept being quiet. At some point during the ride, some thugs seated a few rows in front of us started making noise, probably being “fuelled up” by alcohol.</p> <p>—“I don’t understand why they do that”, she said while looking at me.</p> <p>And so we went on and on about all sorts of things. Nice girl named Abby (or Abbey, I don’t know) from Southampton, with very interesting things to say. Knows how to bake and helping many people in need.</p> <p>Bournemouth wasn’t too far ahead so before we knew it, we had to cut our conversation. Good talking to nice people along the road; better than spending time completely alone, or being forced to listen to idiots. We bid each other goodbye (no, no phone numbers were exchanged. But thanks for asking) and within a couple of minutes I was out of the train station; welcome to <em>Bournemouth</em>.</p> <hr /> <p><em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bournemouth">Bournemouth</a></em> is a small city at the south end of the UK. It is one of the more popular beach-side cities in the UK, featuring brilliant beaches and high cliffs offering spectacular views. Last year’s tour had a stop in Bournemouth; I ended up staying in a nice Bed & Breakfast in nearby <em>Boscombe</em>. This time, I decided to stay closer to the venue; I ended up picking <em>The Suncliff Hotel</em>, situated right by the <em>East Cliff</em>, a stone throw from the sea.</p> <p>Armed with a map (on my BlackBerry) showing the route to the hotel, I started walking towards the beach. With every step I took, more and more memories from last year’s visit kept creeping in until I didn’t feel stranger to the place at all.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lk3Hdj_gmx4/Ui_f0A1e-MI/AAAAAAAAe3M/l3o6YlnBc2k/s1600-h/IMG_3559%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3559" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3559" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Jq08EfpEPmA/Ui_f0upIE3I/AAAAAAAAe3U/qSL_ffoNMy0/IMG_3559_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/--r7C50HKIPU/Ui_f1AaTQkI/AAAAAAAAe3c/ilc-vNhoCEg/s1600-h/IMG_3560%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3560" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3560" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-C5bz8SjepnU/Ui_f1nCgCRI/AAAAAAAAe3k/2Jahvqx7RfM/IMG_3560_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Bournemouth is quiet and relatively clean. A strong sense of tranquility holds you as you approach the beach area, walking through streets beset by greenery.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6AtQWrJoCfI/Ui_f2IAwDxI/AAAAAAAAe3s/fdWPmGEwfHk/s1600-h/IMG_3561%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3561" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3561" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-HxG2uE0yi_8/Ui_f2ij0dMI/AAAAAAAAe30/j8gV64ju9f8/IMG_3561_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cM-Xu6MH8Iw/Ui_f3WvaihI/AAAAAAAAe38/7nnYSQ73DdQ/s1600-h/IMG_3563%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3563" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3563" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-hNH9LeYH8zo/Ui_f366vE2I/AAAAAAAAe4E/bCw65vdZZXg/IMG_3563_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-VLUqTTtjrb0/Ui_f4deFpvI/AAAAAAAAe4M/_qRlnpmNHMA/s1600-h/IMG_3564%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3564" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3564" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-KZKmvbQQbdU/Ui_f48VV8WI/AAAAAAAAe4U/fuq140OW3W0/IMG_3564_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The final turn… this road that seems to end, actually ends there. That’s where the water starts.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Bcy1wL2xSe8/Ui_f5WC_DgI/AAAAAAAAe4c/LvdOqv2SBLA/s1600-h/IMG_3565%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3565" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3565" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tw0i0Ud7iz4/Ui_f57v3MrI/AAAAAAAAe4g/b3DRT3TJ21c/IMG_3565_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-UvBVUKGlvss/Ui_f6QK2xSI/AAAAAAAAe4s/9M4BFoSRAxA/s1600-h/IMG_3566%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3566" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3566" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-CZOKatZ7DZQ/Ui_f62nXWFI/AAAAAAAAe40/4-xrhdZKoEw/IMG_3566_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>A short walk west along the cliff, until I reached my hotel.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kj83oTUQLdY/Ui_f7i2sowI/AAAAAAAAe48/gI6jgxz_dYc/s1600-h/IMG_3567%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3567" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3567" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-e49O9Ox8dx0/Ui_f-j4rlYI/AAAAAAAAe5E/8hsk8OS4ifQ/IMG_3567_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And now look at this.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-27KWH683TR0/Ui_f_jsoSYI/AAAAAAAAe5M/9lIpHyeY0BQ/s1600-h/IMG_3568%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3568" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3568" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-laQCDUhxVCg/Ui_gAMebuYI/AAAAAAAAe5U/2LXtydLpvS0/IMG_3568_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Peace. Absolute peace. I was happy to be back in Bournemouth, especially now when it’s off-peak and things are quieter. I was also thrilled to see how close my hotel was to the beach… thrilled, until I checked into my room and got completely and utterly disappointed. Tiny room, view to the parking lot; general renovations to the rooms are definitely due.</p> <p>Most of the hotels that look very nice on the outside, stretching alongside the cliffs, are actually <em>very old</em> buildings that have been renovated at the outside, a little bit in the inside but the rooms remained somewhere in the 19th century. This is not very strange in the UK—in general, I found hotel standards in the UK to leave much to be desired. Usually small, old rooms.</p> <p>And if I once again check into a hotel room with separate hot & cold taps, I’m going to fucking <em>freak out</em>. Get over it, for God’s sake.</p> <p>The room had the sex appeal of a 9-cars pile-up so I fled the scene, carrying my laptop on the way to the only nice place I know of in Bournemouth—that is, the <em>Marriott Hotel</em> which is conveniently located right atop a cliff, some 1.5km away.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Tm4gGg_gMRY/Ui_gAj-yPVI/AAAAAAAAe5c/DjyRbv1K_oc/s1600-h/IMG_3569%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3569" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3569" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-a6jayIiJm6k/Ui_gBJg8MaI/AAAAAAAAe5k/fArFRAcfFNE/IMG_3569_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4FPDrTnA6AU/Ui_gBiSZedI/AAAAAAAAe5s/2sHIUCxmuvQ/s1600-h/IMG_3570%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3570" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3570" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-c1GxMYIutVA/Ui_gCKd3OlI/AAAAAAAAe50/BQYUch9uzOY/IMG_3570_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-D7rvB8VQYTs/Ui_gCoBJorI/AAAAAAAAe58/sHINsoKnHtg/s1600-h/IMG_3571%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3571" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3571" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-y8hkDL_ZVNc/Ui_gDP80Z-I/AAAAAAAAe6E/5o3hjGiZVd4/IMG_3571_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>As soon as I got to the <em>Marriott</em>, I felt stupid for not having booked a room there for the night. Amongst the many touristic Bournemouth hotels—the ones that look good at the outside but crappy inside—the <em>Marriott</em> is actually a really good hotel. The American Gang with whom I spent touring the UK with last summer have stayed in this hotel, and I remember the rooms being lovely. So if you’re in town and looking for a <em>good</em> place to stay, just stay there. It’s obviously more expensive than many other hotels, but in Bournemouth—and also considering the hotel standards in the UK as a whole—it’s worth it.</p> <p>Had some good high afternoon tea there, being seated on the porch overlooking the brilliant sea. A familiar figure was seated at a nearby table—took me a few seconds to realize it’s one of Bob Dylan’s guitar players. A polite hello and a very short conversation—nice fellow. Went on to write the previous day’s blog; I’d love to ask a few more questions, specifically about guitar playing, but I hate taking too much of people’s time, and here we’re talking about a musician a few hours before a concert.</p> <p>I had much time to kill before the concert so I spent pretty much all of it in the Marriott’s lounge. Tea, coffee, whatever. Sitting in that lounge overlooking the sea—that’s really all I needed. Good atmosphere, total relaxation.</p> <p>Left at around 5:30pm, as I had to walk all the way back to my hotel to put my laptop there, then walk back to the venue which is about 45 seconds walk from the Marriott. In retrospect, that was an extremely stupid thing to do. I could have just asked the Marriott to keep an eye on my backpack until I’m back.</p> <p>Better use of brains… next time. 6:30pm and I’m at the venue—the <em>Bournemouth International Centre</em> (BIC).</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-0E-Zbyd9x7s/Ui_gDbrpq2I/AAAAAAAAe6M/TbadxSqxS9A/s1600-h/IMG_3572%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3572" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3572" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-dP8OmKjb_G4/Ui_gEGtv0KI/AAAAAAAAe6U/KhoTlzn_0vs/IMG_3572_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p> <hr /></p> <p>Ticket collection was a snap this time. The way the venue was set up for this concert was general admission (standing) on the floor, and seats in the upper level. As usual, I opted at the seated option and therefore I watched the concert from above.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-pXqQYF770TE/Ui_gElGuXqI/AAAAAAAAe6c/iLyVHBZmvK4/s1600-h/IMG_3573%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3573" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3573" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6YlElq9Kvd8/Ui_gFN7kqhI/AAAAAAAAe6k/3G6Jk_EQY8s/IMG_3573_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3K3eRaSc4Wo/Ui_gFuFjRII/AAAAAAAAe6s/fSs4u_G-fl0/s1600-h/IMG_3575%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3575" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3575" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-VtOmCvy4P7c/Ui_gGC3IPII/AAAAAAAAe60/1pUPeraFcIs/IMG_3575_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-9NTVbJ7VzJc/Ui_gGumrVOI/AAAAAAAAe68/to2zFGuC43M/s1600-h/IMG_3576%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3576" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3576" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Z2ZPCktvm34/Ui_gHKDAR0I/AAAAAAAAe7E/FSuUMG4QtpY/IMG_3576_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The concert started, as usual, a few minutes past 7:30pm in front of what seemed to be a sold-out venue. It was then, a few second after the concert’s start, that I knew that I wasn’t going to enjoy much of it, the reason being the sound. Something there just didn’t add up for me: even though I wasn’t seated all the way to the side (I’d say about 75-80% to the left), the sound seemed to be pretty uneven when certain instruments (most notably the bass guitar) dominated the sonic spectrum.</p> <p>Other than that, not much to mention. <em>Why Aye Man</em>, opening the show and played with my not-so-favourite cyan-coloured Gibson, raised a couple of eyebrows for those who had heard it two million times before as it featured relatively fast and elaborate solos, both between verses and at the end.</p> <p><em>Haul Away for Home</em> was skipped, replaced by <em>A Night in Summer Long Ago</em> which, as always, was a pleasure to listen to. Mark only rarely plays this tune—last tour, it was only played twice (out of 87 shows), if my memory serves me right.</p> <p>Good performance of all remaining songs, save for a bit of an odd <em>Marbletown</em> performance which seemed to be overly busy during the jam session, then dropping to a rather uneventful fade out. Not the <em>Marbletown</em> I got used to, but certainly pleasant.</p> <p>As (now) usual, <em>Brothers in Arms</em> and <em>So Far Away</em> concluded the concert and sent a few thousands of people out for an intermission before <em>Bob Dylan</em>’s show, and myself—outside, again for my lack of interest in damaging my ear drums.</p> <p>Post-concert photos…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-175YBFt5bD4/Ui_gHYKKvzI/AAAAAAAAe7M/j7TIOFOJXWM/s1600-h/IMG_3577%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3577" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3577" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-BN89QNV28NY/Ui_gIMhH4-I/AAAAAAAAe7U/HVrUvtLOzkM/IMG_3577_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cY0lcxwgqXA/Ui_gItXOlOI/AAAAAAAAe7c/mlZVcRxodO4/s1600-h/IMG_3578%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3578" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3578" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Md8r9G85fy8/Ui_gJDjfhnI/AAAAAAAAe7k/Ihk17GUYDf0/IMG_3578_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>(And yes, I know. I know about the joint Mark / Bob performance at the BIC—thanks for the emails pointing that out. Still, my eardrums are rather precious to me)</p> <hr /> <p>The venue is located half way up a cliff, in the middle of an incline starting at the water level and leading up to where the <em>Marriott</em> is located. It was very chilly and windy outside, but I love the sight of the moonlight reflecting from the sea so I had to stick around for an extra 20-30 minutes. I figured it might be too cold for me to gaze at the water from atop the cliff (in front of the <em>Marriott</em>) so I decided to stay at the area right behind the venue which was relatively wind-protected.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-M0JzlYv-wOA/Ui_gJu57JpI/AAAAAAAAe7s/CHnzxUBDev0/s1600-h/IMG_3584%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3584" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3584" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-N9QslSVe_aE/Ui_gKKEjg9I/AAAAAAAAe70/5_JMwXtk_i4/IMG_3584_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The sight of the sea brought back memories from the last tour—from the highs of having been accompanied by four joyful Americans throughout the UK (we had a lot of fun together) to the lows of feeling rather lonely walking along the beaches in <em>Brighton</em>, which is another sea-side city on the UK’s south coast.</p> <p>I then came across this. Good luck getting out of that one.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-CLkxgQWoVrI/Ui_gKkYBkXI/AAAAAAAAe78/3oc2FSrpKys/s1600-h/IMG_3587%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3587" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3587" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ei0LGmniDI4/Ui_gLOKlTeI/AAAAAAAAe8E/Re5f0mJPRBg/IMG_3587_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Time for late dinner. The area surrounding the venue features many pubs (serving garbage food) and a few low-cost restaurants, but I already had my eyes set on <em><a href="http://www.tiienthairestaurant.co.uk">Tiien</a></em>—the Thai restaurant adjacent to the <em>Marriott</em>. It had an interesting menu—not cheap, though—and so many diners that I felt comfortable stepping inside for a bite.</p> <p>Well, what can I say. The food was terrific but service left much to be desired as it seemed as if too many people were involved in the entire service chain. One guy to welcome you, another one to show you where to sit, another one to offer you drinks, another one to take your order and yet another one to actually serve you the food. At the end, you end up with three different people asking you (conveniently enough, when your mouth is full) if you’re enjoying your meal.</p> <p>Food was good, though. I’d recommend it. Their coconut rice is mouth-watering.</p> <p>Meal went by quickly and off I went back to my hotel. Wireless Internet was only available at the reception area, so I stuck around the lounge writing my blog while the hotel’s band was playing, begging people (50 years old and up) to dance. Unpleasant at best, but what wouldn’t you do for proper Internet connection.</p> <p>Tired, I got to sleep at around midnight. Correction: I went to bed at around midnight, but fell asleep much later. Found it very hard to fall asleep, mostly because of the intimidating, claustrophobia-awakening design of this room.</p> <p>That stupid room.</p> <p>Skip this hotel.</p> <hr /> <p>Signing off this post at around 2:20am in <em>Lille</em>. Was a good day today. Stay tuned.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-52860077467729057742011-10-14T08:39:00.001-07:002013-09-10T20:07:16.093-07:00Day-Off in Nottingham, UK & Concert Day: Motorpoint Arena, Cardiff, UK (October 12-13, 2011)<p>I usually prefer using “days off” (that is, days in which no concert is being played) for travel, rather than postponing travel to the same day as the concert. I learned the hard way that even when you assign the probability of “0%” to things getting screwed up, something unexpected can always happen when you rely on public transit so why risk it.</p> <p>On the other hand, I have been to Cardiff before but never been to Nottingham; knowing that Cardiff is a relatively small city, I decided to spend the day off in Nottingham, walk around for a bit and do the train ride to Cardiff the next day.</p> <p>Nottingham’s city centre—that is, the area with most life in it and where tourists start exploring the city from—is bounded by <em>Upper Parliament Street</em> in the north, <em>Maid Marian Way</em> to the west, the <em>Nottingham Canal</em> to the south and highway A60 to the east. I suppose <em>Upper Parliament Street</em> is so named because it is, really, upper. From the canal at the south to <em>Upper Parliament Street</em> at the north, one would constantly walk in an incline—not a terribly difficult one, but still.</p> <p>To make a long story short, Nottingham’s city centre is pretty and charming; well, we’re not talking about <em>Prague</em> or <em>Vienna</em> here but still, comparing to other places I’ve been to in the UK, Nottingham is of the prettier ones. A city traveller, who isn’t much into architecture and history, is unlikely to wish to spend more than a couple of days here, though.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-8430saGXxRM/Ui_dmOEA1hI/AAAAAAAAeqI/7ysuka-AlI4/s1600-h/IMG_3498-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-QS7xbnPA0dY/Ui_dma2s9kI/AAAAAAAAeqQ/9qyLqQhmp5Q/IMG_3498-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p><em>Kings Walk</em> is a tiny charming little passage leading from Upper Parliament Street to a pleasant square boasting a few interesting dining options, clubs and a few local pubs. Good spot to hang out, between having lunch at <em>Prezzo</em> (which became my favourite UK-based Italian food chain) and sipping coffee at <em>Caffe Nero</em>, two doors down (free Wi-Fi there. In fact, spotting free Wi-Fi areas in Europe—the UK included—isn’t as easy as it is in North America so once you find one, stick to it).</p> <p>Went down <em>King Street</em> and took pictures of whatever I found pleasing to the eye.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-0s1u1gmQSyw/Ui_dm3kOOUI/AAAAAAAAeqY/uO67RjQqcCE/s1600-h/IMG_3499-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-BkwIGXduEoI/Ui_dnQFxncI/AAAAAAAAeqg/MCIsue-o3Is/IMG_3499-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>One of Nottingham’s primary attractions is the <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Market_Square">Old Market Square</a></em>, which is the biggest open pedestrianized city square in the UK.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-csJyw0ylcV4/Ui_dn67d6FI/AAAAAAAAeqo/wVbkG2Fanos/s1600-h/IMG_3500%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3500" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3500" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Te5AybKm3zI/Ui_doURhzrI/AAAAAAAAeqw/DGl6SnizKWg/IMG_3500_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vJyjAeR2WCc/Ui_doyW_3VI/AAAAAAAAeq4/U4oQ24zIEIw/s1600-h/IMG_3501%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3501" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3501" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-fVju1ZKMzyI/Ui_dpC-bOhI/AAAAAAAAerA/ek-6CRYktXA/IMG_3501_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Tourist’s signs kept nagging me to visit <em>Nottingham’s Castle</em>, so I figured it might be worth the while visiting. Turned out it’s located a few meters away from the location where I got lost yesterday trying to find my hotel.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-DRDzglvFozw/Ui_dppheaSI/AAAAAAAAerI/1paWu7Z0WGU/s1600-h/IMG_3502%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3502" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3502" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-V2m0s6SsK_4/Ui_dqFDqXUI/AAAAAAAAerQ/s6pDv3Ba1Yw/IMG_3502_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-IKtpiboVDMs/Ui_dq4epC7I/AAAAAAAAerY/i_fyj_emQzA/s1600-h/IMG_3503%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3503" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3503" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-LxbZG7ZTBIQ/Ui_drSdqO3I/AAAAAAAAerg/Ux_Ur23qNtc/IMG_3503_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I was getting hungry for breakfast already so I skipped the paid visit to the castle’s interior and went to hunt for something to eat.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-q1mYy-AGexU/Ui_dr6heQPI/AAAAAAAAero/Br7cZpGqvsw/s1600-h/IMG_3504%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3504" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3504" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-wGxPz71KbYM/Ui_dsH5wPeI/AAAAAAAAerw/GTlSHxjeyB8/IMG_3504_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-erQodpp45TQ/Ui_dsuy2gfI/AAAAAAAAer4/SCQxFrIE-vs/s1600-h/IMG_3505%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3505" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3505" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-SpM349jWpI0/Ui_dtEa4W9I/AAAAAAAAesA/i-GNz0-NxVc/IMG_3505_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>First, I considered this:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-FiXfywx7to4/Ui_dtiDM7rI/AAAAAAAAesI/xfdny_I4jIs/s1600-h/IMG_3506%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3506" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3506" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-vI1RGZbcixY/Ui_duBVhEfI/AAAAAAAAesQ/3wXPR3mdzyE/IMG_3506_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… Might not be the best idea, though. A quick mediocre sandwich at <em><a href="http://www.lp4.co.uk">Le Petit Four</a></em> (L4P) turned out not to be a far better alternative, but did the work with respect to eliminate hunger.</p> <p>Nottingham’s Council House…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-mIhstFpfkt8/Ui_duh-_cSI/AAAAAAAAesY/1acS2jwDKnI/s1600-h/IMG_3507%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3507" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3507" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-MITTHh8zrX8/Ui_dvEv_QFI/AAAAAAAAesg/jmN9MupWofA/IMG_3507_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… And a few more pictures to try and demonstrate what Nottingham’s streets are like.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-S9LQIA9hfe8/Ui_dv1hkN2I/AAAAAAAAeso/jkJluYpT-j0/s1600-h/IMG_3508%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3508" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3508" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-_9uAxpyktp4/Ui_dwCcWEUI/AAAAAAAAesw/5jibdRO5tm8/IMG_3508_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9OzOMSlsiSE/Ui_dwwqnXEI/AAAAAAAAes4/Pfuftc9Zgcs/s1600-h/IMG_3509%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3509" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3509" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-iGC8AMWYzGs/Ui_dxa3bc6I/AAAAAAAAetA/9m0zzKX1YVs/IMG_3509_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I certainly loved this one. Look at that, a new deal from McDonald’s: the new <em>all-in-one breakfast wrap</em>: Sausage, bacon, egg, potato and cheese. Of course, it’s in a wrap rather than a bun; wraps are healthier.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-b4k161TAyZM/Ui_dxwiGj1I/AAAAAAAAetI/iitOe2llfUI/s1600-h/IMG_3511-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Ic3j06MrcuE/Ui_dybzbn-I/AAAAAAAAetQ/qa2wyr09MYQ/IMG_3511-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>Another stroll around…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-MGnEGOulf_s/Ui_dyzVn9qI/AAAAAAAAetY/70RQJgHt5Rc/s1600-h/IMG_3512%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3512" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3512" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-oDa86bLBYCg/Ui_dz2XWvBI/AAAAAAAAetg/YYd7y33Z1VE/IMG_3512_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-MD5YwuAeSZQ/Ui_d0KQRWXI/AAAAAAAAeto/B2T8eD1uuNc/s1600-h/IMG_3514%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3514" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3514" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-fni7S-Uf5qY/Ui_d0vZXEeI/AAAAAAAAetw/rGYLYINcE88/IMG_3514_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/--gIrVeehZ68/Ui_d1Gu0XNI/AAAAAAAAet4/GERi-TCLcZU/s1600-h/IMG_3515-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-KRlUexT14qI/Ui_d1uHyqmI/AAAAAAAAeuA/BOQy_uDfsOM/IMG_3515-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-YxtHKXZhHaU/Ui_d2Xjm27I/AAAAAAAAeuI/TP5K2oivjPQ/s1600-h/IMG_3516-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gp6LdGMkDrA/Ui_d2wSefVI/AAAAAAAAeuQ/8V-du7mAKAs/IMG_3516-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>… And I went to the canal area. That’s how I discovered that the path from the central railway station to the hotel is about 10 minutes if you know what you’re doing. Apparently <em>Google Maps</em> isn’t set to optimize for routes that involve crossing through a mall.</p> <p>The canal area is not too bad on the eyes and offers a few inviting patios.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-D_rEHhl7hQY/Ui_d3aVOFEI/AAAAAAAAeuY/XLvcreQyqX0/s1600-h/IMG_3517%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3517" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3517" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-VFH28oqrr50/Ui_d3th1B2I/AAAAAAAAeug/XFA1Z88XOmU/IMG_3517_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6QpV5-Tw86c/Ui_d4UDWFNI/AAAAAAAAeuo/ymRAap_YHRI/s1600-h/IMG_3518%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3518" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3518" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-uJr94uJSG7Y/Ui_d4yZuzRI/AAAAAAAAeuw/dVYGZdZ4hvc/IMG_3518_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-c8LjjQZBRrU/Ui_d5fpqByI/AAAAAAAAeu4/dgQ2V7Mj5kY/s1600-h/IMG_3519%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3519" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3519" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/--jkB_4J1UPo/Ui_d56QA0KI/AAAAAAAAeu8/FEdb5EKPe1s/IMG_3519_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-RZedgPIlcE0/Ui_d6WtevUI/AAAAAAAAevI/ryhPDWyVXJM/s1600-h/IMG_3520%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3520" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3520" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-79F1DpEP5k0/Ui_d6-Z9vEI/AAAAAAAAevM/ertjhDIFu2w/IMG_3520_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>This all, however, doesn’t take too long to be fully impressed of. Back to the city centre.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--s5XLUrscSo/Ui_d7Tv82hI/AAAAAAAAevU/OUXMPYUMzHs/s1600-h/IMG_3521-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gaSsHikDVb4/Ui_d71XWOeI/AAAAAAAAevg/TliBCYz4Dps/IMG_3521-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bJNzPNl19Ck/Ui_d8prSO6I/AAAAAAAAevo/HDEkhNpIIwE/s1600-h/IMG_3522-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-JNnEL0kEtRQ/Ui_d83W29sI/AAAAAAAAevw/PLdHIq8hRyw/IMG_3522-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-usSr0Mxe3Jw/Ui_d9ZXHZNI/AAAAAAAAev4/7kUxtMmNZSg/s1600-h/IMG_3523%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3523" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3523" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-SUl_VmG4MBs/Ui_d98_1iXI/AAAAAAAAev8/JUqrQXAnv_U/IMG_3523_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>At some point, I was looking at the display of one of the optics stores. Something in the poster looked awfully familiar. Heck, these are my glasses—the exact model and everything. What the hell does this guy think he’s doing, showing them off like that? And why does he look so upset?</p> <p>(The fine print made me understand why this guy looked familiar. That’s Tobey Maguire.)</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-7wmDGCMUlUA/Ui_d-eCXbEI/AAAAAAAAewI/bcL5AILftg4/s1600-h/IMG_3524-rotated%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-BszVyYjzvxM/Ui_d-t1UdXI/AAAAAAAAewQ/s2uCXslq4Hg/IMG_3524-rotated_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>Proud of myself for once in my life being able to pick a clothing item, or an accessory, that later becomes a fashionable item rather than the subject for immense ridicule, I proceeded to have lunch. I seemed to recall passing by an interesting Indian restaurant the night before so I decided to give it a shot.</p> <p>Visiting <em><a href="http://www.tamatanga.com">Tamatanga</a></em> turned out to be a mistake. Not because of the food—the food was wonderful. The portions, however, were huge and it was so good that I couldn’t just put the plate away. The rest of the day was pretty much ruined as I felt so tired and sleepy after that lunch that I couldn’t do anything except for sitting in my hotel catching up with the world.</p> <hr /> <p>It’s a three hours boring train ride from Nottingham to Cardiff. Leaving at 10:00am, I made it for an early morning to allow enough time for breakfast, coffee and a bit of unwinding. Yes, I reached the point in my life when I value unwinding after morning coffee; I suppose I should go ahead and start a family now.</p> <p>Nottingham is nothing too exciting in the morning. The trams crossing Upper Parliament Street are filled with students going to school (apparently there are some popular campuses here) and others rushing to work, but that’s about it. Not too many people out there for morning coffee or the little pre-work enjoyments I have become so accustomed to living in Canada’s west coast, where work & career typically come second after life’s little presents.</p> <p>If one ignores for just a second (well, hopefully one could ignore them for more) the noise and pseudo-joy on the face of students here (“pseudo-joy” as you can’t really tell whether their sober or not), one may reach the conclusion that Nottingham isn’t an extremely happy place. I had the same feeling walking through the streets of Dublin, Glasgow and Manchester as well; people seem to be older, more reserved, sometimes worried.</p> <p>This may have something to do with the economy. Europe’s economy is making its sure way to the toilets as the EMU (European Monetary Union—that is, the <em>Euro Zone</em>) is struggling to find ways to finance its debts. The currency that was once close to pose a threat to the USA dollar as the preferred international currency, is now in such a deep pile of crap that people out there wonder whether it’s going to even survive.</p> <p>The UK, too: The UK isn’t a part of the EMU, but still. Sifting through the pages of the <em>Daily Mail</em> this morning in <em>Pret-A-Manger</em>, quite a few articles discussed issues that are, directly or indirectly, related to the altogether depressing situation of the economy. Unemployment in the UK is soaring, and is now at its highest in 17 (!) years.</p> <p>Houses and commercial real-estate is for sale <em>everywhere</em>, for ridiculous prices. A huge number of families, who worked their entire lives to pay their mortgages believing that their house is their “biggest investment”, have now paid off their properties that are not worth much nowadays—nowhere close to what they used to be worth before the subprime crisis hit the world in its testicles.</p> <p>I seem to recall, a few months ago, reading about some billionaire who went to play poker one night and lost about $20,000,000 within a few hands, and left as if nothing happened. Now, I am not known to be the most aggressive supporter of communism myself. Finances and economy are actually two hobbies of mine, but one doesn’t have to be a communist in order to realize that something in the western civilization’s grasp of “capitalism” is just plain wrong.</p> <p>It doesn’t matter how rich you are and what made you rich. Beyond a certain amount of wealth, extra millions of dollars are extremely unlikely to change much in your lifestyle; giving it away to those in need may as well be the best thing you can do in that case. Unfortunately, over time, the appetite for wealth only creates bigger appetite for even more wealth; it is apparently very hard to be aware of the worldly benefits of <em>giving</em> when your mind is occupied in finding ways to make your well-standing bank account break new records.</p> <p>Proponents of extreme capitalism argue that imposing bounds on wealth (for example, by significantly hiking taxes paid by billionaires, as per <em>Warren Buffet</em>’s proposal) is unfair and capping people’s willingness and eagerness to maximize their own potential.</p> <p>And I say—that’s pure bullshit. The most significant advancements in history were not made possible by extremely rich people spending $20M a night on poker games; they were made possible by hard-working, dedicated people who loved what they were doing. That love & passion fuelled their willingness and eagerness to maximize their own potential; it was <em>not</em> money.</p> <hr /> <p>The train ride from Nottingham to Cardiff features quite the repeating view of something along the line of this:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ryG3FZJLpfM/Ui_d_Bv9EuI/AAAAAAAAewY/7fB9lZS1apg/s1600-h/IMG_3526%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3526" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3526" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-RFGznAANqSw/Ui_d_gODOII/AAAAAAAAewg/3faTMS41s2w/IMG_3526_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-_VWKZ2kgLQQ/Ui_eAJ8-7oI/AAAAAAAAewo/hyHs0w5oZlg/s1600-h/IMG_3528%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3528" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3528" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-HJSgJNZRtuk/Ui_eAth6h1I/AAAAAAAAeww/EUuRt3uhUGs/IMG_3528_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Which is nothing too interesting, so I decided to spend the ride watching a movie and a couple of <em>Coupling</em> episodes:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-S9EBQAoD2dA/Ui_eBGOCBVI/AAAAAAAAew4/4nOA1zndPG0/s1600-h/IMG_3527%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3527" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3527" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-FPcpQvox8Jk/Ui_eB0EktPI/AAAAAAAAexA/sHaUsH-MBwY/IMG_3527_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Arrived at <em>Cardiff Central Station</em> at around 1:30pm. I am not new to this place—the <em>Get Lucky</em> tour had a stop here. Back then, I was accompanies by a great gang of four joyful Americans, now I’m all lonely here so I’m not expecting much action to take place.</p> <p>The same central train station with signs in both English and Welsh—what a strange language; same dirt around the train station area, which disappears the closer you get to <em>Saint Mary Street</em> which is at the core of Cardiff’s central area.</p> <p>Last year when I stayed in Cardiff, I stayed in a “hotel” named “<em>Sandringham Hotel</em>”, and it turned out to be one of the worst hotels I ever stayed in—a shithole better suited to host rats than people. Having learned my lesson well, I booked the <em>Royal Hotel</em>, a surprisingly affordable three (or was it four? I can’t remember) star hotel right at the city centre. Situated in a very old building, the hotel is very clean and quiet, boasting clean, well-equipped rooms.</p> <p>Tonight in Cardiff, then, I definitely intend to sleep well.</p> <p>Quick setup at the hotel and I went downstairs for food—not before I checked <em>TripAdvisor</em>’s website to see what’s worthy of digesting in this city. According to <em>TripAdvisor</em>, “Casanova” is an Italian restaurant located in Cardiff’s city centre and is ranked as #4 restaurant in the city. Who am I to turn down a challenge for Italian food. Went there about fifteen minutes before they shut down (and re-open for dinner), great, tasty 2-course meal for the ridiculous price of just under ten pounds. Go there if you’re in the area.</p> <p>One of the early indications I had that this place knows its food, was this:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Nby82ogVxXg/Ui_eCfDyhTI/AAAAAAAAexI/2MRCOO3d4wo/s1600-h/IMG_3529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3529" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3529" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jxEERlT2wII/Ui_eCoZtmmI/AAAAAAAAexM/ic3HUDBW1C4/IMG_3529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>This is what a menu should look like. Simple, short, not too complex (their dinner menu is different).</p> <p>Dinner been consumed, I went on a short march along the city centre’s streets:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-1uGI2IzdMMU/Ui_eDHKBfGI/AAAAAAAAexY/znbQxY3TJtM/s1600-h/IMG_3530%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3530" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3530" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lFBuv9jBm5s/Ui_eD38cO-I/AAAAAAAAexg/KkbcrfGSY-Y/IMG_3530_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GhF0vtxOn9o/Ui_eEXMRNSI/AAAAAAAAexo/i2m3dCtFVNc/s1600-h/IMG_3531-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-tp_A9WLCR_E/Ui_eErpR5-I/AAAAAAAAexw/kBJBh_fFmq0/IMG_3531-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>The hotel I’m staying in…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-_TULsZkzNco/Ui_eFKgqzhI/AAAAAAAAex4/kpPbTExMk_g/s1600-h/IMG_3532%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3532" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3532" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-f1lf3_VKSP4/Ui_eFk3XiXI/AAAAAAAAex8/_36d8okqAdA/IMG_3532_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Entrance to the Market Building…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5asO3QIEzQk/Ui_eGIsrDoI/AAAAAAAAeyI/Fix9eGtujaI/s1600-h/IMG_3533-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-kkvavkgZbpI/Ui_eGk1NsXI/AAAAAAAAeyQ/KAyVUAj0y44/IMG_3533-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>And then a walk along Saint Mary street:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--_OJngPznXE/Ui_eHDsdH2I/AAAAAAAAeyY/zNUplkHl8dQ/s1600-h/IMG_3534-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-UO9b5PUeTUc/Ui_eHugDptI/AAAAAAAAeyg/G71Pu5vM1Z4/IMG_3534-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-QQDckwv8dVE/Ui_eIBZo7_I/AAAAAAAAeyo/5h0a4aOxZD4/s1600-h/IMG_3535%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3535" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3535" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-W5rQbK4qsG0/Ui_eIkw0_uI/AAAAAAAAeyw/sNixE0vCGhI/IMG_3535_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-wSHFH80XHJs/Ui_eJCbSDWI/AAAAAAAAey4/xPouTsIdyIE/s1600-h/IMG_3536%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3536" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3536" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-RL_M7Y82khg/Ui_eJmlTYII/AAAAAAAAezA/hoM-baegvM8/IMG_3536_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Cardiff features the <em>Cardiff Castle</em>, which is said to be a mighty castle but, as is my habit when it comes to castles, I sufficed with looking at it from where enemies used to look at—the outside.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-XuPEy-hfI_I/Ui_eKOri5yI/AAAAAAAAezI/5oT7ACuV8mw/s1600-h/IMG_3537%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3537" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3537" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-fP4jhzfE2KQ/Ui_eKsj6AbI/AAAAAAAAezQ/akhrOPx4o4s/IMG_3537_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mtnpy6VTWkE/Ui_eLGYIHSI/AAAAAAAAezY/6nclW_Elwho/s1600-h/IMG_3538%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3538" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3538" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-OrkH-OxGzC0/Ui_eL-2tEkI/AAAAAAAAezc/bpeiK6PpewY/IMG_3538_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/--R72o16oVkk/Ui_eMeB2e0I/AAAAAAAAezo/gwLNAQglWjM/s1600-h/IMG_3539%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3539" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3539" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-72hCYw6jGQ0/Ui_eM2PvBnI/AAAAAAAAezw/nT1j-7-8JP4/IMG_3539_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-0qzPU-8lq-g/Ui_eNsll45I/AAAAAAAAez4/Ne7FrUk0WBg/s1600-h/IMG_3540-rotated%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-jf9-ob75iA4/Ui_eODvtdVI/AAAAAAAAe0A/NLqp9W1suPk/IMG_3540-rotated_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p> </p> <p>And for some reason, I really wanted to take this following picture. It just looked… I don’t know. Welsh.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gWdY0_UiZ10/Ui_eOjHlxWI/AAAAAAAAe0I/BZ7cxd-8hOo/s1600-h/IMG_3543%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3543" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3543" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vWhPklgEsT4/Ui_ePKuC4_I/AAAAAAAAe0M/g94G4jmfCjg/IMG_3543_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Time left to kill before the concert was happily spent in <em>Coffee #1</em>, the same coffee place whose sofas hosted my ass last year. It’s considered to be the best coffee place in Cardiff and, by the taste of the (decaf; don’t ask. I had to) espresso, I can see it happening.</p> <p>Cardiff’s city centre area is small, nothing that can’t be thoroughly explored over the course of one day. Most hotels are concentrated in Saint Mary street, and by walking up and down the street and occasionally letting yourself get lost taking unpredictable turns, you’re bound to see most of what the city centre has to offer.</p> <p>It was around 6:30pm when I left my hotel towards the venue. On my way out, a smiling bartender waved at me from behind the hotel’s bar, a gesture I couldn’t resist responding to despite the fact that she was blonde (what do people find blonde hair so fascinating for, I don’t know. Chestnut-coloured hair… <em>now</em> you’re talking. My first high school crush. Some things don’t change).</p> <p>That chit-chat took another ten minutes out of my planned pre-concert tea time, although it seemed to have been worth it as it granted me free, unlimited post-concert tea in the hotel’s bar—a promise that ended up being completely and utterly false.</p> <p>Quick walk to <em>Costa Coffee</em> (this coffee chain must be the UK equivalent of <em>Starbucks</em> in North America’s west coast. They’re everywhere. At least their coffee is, unlike Starbucks’, drinkable), taking pictures along the way:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-A6KFL4tuHqc/Ui_ePjcDYHI/AAAAAAAAe0U/PM7m-LBy1dY/s1600-h/IMG_3544%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3544" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3544" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-RNdCkn1_MjA/Ui_eQEDXJmI/AAAAAAAAe0c/Iwl_MuDH16Y/IMG_3544_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-UnJaTLam-BA/Ui_eQsboFqI/AAAAAAAAe0o/KSiRyGJxNpc/s1600-h/IMG_3545%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3545" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3545" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-tzYLH2m9mjs/Ui_eRDd0eDI/AAAAAAAAe0w/ChM7DoafWqg/IMG_3545_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-iDa9QcppoJ4/Ui_eRsPSDJI/AAAAAAAAe04/0nrwsh4K-ew/s1600-h/IMG_3546-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-60eC9SDBjMg/Ui_eSFBBZ2I/AAAAAAAAe1A/uZ-4wvqfNqs/IMG_3546-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jRU9ZqfFIJc/Ui_eSyTsbBI/AAAAAAAAe1I/XSqsIoP8jxM/s1600-h/IMG_3547%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3547" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3547" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-E3qIqiBDZmY/Ui_eTZ9iH1I/AAAAAAAAe1Q/j_0OZPps0I4/IMG_3547_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And then off to the <em>Motorpoint Arena</em> for the concert.</p> <hr /> <p>Last time I was here (May 2010), this placed used to be called “The CIA” (Cardiff International Arena). I wasn’t too sure about that fact when I looked up the map to get to the place, which explains why I was a little concerned. That, plus the fact that no website (other thank <em>MarkKnopfler.com</em>) carried the start time of the concert—not even <em>Live Nation</em>’s website, which informed me that the start time is “TBD”. <em>MarkKnopfler.com</em> mentioned a 7:30pm start time so I acted upon it.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-yMHmEBhBqVI/Ui_eT4LhkWI/AAAAAAAAe1Y/o0z47Wle4Pk/s1600-h/IMG_3549%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3549" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3549" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-iB5fe0Kqncg/Ui_eUTSX_HI/AAAAAAAAe1g/MQKnq2zNZyE/IMG_3549_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-JlPu5-NrnrI/Ui_eU-tULlI/AAAAAAAAe1o/0kvOeNn0S8k/s1600-h/IMG_3550%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3550" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3550" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Wn6_Jg8JTmI/Ui_eVaFMJPI/AAAAAAAAe1w/0nM5Dy3QUNY/IMG_3550_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Long time standing in line to pick up my ticket, mainly courtesy of people who had found it appropriate to carry on arguments with the tickets’ sellers at the counters. A line the length of the Great Wall of China was already behind me when I finally collected my ticket and tried to make my way outside, to stand in yet another queue for entering the venue.</p> <p>The way the arena is set up is that there are seats in the back and on the sides, and general admission (standing) block at the front. When booking my ticket for the show, I opted at the seated option, however when I entered the arena, I noticed that there weren’t too many people already in so I decided to give my seat up and went for the standing area instead. Parked my bottom on the floor around ten metres from the stage, at the very center and waited for the show to start…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-av8Kg7hgWo4/Ui_eV6gpkPI/AAAAAAAAe14/fJlSeo9_hPQ/s1600-h/IMG_3553%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3553" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3553" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-D66FR51VBWo/Ui_eWY1VrNI/AAAAAAAAe2A/enR41wfNTS0/IMG_3553_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-8H9SCjwCgtk/Ui_eWzE0YjI/AAAAAAAAe2I/2b8K7d8XnMA/s1600-h/IMG_3554%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3554" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3554" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rOMviXHHPSY/Ui_eXjEoOPI/AAAAAAAAe2Q/C-uCyWQkRvs/IMG_3554_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-hLWWWsg3OCE/Ui_eYDvPBfI/AAAAAAAAe2Y/ETxOFxc5xUo/s1600-h/IMG_3555%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3555" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3555" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-LlSUHpBB_9k/Ui_eYuljaHI/AAAAAAAAe2g/LSrfYS70WvE/IMG_3555_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… Which it did, a few minutes past 7:30pm.</p> <hr /> <p>Usually a restful day means a better concert the day after for this band; but after playing four concerts in a row, the day-off was apparently immaterial for the band’s performance as the show yesterday was just as great as the one in Nottingham. Perhaps because they know it’s a relatively short tour, and concerts themselves are shorter than those in full-fledged Knopfler-only tours, who knows.</p> <p>Same set list (to my recollection) was played, except that we got the usual <em>Done with Bonaparte</em> rather than the extended one (Nottingham was certainly lucky for that one). Something sounded a bit lacking at the beginning of <em>What It Is</em>’ melodramatic part, took seconds to realize that it was the keyboards (playing the soft strings at the background) missing.</p> <p>It’s those tiny periods when you realize how important and paramount keyboard work is for Mark’s music—nowadays as well as back in the Dire Straits days. Mark’s style is so intertwined with Guy’s keyboard work that the two seem inseparable. I suppose that’s bound to happen when two musicians play together for 30 years.</p> <p><em>Cleaning My Guns</em> followed, with Richard opening with the usual 12-strings sequence and then Ian demonstrating vicious drum work before the entire band kicks in. Later, in <em>Sailing to Philadelphia</em>, I was happy to see Jim becoming better involved in Mark’s and Jim’s ending sequence. I seem to recall <em>Guy Fletcher</em> asking for positive and negative comments about the show—I’m not sure what level of detail he was asking for but my own two cents would be to make Jim’s piano work integral during that sequence.</p> <p>Nothing out of the ordinary for the rest of the concert, except for some unruly concertgoers in the back emitting a fair amount of noise during the opening of <em>Haul Away for Home</em>, a song that really doesn’t call for any sort of noise whatsoever. <em>Brothers in Arms</em> (in regular tuning) and <em>So Far Away</em> concluded the concert shortly before 9:00pm, and I fled the scene (this is a small arena; I prefer to avoid even thinking about how loud things were going to get during Bob Dylan’s show).</p> <hr /> <p>Most businesses in Cardiff’s city centre (apart for, of course, pubs) are already closed at 9:00pm, at least during weekdays. The walk back to the hotel was, then, much less exciting than the walk to the arena.</p> <p>Popped into the hotel’s bar, where I was previously promised an unlimited amount of hot tea in exchange for my company. Unfortunately the bar was a bit too busy for either side to be keeping their part of the deal. A good cup of tea was followed by some hot chocolate, then off to the room to prepare for the next day and get a good night sleep.</p> <p>Signing off this post in Bournemouth, where I’m sitting on the brilliant terrace of the <em>Marriott</em>. No, I’m not staying here (unfortunately), but I remembered this terrace from my last time here, last year. Great place for some afternoon tea and a few bites.</p> <p>Later, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-14929190391406090842011-10-12T05:02:00.001-07:002013-09-10T19:45:33.404-07:00Concert Day: Capital FM Arena, Nottingham, UK (October 11, 2011)<div class="boxed"> <p><strong><u>NOTE</u></strong>: This is a relatively long post due to certain events that took place today, having absolutely nothing to do with the ongoing Mark Knopfler / Bob Dylan tour. I of course reserve the right to write about whatever it is that I want; you have been warned.</p> </div> <p>Going on extended trips carries many pleasantries, and just as much challenges. One of the challenges that I find most annoying to cope with has to do with proper dining—be it with respect to the food being consumed, as well as dining times.</p> <p>At the outset, it seems like hopping from one city to another to catch a live show on an almost-nightly basis consists of a very predictable pattern:</p> <ul> <li>Get up. </li> <li>Have breakfast. </li> <li>Take transportation to the next city. </li> <li>Check into hotel. </li> <li>Have something to eat before the show. </li> <li>Enjoy the show. </li> <li>Back to the hotel and sleep. </li> </ul> <p>Allow me to assure you that this isn’t the case. The number of variables in a journey following a concert tour is not just big; it’s practically unknown. So many things can go wrong, or deviate from your original plan—actually, so many that good planning skills aren’t enough; more than you should be able to plan well, you need to be able to adapt well.</p> <p>And food is something I’m having a hard time adapting to. I recall, just before the beginning of the <a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com/2010/08/last-concert-day-conclusion-festival.html">tour’s concluding show</a>, <em>Tim Hook</em> approached me with a plate of delicious chicken breast & potatoes, saying “I understand that you weren’t eating very well recently”. That was an understatement; as a matter of fact, it took me a while, after that tour, to readjust to proper, normal eating habits.</p> <p>In the course of normal life, I’m trying my best to eat properly—small meals, always fresh, keeping away grease/fat/chemicals and other bullshit that the mass food market keeps shoving down people’s throat for having food companies’ stock prices go up just enough to maintain acceptable dividend payout rate.</p> <p>(One of my ex’s used to be fanatic about proper nutrition, as well as one of my best friends living in Toronto; having been surrounded by such people, <em>something</em> had to sink in)</p> <p>That, then, would explain why I was feeling bad yesterday after the Manchester show, realizing that it’s 11:30pm already and I’m starving. Unsurprisingly, finding a proper place for food close to midnight is an exercise in waste of time—all you’re bound to find is cheap hole-in-the-wall food outlets that serve—nutritiously speaking—garbage. As going to sleep on an empty stomach wasn’t something I was looking forward to (and in retrospect, maybe I should have), the kind receptionist at the hotel bothered to dig up Domino’s Pizza’s phone number and have some pizza delivered.</p> <p>Fat, greasy (yet vegetarian) pizza arrived about half an hour later, accompanied by a 500ml Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (I was under the impression that I’m going to get a tiny scoop). Once the pizza was consumed in its entirety, I felt sorry for not going to sleep hungry.</p> <p>Woke up early, feeling a bit unwell. Together with (what I think is) the ear infection developing in my right ear, that kind of set the tone for the morning as I checked out from the hotel, left my luggage there and went looking for something more settling to eat.</p> <hr /> <p>It hasn’t stopped raining in Manchester ever since I got here, and the new day didn’t seem to provide much better news with respect to weather.</p> <p>Carrying a small backpack mostly occupied with a laptop (so I can sit somewhere and write this pathetic blog), I was walking through the myriad of students hanging around the various buildings of <em>Manchester’s University</em>, where said students apparently go on a daily basis, spending so much money on learning yesterday’s facts in a way that %90 of them won’t be able to put to good use.</p> <p>Found a decently looking place called <em>The Coffee Lounge</em> serving all sorts of breakfasts and drinks. Exactly one item in the breakfast menu didn’t consist of pure garbage, so the choice was clear. Unpacked my laptop and continued yesterday’s blog post.</p> <p>back to the hotel to collect the luggage and off I went walking towards <em>Manchester Oxford Train Station</em> to catch the train to <em>Nottingham</em> leaving forty minutes past noon.</p> <p>An altogether boring morning in a cold, rainy, gloomy Manchester. It was much more fun last year.</p> <p>At least, I should say, the ride to Nottingham was quite interesting—not because of the view through the windows, but because of my company. Next to me, three nice lads were seated—devout <em>Bob Dylan</em> fans who were following his tour all over the place. It wasn’t long before one of them and myself delved into the development of music in the 20th century as well as the piles of rubbish that’s so commonly produced nowadays. It was very interesting to hear the perspective of a clever 60 years old guy who happened to have been following all sorts of music over half of the past century.</p> <p>Train ride went well and we made it to Nottingham on time. </p> <hr /> <p>This is my first time in <em>Nottingham</em> (Wikipedia: <a title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nottingham" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nottingham">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nottingham</a>). The last tour didn’t stop here for a show—it stopped bloody everywhere else in the UK—and I haven’t heard much about this city before so I was curious to see what it’s about: hunger, however, kicked in so I decided I’d better get with the check in & dining routine before enterprising any further. Also, tomorrow is a day-off for me in Nottingham so I suppose I’ll explore more then.</p> <p>The first thing I learned about Nottingham is that it is hilly, and I learned it the hard way—walking through the city’s streets carrying 20kg worth of a backpack on my back, while wearing a leather coat that doesn’t ventilate body heat all too well. Armed with a map (courtesy of <em>Google Maps</em>), I started marching towards (where I thought was) the hotel, only to find myself walking in a somewhat creepy place. Thoughts of <a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com/2010/07/concert-day-plaza-de-toros-murcia-spain.html">last year’s adventure in Murcia, Spain</a><em></em> kicked in as I trying to figure out why on earth doesn’t the “X” on the map represent my destination.</p> <p>The explanation turned out to be a simple one. Another lesson to learn. The online booking website quotes the <em>Days Hotel</em> address as being “<em>Wollaton Street</em>”. Google Maps doesn’t exactly know where it is on that street that you’re looking to go to, so it sends you to the point which, on average, would be the closest point to your destination—typically, the middle of the street.</p> <p>Not very useful, is it. Especially when you’re starting to get hungry and you’re carrying a quarter of your body weight on your back while walking in an incline. Had to backtrack a little bit, and with the help of a receptionist in a nearby hotel, I found my shelter for the next two nights.</p> <hr /> <p>The <em>Days Hotel</em> in Nottingham’s city centre is one of <em><a href="http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk">TripAdvisor</a></em>’s top 10 hotels in Nottingham, quite justifiably given its great location (about 20 seconds walk to <em>Upper Parliament Street</em> where Nottingham’s action begins), its quiet rooms and its surprisingly affordable rates, comparing to what you get. I’d definitely add this hotel to my “Golden List” had it not been for one specific stupid policy: Wi-Fi is available in common areas and is free; rooms have wired internet, which is free as well but you need to either bring your own LAN cable or buy (read again: <em>buy</em>. Not <em>lease</em>, not <em>borrow with a deposit</em>. Buy) a cable from reception for £3. That’s the first time I ever witness such a stupid policy, of a hotel trying to make an extra few pounds being an Information Technology hardware store.</p> <p>Needless to say that I opted to not co-operate with such an obnoxious scheme. Money is immaterial here; I just can’t stand co-operating with insane policies.</p> <p>Quick setup in the room, went downstairs to the lobby to upload yesterday’s post and off I went to the streets, hungry and hunting for food. <em>Prezzo</em>, a UK-based chain of good Italian restaurants didn’t fail providing delicious light spaghetti, and then off a couple of doors to <em>Caffe Nero</em> to start writing this very post you’re reading. It was raining (well, drizzling) outside anyway so I didn’t see the point exploring the city so close to concert time.</p> <p>About an hour before the show’s start, went back to the hotel, took whatever’s necessary to the show and off I went to see the fifth concert of this tour. The streets of Nottingham are pretty at evening time, so I took a couple of shots (more shots will be provided tomorrow).</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xMAeXEw6fFE/Ui_Y7ZFuihI/AAAAAAAAekk/cprXrWlHgcs/s1600-h/IMG_3481%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3481" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3481" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-SQNdLcReI-s/Ui_Y77L97EI/AAAAAAAAeks/ujiJbMzcxA8/IMG_3481_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ExfuDCv6HSo/Ui_Y8R40lAI/AAAAAAAAek0/h11yS0ItGr4/s1600-h/IMG_3482%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3482" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3482" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-e74l7CNHcJo/Ui_Y8-dmimI/AAAAAAAAek8/TU-ueZ7FvSQ/IMG_3482_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p> <hr /></p> <p>The <em><a href="http://www.capitalfmarena.com/">Capital FM Arena</a></em>, located less than a mile from my hotel, hosts entertainment and sporting events of all kinds. The arena’s interior is similar, generally speaking, to that of the <em>Manchester Evening News (M.E.N) Arena</em> in Manchester, where I had been to just last night so that was kind of a deja vu.</p> <p>Ticket collection took a few minutes due to someone writing my last name on the ticket’s envelope in a way that so remotely resembles my last name that I really don’t understand how can anyone fuck it up the way they did. On the guests’ list, my name was spelled correctly (<em>and printed</em>) so somehow must have, at some point, simply copied my name from the printed paper onto an envelope, fucking up the spelling of my last name beyond any comprehensible measure.</p> <p>Went into the concessions area to take a few shots before entering the arena…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xnCT8OhmGOQ/Ui_Y9f1459I/AAAAAAAAelE/o1CKdhcgncQ/s1600-h/IMG_3483%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3483" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3483" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-7BAJFUgay_4/Ui_Y9_urgZI/AAAAAAAAelM/xf09d2dJgg0/IMG_3483_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-VGqOfza1fAw/Ui_Y-qmBhEI/AAAAAAAAelU/wjuEaNULMcc/s1600-h/IMG_3484%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3484" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3484" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-YjyPUV792OQ/Ui_Y_H4AkNI/AAAAAAAAelY/m4SVpEq3Nn4/IMG_3484_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… And then into the arena.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5kIfSlcpUJk/Ui_Y_iQpFPI/AAAAAAAAelk/uE4UqcOkB50/s1600-h/IMG_3485%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3485" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3485" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-yOkdvfbED6A/Ui_ZAL96E5I/AAAAAAAAelo/lq28hy7SwM8/IMG_3485_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-MtWJBCmFs0E/Ui_ZAp3n9NI/AAAAAAAAel0/8o3RpAK-YXE/s1600-h/IMG_3486%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3486" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3486" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-tC7Efp2zVy4/Ui_ZBR-co0I/AAAAAAAAel4/6rD3Orz_f2U/IMG_3486_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-_A-JUOlB3Es/Ui_ZBixYScI/AAAAAAAAemA/L3wrqyg332c/s1600-h/IMG_3487%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3487" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3487" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-LYDYmeS75Hk/Ui_ZCVLuEvI/AAAAAAAAemM/G9pgsbQUT50/IMG_3487_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Told you. Identical to the <em>M.E.N Arena</em> from last night.</p> <p><em>Nigel</em>, whom I first met during last year’s tour at the <em>Royal Albert Hall</em>, was there escorted by a lady (Jane, if I recall correctly) as well as his father. A fine bunch, pleasure to talk with before the show. Other than them, I was surrounded on all sides (that is, three of the four sides) by Bob Dylan fans, most of which were obnoxious at best (I’ll get to that).</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-GyfLScWTJXU/Ui_ZDCdBhEI/AAAAAAAAemQ/pfXYn9BLBGs/s1600-h/IMG_3489%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3489" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3489" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-1_S-HPcRzhg/Ui_ZDn4TZLI/AAAAAAAAemc/CFNI7GXDrQw/IMG_3489_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bAFd_Q84U5c/Ui_ZENc8XHI/AAAAAAAAemk/uMMwKMUEYWM/s1600-h/IMG_3490%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3490" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3490" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ogCvL9fqTRc/Ui_ZEmPFUuI/AAAAAAAAemo/4Uy29G7DBMg/IMG_3490_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-NMKiRzPA4TY/Ui_ZFIR_zOI/AAAAAAAAemw/7_3P1lFH8L4/s1600-h/IMG_3491%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3491" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3491" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-h5MwwKs6FAA/Ui_ZFv0279I/AAAAAAAAem8/8Q786PBgP4g/IMG_3491_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>7:30pm and our band took the stage.</p> <hr /> <p>I always keep my mobile phone available, setting it for vibrate mode during concerts. The reason for not turning my phone off altogether is not trivial, and has much to do with my family, especially now when father is in Vancouver and all the rest still live in a country that’s bound to be involved in another war at some point.</p> <p>Seconds before the band started playing the first song, my phone went off vibrating. A quick check revealed that it was my eldest nephew initiating a chat with the words:</p> <p>—“Are you there? Please answer, this is urgent!”</p> <p>Now the thing about my eldest nephew is that, for better and worse, he’s said to be a complete exact duplicate of his only uncle, character-wise. He’s 12 years old, <em>way</em> adult for his age, quiet, peaceful, shies away from noise, insanely clever (well, that’s the one thing he didn’t get from me) and, in short, not fucking around.</p> <p>There was no chance he would have written such a thing unless stuff <em>really</em> demanded some attention; which is exactly why I replied, trying to hide my phone away as much as possible to not distract anyone.</p> <p>Took him about a minute to reply, a minute during which each and every imaginable terrorizing event went flying through my head. During that minute, I already started calculating train schedules for hauling myself to London and then taking the first flight to <em>Tel-Aviv</em> and who is it that I should be arranging with to pick me up at the airport. I am frantically worried when it comes to my family and “urgent news”.</p> <p>So the first piece of news was that my second nephew, who answers to the name <em>Tal</em>, is celebrating his 7th birthday today. God, do I miss these three little nephews of mine… and so, as this is his 7th birthday, there you go, folks. A few pictures of him growing up, and then a collective pictures of all three. Happy birthday, dear nephew. I love you and miss you!</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cch2Jm_PCCA/Ui_ZGCioMfI/AAAAAAAAenE/2-LzLd6g5VY/s1600-h/IMG_5476%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_5476" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_5476" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_4KJvoNu_Vs/Ui_ZG5yNnzI/AAAAAAAAenM/p_LcE0EAoOw/IMG_5476_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-hkY6geCasME/Ui_ZHXxC3zI/AAAAAAAAenU/mRmRHTtcIL4/s1600-h/%2525C3%252599%2525C3%252595%2525C3%2525A1%2525C3%252599%252520016%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="יוסי 016" style="display: inline" alt="יוסי 016" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-A5KKIzeYXLU/Ui_ZIEy193I/AAAAAAAAenc/ZuNiKv9c-4Y/%2525C3%252599%2525C3%252595%2525C3%2525A1%2525C3%252599%252520016_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-yTKEkUCmdlo/Ui_ZIqXNwsI/AAAAAAAAenk/XHSh7zZMHxs/s1600-h/%2525C3%252590%2525C3%252591%2525C3%252599%2525C3%252591%2525202007%252520064%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="אביב 2007 064" style="display: inline" alt="אביב 2007 064" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SP19whtyqV8/Ui_ZJCvRnII/AAAAAAAAens/ouDpjaJbF5g/%2525C3%252590%2525C3%252591%2525C3%252599%2525C3%252591%2525202007%252520064_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-OkVim8F217Y/Ui_ZJhI-zQI/AAAAAAAAen0/BLwJ9Ij5oMk/s1600-h/%2525C3%2525A7%2525C3%252599%2525C3%2525A5%2525202007%252520120%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="קיץ 2007 120" style="display: inline" alt="קיץ 2007 120" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mlx03Wi9cHE/Ui_ZKC_opVI/AAAAAAAAen8/5MCl6j7XLpo/%2525C3%2525A7%2525C3%252599%2525C3%2525A5%2525202007%252520120_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-brqxVlkFOHQ/Ui_ZKhEYzsI/AAAAAAAAeoE/eO0ikcsX5TI/s1600-h/33521_102478789808320_100001385980697_18904_5336303_n%25255B2%25255D%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="33521_102478789808320_100001385980697_18904_5336303_n[2]" style="display: inline" alt="33521_102478789808320_100001385980697_18904_5336303_n[2]" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-eB6B4Ei9nqk/Ui_ZLVgmtAI/AAAAAAAAeoM/NcR2gyCPWi0/33521_102478789808320_100001385980697_18904_5336303_n%25255B2%25255D_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-UGcOWo-RlMY/Ui_ZLoQzTVI/AAAAAAAAeoU/dhcZkqwK0j4/s1600-h/39347_102482586474607_100001385980697_18960_865872_n%25255B2%25255D%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="39347_102482586474607_100001385980697_18960_865872_n[2]" style="display: inline" alt="39347_102482586474607_100001385980697_18960_865872_n[2]" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3PIgY1r-1RQ/Ui_ZMVe4dLI/AAAAAAAAeoc/3SI9Oe6FVw4/39347_102482586474607_100001385980697_18960_865872_n%25255B2%25255D_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>The second piece of news was something altogether unrelated.</p> <hr /> <p>August 2006. Karen and I went on a trip to the Canadian Rockies; we spent just under three weeks living in a tent in <em>Whistlers Mountain</em>, just outside the breathtaking Rockies town of <em>Jasper</em>, <em>Alberta</em>.</p> <p>From atop Whistlers Mountain, Jasper looks like this:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-u-iT12ZklPY/Ui_ZNDI8DEI/AAAAAAAAeok/1uCj-olrVdU/s1600-h/P8131029%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P8131029" style="display: inline" alt="P8131029" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-s9hA2hpw2W4/Ui_ZNtqvCGI/AAAAAAAAeos/-reWU0xRVE0/P8131029_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-JNn2YGSDDgI/Ui_ZOFSJvcI/AAAAAAAAeo0/Nq1FygbHroA/s1600-h/P8131039%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P8131039" style="display: inline" alt="P8131039" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6T8mPFk7ne4/Ui_ZOgDd0iI/AAAAAAAAeo8/tWELvAugdlU/P8131039_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And here’s yours truly (this very same orange backpack is put to good use during the current tour):</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-SAHfgEp7SCk/Ui_ZPEIWt9I/AAAAAAAAepE/8726oef07bU/s1600-h/P8131037%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P8131037" style="display: inline" alt="P8131037" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ENmEOG9-CnA/Ui_ZP_L0iAI/AAAAAAAAepI/5F4K9z-H6m0/P8131037_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Try imagining yourselves there in Jasper. Very few things can ruin such tranquility, such peace. The feeling of waking up at 5:30am in the morning, inhaling nothing but the freshest air this miserable planet has to offer; stepping out of the tent to find the skies already clear blue, and a pack of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elk">elks</a> munching over some leaves from a nearby tree.</p> <p>Indeed very few things could interfere with such a setting. But something did. For us, is was the war—the second Lebanon war, which broke a couple of weeks earlier following repeated attacks by <em>Hezbollah</em> on Israel’s northern border cities and the kidnapping of three Israeli soldiers into Lebanon.</p> <p>A few weeks prior to the beginning of the war, <em>Hamas</em> (another fundamental Islamic terrorist organization, gaining worldwide acknowledgement mainly thanks to the European Union’s foreign policy, as well as the useless, ridiculous waste of an organization that answers to the name <em>United Nations</em>), during a cross-border raid, captured an Israeli soldier and had him smuggled back into the Gaza Strip. His name was <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilad_Shalit">Gilad Shalit</a></em>.</p> <p>For an extremely long period of time, nobody knew what became of these four soldiers; fundamental Islamic terrorist organizations aren’t well known for respecting international treaties with regards to hostages. A few years later, Israel has agreed to release a few hundreds prisoners in exchange for the three soldiers kidnapped in Lebanon; what it ended up getting is three coffins with their remains. As it turned out later, the three were killed in action and Hezbollah was hiding that fact, manipulating Israelis’ minds to believe they’re still alive.</p> <p>The fourth one, Gilad Shalit, was known to be alive; two months after he was kidnapped, a letter in his handwriting was handed (through intermediary foreign representatives) to the Israeli government; three years later, a video tape showing him being alive and well has been traded for the release of twenty female Palestinian prisoners.</p> <p>Hamas has demanded the release of one thousand living prisoners in return for Gilad, a demand that has been continuously dismissed by Israeli authorities, mainly because there was no way to ensure that those one thousand prisoners—some of them directly responsible for the murder of dozens of people—are going to remain outside the terrorism industry.</p> <p>It may seem odd to some of you, to learn that the Israeli government actually contemplated the release of one thousand terrorists in order to get one soldier back. It really does sound awfully ridiculous, objectively speaking; however, the picture gets brighter once you become more familiar with Jewish family and religious traditions, as well as military values—mainly that of the <em>Redemption of Captives</em> (<a title="http://jan-lee.suite101.com/judaisms-controversial-mitzvah-the--redemption-of-captives-a236523" href="http://jan-lee.suite101.com/judaisms-controversial-mitzvah-the--redemption-of-captives-a236523">http://jan-lee.suite101.com/judaisms-controversial-mitzvah-the--redemption-of-captives-a236523</a>). In the minds of Israelis—perhaps due to being under constant attack for a good few thousands of years—the idea of a fellow Israeli being held captive—<em>dead or alive</em>—by enemies is unacceptable and intolerable.</p> <p>Over the last 64 months, numerous attempts were made to secure a prisoners exchange deal—attempts that have continuously failed due to various reasons (it is tricky, one would assume, to negotiate with an entity that acts upon a charter that calls for your demise).</p> <p>But perhaps worse than that, was the impact of the entire process on Israeli society. Gilad Shalit’s case, and the arguments for and against his release (for the price of over one thousand living terrorists), caused a huge tear in Israel’s society (described, at the outset, here: <a title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilad_Shalit#Israeli_society_perceptions_and_activities" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilad_Shalit#Israeli_society_perceptions_and_activities">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gilad_Shalit#Israeli_society_perceptions_and_activities</a>).</p> <p>Yesterday, finally, a deal has been reached and signed upon by both sides. Apparently, what made it easier for both sides to show flexibility is the ongoing change in the Middle East, now that dictatorships fall one after another.</p> <p>Knowing it would make me very happy, my dear nephew decided to let me know of the developments. Good call; it did make me happy to no end.</p> <p>Congratulations, Gilad, for your release; may we see you back home with your loved ones in the nearest days. Welcome home!</p> <hr /> <p>Back to Nottingham, 2011. The joy of receiving such great news filled me with an indescribable amount of happiness, further boosting my enjoyment of the concert which was, once again, a total success.</p> <p>Very similar set list to last night’s show in Manchester—a hint that, perhaps, the tour came to a point when the set list is more or less finalized and, from here on, the band will focus on making the existing set list better and better with each show.</p> <p>Of the three album-pending tracks played so far in the tour, the same two were played as yesterday—<em>Privateering</em> and <em>Haul Away for Home</em>. Quite frankly, I have heard all other songs played live so many times that I am sure I had already heard it played in any conceivable variation. These two new songs are, for me, the reason to feel good about attending additional shows during this tour, and to feel bad about having to return to Vancouver after the <em>Rotterdam</em> show.</p> <p><em>Cleaning My Gun</em> was tonight’s rocker. Seems to be one of Mark’s favourites—100% attendance so far in this tour, plus having been played a few times last year—and Mark doesn’t seem too keen on missing any opportunity to further enhance it. We have witnessed some serious, elaborate Gibson work happening.</p> <p>It is great fun to witness the band exploring a song, and one can only understand and relate to the process after watching the same song being played over time. So far, I have seen each and every live performance of “Cleaning My Gun” since it was recorded; it sounds much different now than it did last year when it was still “fresh”, the big difference being Mark’s frenzy over the guitar.</p> <p>Then came <em>Done with Bonaparte</em> with a twist—be it planned or not—that caught me by surprise. The song played as usual, but when the time came for the final verse, something went missing. Nobody needed to scratch their head to figure out what went missing, as it was rather obvious: it was the vocals.</p> <p>Now again I don’t know (as there’s no way for me to know) whether Mark simply forgot to continue singing the final verse, or if it was pre-planned. But regardless, quickly enough, the vocals were replaced by Mark strumming the <em>National</em> guitar with passion rarely before seen.</p> <p>I don’t know why, but I just started laughing. Now there’s an interesting twist to a song so routinely played. Judging by the looks of other band members, I wasn’t the only one to be caught surprised; smiles were evident on pretty much everybody’s faces.</p> <p>“Save my soul from Evil, Lord” the vocals then continued, and then on to the last verse as normal. In summary: an extended version of <em>Done with Bonaparte</em>.</p> <p><em>Brothers in Arms</em> and <em>So Far Away</em> concluded another fantastic show; a final standing ovation—well deserved, I should say—and the band left the stage.</p> <hr /> <p>This show might have been a totally perfect experience had it not been for a few Bob Dylan fans being seated around me.</p> <p>Behind me, a collective of impressively stupid individuals, with the collective IQ of a sick goat’s stool sample, were talking nonsense during the entire show. At some point, they felt it would also be OK to rapidly kick my chair (and neighbouring chairs) to the beat of music. Turning around and looking at them, with an implied plea to stop, didn’t seem to help.</p> <p>Now the last thing I’m looking forward to is to start hell in a foreign country—who knows what drunken ignorant shitheads are capable of and what would ignite them to start a physical fight over the tiniest, most trivial request to simply shut the fuck up. More than that, I hold so little appreciation to such people that the very act of speaking structured language towards them seems, for me, like a waste of oxygen intake. I truly preferred to simply ignore it all for the sake of not having to exchange a word with those airheads.</p> <p>Makes me really sad, you know. The world would be a nicer place to live in, had people been more responsible and more attentive to others’ right to be living in their own peace. Why, on earth, would you talk and laugh during a concert, interrupting other people’s enjoyment? why, unless you were raised and educated to not give a flying fuck on others’ well being?</p> <p>That is, unless you’re drunk. Apparently I live in a society where being drunk automatically shields one from the need to be attentive and respective of others. When you’re drunk, it’s no longer “intentional”. It’s “accidental”.</p> <p>Screw that.</p> <hr /> <p>Carrying what seems to be an ear infection, using earplugs didn’t seem like a good idea tonight. Also, as my seat was at the very front row, I had the feeling that I won’t be able to withstand the sheer noise of Bob Dylan’s stage setup so I fled the scene right after Mark’s set—much to the happiness of a set of idiots seated behind me, who now got the opportunity for prime real-estate occupancy.</p> <p>A walk back to the hotel at night revealed a beautiful city that I can’t wait to further explore tomorrow:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Sro4lU8lNFg/Ui_ZQDC0o2I/AAAAAAAAepU/fch2bO4Du5E/s1600-h/IMG_3494%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3494" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3494" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-sfMtVXh760M/Ui_ZQ5ac4-I/AAAAAAAAepc/tqpTBON6ZD4/IMG_3494_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-sRLuMsvEASE/Ui_ZReiJEmI/AAAAAAAAepk/Pkimmy4QoWE/s1600-h/IMG_3495%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3495" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3495" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-ItDfdoWeAco/Ui_ZSDJU5YI/AAAAAAAAeps/VhDNnyYheH4/IMG_3495_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-SOU7CLEcS1Q/Ui_ZSnBTgsI/AAAAAAAAep0/kTF00cTKUtA/s1600-h/IMG_3497-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-qc01ox_qgIY/Ui_ZS-VY8tI/AAAAAAAAep8/sJDrf4L3hp4/IMG_3497-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>Signing off this post at around 1:00pm, October 12. Day-off today, so will walk around this pretty city. Cardiff tomorrow.</p> <p>Later, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-91984241201302378352011-10-11T07:51:00.001-07:002013-09-10T19:28:53.390-07:00Concert Day: Manchester Evening News (M.E.N) Arena, Manchester, UK (October 10, 2011)<p>It has been a pleasant three nights’ stay in <em>Glasgow</em>. Good to not be travelling for three days, almost too good—as it’s mentally exhausting, afterwards, to switch back to travel-mode again.</p> <p>The last Glasgow concert was the last concert for Jeroen to attend in the UK this time around, so we bid each other goodbye at around 9:00am as he was heading to the bus station (heading to the airport) and I made my way to <em>Pret-A-Manger</em> to grab a sandwich (for the ride) and then to <em>Glasgow Central Station</em>. Spent some time before boarding at <em>Costa Coffee</em> a few minutes away from the platform, blogging & relaxing before departure.</p> <p>After spending four months on the road during last year’s <em><a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com">Get Lucky Tour</a></em>, having to get adjusted to all sorts of new things each and every day, I sort of got tired of it to the point that, nowadays, I’m trying to minimize the number of mental and physical challenges I put my efforts into. Rest & unwinding is priceless for trips like these; true, last year I was on a four months excursion while this year it’s a mere two weeks’ walk in the park, but still, with time, my appreciation to moments of peace and tranquility increases… exponentially.</p> <p>My hotel—the <em>Days Hotel</em> right at the <em>Manchester University</em> area—is a pleasant, quiet hotel about half a mile away from the hustle and bustle of the city centre. Leaving <em>Manchester Piccadilly</em> station, I walked in the rain for about 10 minutes until I found the place and was happy to have roof over my head once again.</p> <p>Zuzana, a friend of mine whom I had met just over two years ago at the <em><a href="http://blog.isaac.shabtay.com/2009/09/mark-knopflers-princes-trust-concert.html">Hurlingham Club charity concert</a></em>, made her way from the Czech Republic to Manchester to catch the show, so we decided to spend the few hours before the concert together. Rain went pouring hard as we made our way to <em>Wagamama</em> for some good, fresh meal, then upstairs to <em>Cafe Rouge</em> for hot drinks.</p> <p>There’s something about sipping a hot drink while you’re looking out through the window watching the rain pouring down. I wonder what it is that makes people (myself included) feel so good about themselves while doing this. I tend to think that it has something to do with a positive contrast experience—on one hand, watching the rain outside makes your mind wonder what it would be like to <em>be outside</em> in the cold & rain; and as soon as that sense grips your mind, a sip of hot tea makes you feel as if you have been rescued from the bloody cold world out there.</p> <p>The aforementioned text might sound like drivel to you. Still, people’s minds and how they work is a topic I have been fascinated with for a long while now. I tend to show a great deal of interest in seemingly-unimportant things like that.</p> <p>It was raining in Manchester—well, it has been raining non-stop since the morning—so we decided on an early arrival to the venue.</p> <p> <hr /></p> <p>The <em>Manchester Evening News</em> (often abbreviated <em>M.E.N</em>) <em>Arena</em> is located within a few minutes walk from the city centre and is adjacent to Manchester’s <em>Victoria Station</em>. As a matter of fact, in order to get to the box office to collect your tickets, depending on which direction you’re coming from, you’re most likely end up walking through the station. I was walking up the stairs to the arena…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-8ruFsuCZRJc/Ui_VRYWPuEI/AAAAAAAAeig/9-WsdTWq3CU/s1600-h/IMG_3462%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3462" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3462" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-21zfl5Qkxvc/Ui_VR8N4OuI/AAAAAAAAeio/u8ZSRK7WC5I/IMG_3462_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-8O1Nw1JvWi8/Ui_VSAtXRgI/AAAAAAAAeiw/V7hksb-4pgw/s1600-h/IMG_3465%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3465" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3465" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ucpb6rNBT0o/Ui_VSoEArUI/AAAAAAAAei0/t3pnna25CkE/IMG_3465_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… Only to be sent back down and around to the box office to collect my ticket. No ticket mix-up this time and I ended up with a really great seat—fourth row centre.</p> <p>A few pictures before the show:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-dwT6iy6aQjE/Ui_VTFAvq6I/AAAAAAAAejA/EEZ9pMeds1c/s1600-h/IMG_3466%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3466" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3466" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9dg0Pkxm46M/Ui_VTjZUlAI/AAAAAAAAejE/0QawqG_fsxA/IMG_3466_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Ru-dkvBhfVA/Ui_VT-5opcI/AAAAAAAAejQ/5j_V7t_Ug2I/s1600-h/IMG_3467%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3467" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3467" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-aw619uif-wU/Ui_VUcw7HpI/AAAAAAAAejY/qe8lPbPfTpg/IMG_3467_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-0rJj2eo0Ryw/Ui_VVB-b00I/AAAAAAAAejg/ob2RUhEE4eo/s1600-h/IMG_3468%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3468" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3468" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-JWQHdwMPSGE/Ui_VVgnZYKI/AAAAAAAAejo/JFnhcZaPve8/IMG_3468_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-8n2s-jOXnO0/Ui_VWLolYoI/AAAAAAAAejw/Z--gTGgNYp4/s1600-h/IMG_3470%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3470" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3470" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-l74PaWQhm6g/Ui_VWg946PI/AAAAAAAAej4/ghfSBkTbI54/IMG_3470_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-DofUbJ2bVnU/Ui_VXTeG1ZI/AAAAAAAAekA/v5oNHOVqSJo/s1600-h/IMG_3471%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3471" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3471" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-XjNqST4GsNA/Ui_VX-g3G5I/AAAAAAAAekI/YgJ1J3mb_ZU/IMG_3471_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>To my immediate left, <em>Val</em> and <em>Colin</em>—a particularly nice couple whom I have met a few times during last year’s tour—were seated. Was good to see them again and catch up. Plus, it’s always a better concert experience to be seated next to nice people—I only wish the people seated right behind me were anywhere close to being so nice (I’ll get to that).</p> <p>Time flies when you chit-chat; 7:30pm and the Wonderful Eight took the stage.</p> <hr /> <p>It was good being back at the center. Fourth row, behind three rows occupied by relatively short people, provided for great (well, “great” considering the fact that this is, after all, an arena) sound and ideal view of the stage. Theoretically a perfect setting for taking a few shots—alas, this tour’s photography policy is all Mr. Dylan’s work and I decided to comply. Not much so, though, for scores of other concertgoers: shots were taken—stills and video—around me, as if nobody asked for the contrary.</p> <p>Carrying on the upswing in quality, the concert yesterday evening was a bliss. The band seems to be pretty tight now and in great shape and what we were all receiving was approximately 70 minutes of sheer quality.</p> <p><em>Corned Beef City</em>, the unreleased-as-of-yet rock song which was featured in the preceding three concerts, went missing this time. The band went on to play a series of songs which were all played in previous tours, although with certain variations (<em>Why Aye Man</em>’s outro being one of them) until both lead guitarists of the show grabbed their acoustics and the <em>Privateering</em> frenzy kicked off.</p> <p>Good times with this multi-faceted song. Sometimes quiet and melancholic, then powerful to no end courtesy of Mike’s pipes and John’s violin, then on to a short march-like phase.</p> <p>I wrote before about <em>Privateering</em> being the pinnacle of the show (in my opinion, based on what I had seen so far) this tour around, however has changed yesterday as I had the opportunity to listen to <em>Haul Away for Home</em> while seating in a place that offered proper acoustics.</p> <p>Being able to decrypt a fair share of the lyrics, I am convinced that this is a farewell song. Not sure, however, farewell from <em>what</em>—perhaps because I’m still missing some of the lyrics, or maybe because of Mark’s tendency to keep the lyrics open for interpretation.</p> <p>The <em>National</em> guitar is employed all throughout but what actually <em>makes</em> the song (instrumentally speaking) is the whistle. This song being played is when Mike McGoldrick shines. A soul-wrenching song that I predict will be the driving power behind many worldly tears for years to come.</p> <p>As not all of the songs recorded by the band end up being released, obviously there’s a chance that <em>Haul Away for Home</em> will be excluded from the upcoming album. Such an omission is, in my view, sufficient grounds for a prolonged, challenging and uncompromising public outcry followed by a hunger strike.</p> <p><em>Brothers in Arms</em> was the first Dire Straits song played in the concert. Seating in a proper location I am happy to report that we’re back to the 58’ (or 59’; I couldn’t tell them apart) Gibson Les-Paul in standard tuning. A world of difference comparing to the cyan-coloured guitar previously used for this song’s performance.</p> <p>Standard eleven songs set and off for the thirty minutes intermission before Dylan’s set.</p> <hr /> <p>I was properly armed with earplugs this time around so I decided to give Bob Dylan’s set a chance. My problem with Dylan’s show is not so much with the contents but with the sound, which I find way, way overly and unnecessarily loud. Yet, being seated in such a good seat, I figured I might as well pop some earplugs in and see whether I can enjoy the show.</p> <p>Went to the restrooms during the intermission. The men’s restrooms featured about 25 urinals which had a huge line-up for; it also featured about 15 sinks, properly armed with soap. Huge line-up to the urinals, while all 15 sinks were, 99% of the time, unused.</p> <p>Bliss. I’m in a man-made bacteria factory. What a fucked-up world do I live in.</p> <p>Re-entered the arena a few seconds after Dylan’s show started. Making my way down the stairs towards the floor seating areas, I noticed that everybody on the floor is standing up, with quite the mess going on in the front rows. For the first ten minutes—until some ushers came by and urged people back to their seats—it was impossible to get to my 4th row seat; but even once I got there, being seated meant that you can’t see anything because people were standing for the greater part of the show.</p> <p>At some point I got sick of standing so I sat down, trying to enjoy the show that way (and that would be the point to mention that, helped with high-potency earplugs, Bob Dylan’s show is not bad at all. Not anything that I’d consider following for four months, but still). That was more or less exactly when a few hard-core Dylan fans decided that the best way for them to enjoy the show would be to repeatedly introduce their claws to the back of my seat, often beating me up as well.</p> <p>Curse my luck for being seated in front of unruly thugs, but hey, you go out watching so many shows, you can’t expect the entire experience to be pleasant.</p> <p>The concert was over at 10:30pm. Shortly after removing the earplugs, I discovered what I was fearing most—unless I’m awfully wrong, there’s an ear infection developing in my right ear. That means a Doctor visit while in Nottingham, either later on today or tomorrow. Brilliant.</p> <p>Long walk in the rain to my hotel…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-xiLwrqL_mYA/Ui_VYQJ1YBI/AAAAAAAAekQ/SIKEnJI46TI/s1600-h/IMG_3479%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3479" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3479" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-rAorb7QnnAQ/Ui_VY1iZxoI/AAAAAAAAekU/2aaG5SM0XNQ/IMG_3479_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>… And a good night sleep.</p> <hr /> <p>Signing-off this post while on board the train from Manchester to Nottingham, seated next to a pleasant group of Bob Dylan’s fans.</p> <p>Later, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-29140010311485050012011-10-10T06:26:00.001-07:002013-09-10T23:25:54.631-07:00Concert Day: The Braehead Arena, Glasgow, Scotland (October 9, 2011)<p>After a couple of relaxing days spent in Glasgow, I wasn’t ready to ruin my inner peace by overly challenging my mind and body. Weather was better than the previous day—a little bit of rain early in the morning and that’s it. Cloudy for the rest of the day.</p> <p>Spent a couple of hours in <em>Caffe Nero</em> finishing the previous day’s blog post (I now come to realize, once again, how much time and effort are being spent for the purpose of coming up with this pathetic blog): Cloudy Sunday morning, hardly a soul in the streets, let alone at the upper level of the cafe.</p> <p>Once the post was published, it was already time for lunch. Walking around in this beautiful area of Glasgow’s city centre, I realized that I haven’t yet posted any pictures of it so there you go. This is what Buchanan Street looks like:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-EQYy5k7aSLw/Ui_RdwdgMxI/AAAAAAAAeac/aUsS9_-RbU0/s1600-h/IMG_3407-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qBe4ZnNe6js/Ui_RerBK_HI/AAAAAAAAeak/S94xKYDpnyg/IMG_3407-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-HdDzqs76Nb8/Ui_RfAlJMNI/AAAAAAAAeas/tm-rCVhByuM/s1600-h/IMG_3408-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-pg0h27iZTWY/Ui_RfiFhhEI/AAAAAAAAea0/rsxHvjr84d8/IMG_3408-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TGszxatNrY4/Ui_RgPPU_mI/AAAAAAAAea8/RS_AHgR__To/s1600-h/IMG_3409%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3409" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3409" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lgtrYpdjw1o/Ui_Rg6RIKyI/AAAAAAAAebE/n14L4jpjS_o/IMG_3409_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-BHOQznTUjTY/Ui_RhQnNHxI/AAAAAAAAebM/sJJDmXE2E1M/s1600-h/IMG_3411%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3411" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3411" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-KsV6uJjhr6s/Ui_RiLkVJYI/AAAAAAAAebU/lomabmpT4LA/IMG_3411_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>(Sorry for this last one; my sister keeps nagging me about having photos of myself taken.)</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cm-JA9J1LQA/Ui_Ri6i9K_I/AAAAAAAAebc/hcHrrVEqbc4/s1600-h/IMG_3413%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3413" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3413" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Rf6vUM5cqZ0/Ui_RjRP7w-I/AAAAAAAAebk/Dn7DUWb9nqI/IMG_3413_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-BE4CDGd2I6o/Ui_Rj0K9ZHI/AAAAAAAAebs/Unw-mMGEH-k/s1600-h/IMG_3414%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3414" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3414" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-w6vs5aoT7PI/Ui_RkjfuS7I/AAAAAAAAeb0/4mW5oVhhIkE/IMG_3414_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-QOh2iBhcY8E/Ui_RlFjr_3I/AAAAAAAAeb8/yleYTU8K-hs/s1600-h/IMG_3415-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-6jjIZ5AUTps/Ui_RlXE4LaI/AAAAAAAAecE/7ghWIJr33xs/IMG_3415-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>The next photo shows the entrance to <em>Rogano Restaurant</em>, where I had the pleasure to dine in two nights prior. It’s located in <em>Exchange Place</em> and I recommend it.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-X9Hn57jK2BY/Ui_RlwWWYII/AAAAAAAAecM/VfPqcJU-Ccw/s1600-h/IMG_3416-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-uqnmbffKwb4/Ui_RmRfxdqI/AAAAAAAAecU/YdUV1bkRos8/IMG_3416-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>A sowing machine, anyone?</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-JAbP_FuBJkg/Ui_RmxyohWI/AAAAAAAAecc/fCFfCZdQy64/s1600-h/IMG_3417%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3417" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3417" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Zp-AmBJQFr4/Ui_Rncl50OI/AAAAAAAAeck/rhwhr_AAbDg/IMG_3417_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And more of this pretty walk:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-423FS8Gbz5Q/Ui_RniOZcDI/AAAAAAAAecs/9rURlG9ms24/s1600-h/IMG_3418%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3418" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3418" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-WcIlokuaMFw/Ui_RoRp1EzI/AAAAAAAAec0/7KUPezW5ZmU/IMG_3418_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-RQkdRuhRyXA/Ui_Ro-jvuNI/AAAAAAAAec8/NbDvuolHmcc/s1600-h/IMG_3420%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3420" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3420" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-j4zoragREBo/Ui_RpZU6j_I/AAAAAAAAedE/4DD99-U3MGc/IMG_3420_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-KeFBIxMAkQ0/Ui_Rp7pkByI/AAAAAAAAedM/-EIwT_K0MJs/s1600-h/IMG_3421%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3421" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3421" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-uzJToCcEWf0/Ui_RqciDpwI/AAAAAAAAedQ/rTuTgs10eYY/IMG_3421_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-yxb4ZGdrhr4/Ui_Rq4FeA0I/AAAAAAAAedc/mBk8Po6741s/s1600-h/IMG_3422%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3422" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3422" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-5C_in71SeWk/Ui_RrbQYyEI/AAAAAAAAedk/DhpwCoAxeww/IMG_3422_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-i5C1ecrn1K4/Ui_RryKlRbI/AAAAAAAAeds/bon1q8iqPRQ/s1600-h/IMG_3423%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3423" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3423" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5bkpiHoXwGo/Ui_Rsc7OrYI/AAAAAAAAed0/2F8CknE32Fk/IMG_3423_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-0nOQJ75SkBI/Ui_Rs7qJAOI/AAAAAAAAed8/eCTJQduLHQg/s1600-h/IMG_3424%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3424" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3424" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-mGGn8fkK4Ls/Ui_RtUuWOlI/AAAAAAAAeeE/wHbl09qhD8Q/IMG_3424_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>We were heading to check out the original <em>Willow Tea Rooms</em> location on 217 Sauchiehall Street, which is a long walkway beset on all sides by shops, restaurants and—unfortunately, given Europe’s altogether grim financial status—closed-down businesses. At some point I realized we went way too far: coincidentally enough, there were a few Indian restaurants right there in front of us. Inspecting the menus, we decided to step into one called “<em>Kama Sutra</em>”.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-S95M5_JltwA/Ui_Rt44sWsI/AAAAAAAAeeM/g_R8MQJPZ54/s1600-h/IMG_3427%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3427" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3427" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-ZvqYKQf2cho/Ui_RuZaz3BI/AAAAAAAAeeQ/ZE24NZrAyTY/IMG_3427_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Turned out to be a great pick. <em>Excellent</em> Indian food on the premises, very reasonably priced. Go visit when you’re in Glasgow, and don’t miss the restrooms as they carry some interesting figures in the stalls’ doors. As always, I cherish every opportunity to learn new things.</p> <p>Walking back east on Sauchiehall Street, I located the <em>Willow Tea Rooms</em>’ sign tucked behind a million of other signs. Stepped in; very impressive decor, laid out in a rather ancient house. This tearoom is larger than the one on Buchanan Street (at least it seems to be).</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-hQB10k1TjnA/Ui_Ru2jHBgI/AAAAAAAAeec/Zlj92gkrSzQ/s1600-h/IMG_3429%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3429" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3429" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-CsfDqQ4_Fc4/Ui_RvT4yzvI/AAAAAAAAeeg/6yo4nxCFYGM/IMG_3429_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-iV0dq1ZbnwE/Ui_Rv4LGHfI/AAAAAAAAees/DafD7CziQrI/s1600-h/IMG_3430%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3430" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3430" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Pg05qpxotcE/Ui_RwUtRceI/AAAAAAAAee0/VaKnDp7aftA/IMG_3430_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-_v-5_wijgCw/Ui_Rw8ds1uI/AAAAAAAAee8/qPbtKlVTVvM/s1600-h/IMG_3431%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3431" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3431" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tgmjRBS0sto/Ui_RxS4dodI/AAAAAAAAefE/zs5DPnU22ys/IMG_3431_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The <em>Willow</em>’s <em>Darjeeling</em> blend was good for the soul; around me, people were having high tea which was very tempting for me to try (despite being full after the preceding awesome Indian feast) but I have a few days left to spend in the UK so I decided to pass.</p> <p>An our or so to let the tea soak in, and then back to Sauchiehall Street on my way back to the hotel. Preferred to rest as much as I can, as that was going to be the last night in Glasgow before switching back to rapid travel mode.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-o48PnsP8ppY/Ui_RyH2rZ4I/AAAAAAAAefM/y2kg5aIaxL4/s1600-h/IMG_3434%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3434" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3434" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-njL44zge8WI/Ui_RyhxBamI/AAAAAAAAefU/dddz1KsRIvw/IMG_3434_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-EWqX6i92c7g/Ui_RzJbJuuI/AAAAAAAAefc/a2toKy_hRYk/s1600-h/IMG_3436-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-PQ8nwb7gcFM/Ui_Rzqh1l4I/AAAAAAAAefk/cShd7RfQr_A/IMG_3436-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <hr /> <p>Armed with knowledge of how the Buchanan Bus Station works, we left the hotel in time to catch the 6:19pm 747 bus to the <em>Braehead Shopping Center</em> where the arena is located. As I was carrying a camera this time around (for taking pre-show and post-show pictures), I thought it might be a good idea to share some of the visions here.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-yaMAsbz3sbU/Ui_R0Sh5aWI/AAAAAAAAefs/df7A1HrZdHA/s1600-h/IMG_3437%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3437" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3437" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/--OSfLmysGZE/Ui_R03Gl0rI/AAAAAAAAefw/_SDE-R7biN8/IMG_3437_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Now I don’t know why, but this art exhibit freaked me out:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-hKiv-DPzjeE/Ui_R1YuCmSI/AAAAAAAAef8/LagdGYWBRJY/s1600-h/IMG_3438-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gEm_HAReveo/Ui_R147OV3I/AAAAAAAAegE/mPSeNsrn41s/IMG_3438-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>The Buchanan Street Bus Station employs top-of-the-line, enhanced, ground-breaking technology to inform passengers of bus schedules. I couldn’t possibly leave the station without taking a video of it.</p> <div class="embedded-video" style="width: 448px"><iframe style="height: 277px" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/K3Y169REebw" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div class="embedded-video-caption"> <p>High tech in action.</p> </div> </div> <p>It was Sunday evening, meaning very little traffic in Glasgow and around. After stopping at around 900 stations across the city centre, we left towards the airport (the Braehead Shopping Centre is very close to the airport) and that’s when the driver decided he was going to test the bus’ engine capacity. It was, at times, disturbing to be finding yourself in a large metal pipe cruising at jet speeds through highways that, relatively to what you’re used to (North American roads), are rather narrow.</p> <p>Got to the shopping arena at about twenty minutes to seven; plenty of time to enjoy the view of this bustling, vivid and wild shopping centre:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-EzMPJbKgN_w/Ui_R2Yji4VI/AAAAAAAAegM/diiYhT0hVDg/s1600-h/IMG_3440%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3440" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3440" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lloWFWBMnNk/Ui_R203_MbI/AAAAAAAAegU/o4XgxoOL_6Q/IMG_3440_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-xiLPQrpnls0/Ui_R3uFu_nI/AAAAAAAAegc/zQE0E2AGB34/s1600-h/IMG_3441%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3441" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3441" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jW1irX0AWNs/Ui_R4DlDteI/AAAAAAAAegk/Xv3CL2hFutM/IMG_3441_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>(Well, it was Sunday night.)</p> <p>The arena is located at one edge of the mall, and to get inside, people have to queue up for ticket scanning and bag checking (the arena doesn’t allow outside food & drinks). After picking up the tickets (again, not the tickets we were initially allocated for, but actually slightly better—one row up), went to stand in line—an art that every Canadian is obliged to master since infancy in much the same way that Israelis aren’t.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-W47JshY2FTw/Ui_R4pvo-WI/AAAAAAAAegs/I29P8MDGLig/s1600-h/IMG_3442%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3442" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3442" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-r5s3BjEjZbA/Ui_R5J1CRZI/AAAAAAAAeg0/yOKNZfubBAg/IMG_3442_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Fortunately it didn’t take long. Occasionally, a TV crew were interviewing random people who were standing in the line, asking them questions about Bob Dylan’s music. Fortunately, I wasn’t one of the harassed; entered the venue peacefully and went to check on the seats.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vssRxxHbAvM/Ui_R5pIQUaI/AAAAAAAAeg8/gpYIvlXAB_E/s1600-h/IMG_3444%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3444" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3444" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-G0doJXqE9Nk/Ui_R6AjqnuI/AAAAAAAAehE/TF8XFxXUnhU/IMG_3444_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-WUYZF4lZgDA/Ui_R6krZtII/AAAAAAAAehM/fgIo6ANU0Nc/s1600-h/IMG_3445%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3445" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3445" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-f8ooWCYROnA/Ui_R7Vk7xSI/AAAAAAAAehU/rGk5lyo90uw/IMG_3445_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-xEPHB2N8NtQ/Ui_R7_8JxFI/AAAAAAAAehc/b_CQA3vZN-Y/s1600-h/IMG_3446%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3446" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3446" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-2ioL1qSN6gM/Ui_R8TrNJxI/AAAAAAAAehk/zWWNKhDWUS0/IMG_3446_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Twenty minutes passed quickly—somehow, the entire experience seemed to be calmer than the previous night’s. 7:30pm and the band took the stage.</p> <hr /> <p>So apparently this tour is getting better. Dublin’s concert was great, the first Glasgow concert was slightly off but this one took the tour back to the positive curve.</p> <p>Without getting myself into the meaningless & pointless argument with respect to Mark’s role in this double-headed tour, it seems to me that, the band’s knowledge that they are being followed by another act (Bob Dylan’s) makes them quite open to try new things and experiment—Mark, perhaps surprisingly, included. These days, Mark is extremely dynamic on the stage, in a way I can’t recall witnessing too frequently in the past.</p> <p>Set-list wise, there have been a few developments. This time, two Dire Straits songs were played and we got a new addition to the set—another track from the upcoming album. We’ll get to those later.</p> <p><em>Corned Beef City</em> is the name of the first unreleased song that was played in all three concerts so far. The entire song consists of three chords (C, F, G), with the C chord dominates about 99% of it. Fast rocking song with playful slide work on the <em>Danelectro</em>. During the instrumental period, Jim Cox demonstrated what he’s made of by hammering some impressive rock n’ roll piano for about 40 second.</p> <p><em>Hill Farmer’s Blues</em> followed, with the performance being really all about Mark as he was performing the entire solo hardly moving his feet, appearing to be completely disconnected from anything and anyone around him. Periods like that tend to yield impressive solos and last night’s was no exception.</p> <p>At the later part of the show—before the customary <em>Marbletown</em>—instruments have once again been distributed amongst band members in a layout that I wasn’t familiar with. Mark went on to inform the audience that the upcoming song has never been played live before, which prompted me to sort through the entire Knopfler catalogue in my head to see which song can be played with this unfamiliar instruments’ layout. The song started playing before my slow brain was done, and for the first ten seconds, I was still trying to match the song to anything I might have heard before.</p> <p>I have failed. It ended up being another track from the upcoming album.</p> <p>I’m thinking about how to describe this tune (its name wasn’t provided). Melody wise, this is a romantic, minor-key, soft, soothing tune. Its closest “relative” from <em>Get Lucky</em> would be <em>Hard Shoulder</em>, although this new tune is slightly prettier.</p> <p>Lyrics-wise, I’m definitely not sure. Where I was seated, sound was rather poor so attempting to guess Knopfler’s lyrics when he’s almost whispering is quite senseless. The word “Ship” has been mentioned a few times, as well as the phrase “Haul Away” along with a few hints for some sort of a farewell song; then again, Mark is a master of words so it’s highly possible that what I interpreted as a farewell song isn’t a farewell song at all.</p> <p>Mark plays the <em>National Style-O</em> guitar on this one, but his part (at least in this performance) was almost altogether shadowed by brilliant flute work by Mike McGoldrick who gave a wonderful solo.</p> <p>Summarizing by what I know about the upcoming album, expectations are certainly high. There is definitely something to look forward to.</p> <p><em>Marbletown</em> (according to Mark, “a song about sleeping rough; sleeping in a graveyard, which is probably the best place to sleep—nobody’s going to wake you up”) followed, a seemingly longer than usual performance with a twist at the end as Mark decided to kill the <em>Martin</em> with a series of hard G5 strums towards the end.</p> <p>Last night, as well as in the first Glasgow concert, Mark announced to the world that this song he was going to play “has never been played in this tune before”. The song was <em>Brothers in Arms</em>; when played, it was still played at <em>G♯m</em> but Mark’s guitar was tuned down half a tone, so he could play it with as <em>Am</em>—possibly to experiment with new ways to improvise, specifically at the lower end of the fret board. The same cyan-coloured <em>Gibson Les Paul</em> was used, which doesn’t quite fit the song (sound-wise) but who am I to criticize.</p> <p>Altogether a splendid show: 11 songs played wonderfully, lights went on and the band left the stage.</p> <hr /> <p>I wasn’t going to stay for Bob Dylan’s act, for a variety of reasons (such as the extreme loudness of the setup); here’s a picture, however, showing Bob Dylan’s stage being set up.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-QbA02ZBkSrc/Ui_R9J7RKBI/AAAAAAAAehs/LEfVYe31VJs/s1600-h/IMG_3455%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3455" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3455" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-KGQ6ofLSHg0/Ui_R9fKE83I/AAAAAAAAeh0/SSQIfRRcNus/IMG_3455_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>As I was looking at the stage being set up, a nice chap approached me. He introduced himself but, himself being Scottish and myself being an English-Second-Language, I couldn’t understand a word he was saying so I didn’t get his name. He went on to mention that he saw me in this arena the day before, then asking how many shows I went to and how many am I planning on attending.</p> <p>It was all nice until he mentioned that my bank account must be very well padded in order to afford something like this, asking (almost explicitly) what’s my bank account figure like.</p> <p>I am sorry to shatter so many dreams at once but please, do understand, that when I’m asked questions about my bank account, it’s hard for me to answer—mainly because I don’t remember the exact figures (and I wouldn’t want to mislead anyone), but also because I have more than one account. I have around 10 of them. So unless you point your question to a specific account, and remind me a few of its latest transactions, I can’t—despite my immense willing to—provide such information.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bK_Z-EjZX3w/Ui_R92kOUZI/AAAAAAAAeh8/lGKVa2uKPZI/s1600-h/IMG_3459%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3459" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3459" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Hto6P9ngKKw/Ui_R-X3IlWI/AAAAAAAAeiA/g_4s4b0BaUk/IMG_3459_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4UBdtxNaqcY/Ui_R-z5c9qI/AAAAAAAAeiM/Xa5-AfK2Ays/s1600-h/IMG_3461%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3461" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3461" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-wTjcirRyw5g/Ui_R_aC02eI/AAAAAAAAeiU/GGj2zQNBPTo/IMG_3461_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>The next bus leaving towards Glasgow’s city centre was due in 30 minutes so we stayed around for Dylan’s show—“around” meaning about 10 meters outside the arena. Even at the very end of the arena (where this last shot above was taken), the loudness was unbearable (one couple left after 10 minutes, with the lady claiming that “she just can’t take it anymore”) so I don’t even want to <em>think</em> what it would be sounding like while being seated where I was.</p> <p>Bus arrived at 9:45pm. Boarded it.</p> <p>—“Two single tickets to Glasgow please.”</p> <p>—”Whuchu?”</p> <p>… I thought to myself… what?</p> <p>—”Excuse me?”</p> <p>—”Whuchu?”</p> <p>Whenever I’m in a bus, and new passengers come on board, I tend to get annoyed when the entire payment process takes more than 5 seconds, keeping me away from my destination longer than they should. How hard can it be to board a bus, pay, get the ticket and get the heck out of there?</p> <p>Well, yesterday, I was one of them. I don’t know how many words exist in the Merriam-Webster English dictionary; I’m not claiming to know of the majority of them but that, I’m telling you, that was a tricky one. My brain had to work full speed for about 10 seconds to figure out that the question being asked was “<em>Where to</em>?”.</p> <p>Dear God in heaven. Scottish accent is known to be very hard to comprehend, not just for North Americans but also for English and Irish people.</p> <p>Left the area at around 10:45pm, quick bus ride back to the city centre. <em>Excellent</em> pizza at <em>DiMaggio’s</em>, celebrating Jeroen’s departure back to The Netherlands—for the next week, I am all by myself—then back to the hotel.</p> <hr /> <p>Signing off this post while on board the train from Glasgow to Manchester. As I booked my train tickets well in advance, I got them for very cheap and, apparently, when you do so, you tend to get free First Class upgrades (during the last tour, I was using train-passes which give you First Class access everywhere. For this year’s tour, financially-speaking, individual tickets made more sense). Looking through the window I see the beautiful greens of Scotland, definitely a pleasant sight.</p> <p>Drinks and food are served for free here in <em>First TransPennine Express</em>’ First Class cabin; I’ll have my tea now.</p> <p>Cheers, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-86835750549858922352011-10-09T04:57:00.001-07:002013-09-10T18:48:19.398-07:00Concert Day: The Braehead Arena, Glasgow, Scotland (October 8, 2011)<p>The <em>Holiday Inn Express</em> up on West Nile Street, just like any other Holiday Inn hotel, offers you the selection of two different pillows—a hard one and a soft one—to choose from. Those pillows are neatly wrapped in a deep, dark blue ribbon, and are beautifully laid upon a positively comfortable bed.</p> <p>But I couldn’t care much less about that extra pillow, really. After spending the preceding two nights at the horrible Dublin guesthouse, I’d suffice even with one decent pillow and proper heating. Still, I was happy to once again be residing in a human-friendly shelter; a well-deserved good night sleep and I woke up ready for whatever Glasgow had to offer on a Saturday morning.</p> <p>The weather outside wasn’t much unlike what I had expected the British Isle to feel like in mid October: it was grey and raining—in fact, it has been raining non-stop during the entire day. The impact of rain has been mitigated by a preemptive visit to <em><a href="http://www.ecooutdoorsports.com">Eco Outdoors Sports</a></em> (back in Vancouver. Oh, Vancouver; you are indeed second to none). $130 for a waterproof breathable ultra-light jacket may seem a bit steep but it’s worth every cent to not have to carry an umbrella around.</p> <p>Glasgow’s city center is pretty and was full of people on Saturday morning, the rain appearing to scare absolutely nobody. Some of the city centre’s landmarks are being renovated and there’s some considerable construction going on in <em>Buchanan Street</em> nearby the <em>Princess Square</em>.</p> <p>Perhaps it was the combination of cloudy skies, rain and cold temperature that prompted us to step into a tea house. <em><a href="http://www.willowtearooms.co.uk">The Willow Tea Rooms</a></em> up Buchanan Street, not so far from River Clyde, happened to be in the right place at the right time. It is actually the newer one of two locations—the older one is located in <em>Sauchiehall Street</em> and dates back to October 1903 (for more information about The Willow Tea Rooms, check <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willow_Tearooms">Wikipedia</a>). We will visit that older location as soon as I finish up writing this drivel.</p> <p>The first thing you notice upon entering the tearoom is its design. Clean, comfortable design—exactly the way I’d like a tearoom in my own house to be designed. Especially those chairs: extremely tall backrests which may seem odd at first, but once you’re seated at a table, it gives you some sense of privacy.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-tJEy1h6Y-f8/Ui_LM73OCWI/AAAAAAAAeX0/bcED9YYP0TI/s1600-h/IMG_3386%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3386" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3386" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lb-kQg4T0io/Ui_LNZ0-jOI/AAAAAAAAeX8/NqJW9glWyTk/IMG_3386_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Many good teas are offered on the premises. Despite the excellent health advantages of white teas, I usually am not big fan of such, but this place’s <em>Pai Mu Tan</em> blend is well worth a try.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-BiGv5MVvFXY/Ui_LOcZJg1I/AAAAAAAAeYE/i8MCjSaIDJA/s1600-h/IMG_3385%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3385" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3385" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-VJl3IRuKHAE/Ui_LO8fSX3I/AAAAAAAAeYM/zWY3FPk0eEo/IMG_3385_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-LPK4NvTJ3JM/Ui_LPapvOOI/AAAAAAAAeYU/ykt8TauHPSc/s1600-h/IMG_3389-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tKdSpYz0kzo/Ui_LP5ujpxI/AAAAAAAAeYc/lhXProX8cjA/IMG_3389-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>Time flies when you’re “looking at the world over the rim of your tea-cup”. Back on Glasgow’s streets, it started raining harder as we went to visit the Clyde.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ikLc4QoBU1I/Ui_LQaf8gEI/AAAAAAAAeYk/nAx2tvsA420/s1600-h/IMG_3396-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-0OCxbXSYwKg/Ui_LQ-EFQ-I/AAAAAAAAeYs/pPn3nNlG09Q/IMG_3396-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>(One can only hope)</p> <p>Even when grey, Glasgow is still pretty. Crossing River Clyde via the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glasgow_Bridge,_Glasgow">Glasgow Bridge</a>, views are impressive and I imagine they’re even better (much, much better) when it’s sunny. There are altogether 72 (!) or so bridges crossing River Clyde, 21 of them are within Glasgow.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-I_YWN4pVcMI/Ui_LRZFzowI/AAAAAAAAeY0/DdmRY_EXRUI/s1600-h/IMG_3398%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3398" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3398" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-NzRKNFsJvCE/Ui_LR7D7yCI/AAAAAAAAeY8/TtXWFScWQoU/IMG_3398_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-u4fMyZ16r_k/Ui_LSXq3k3I/AAAAAAAAeZE/NCQMkeftLaw/s1600-h/IMG_3399%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3399" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3399" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-dNiVPQ_7W1U/Ui_LS11KsVI/AAAAAAAAeZI/oUIWq1bmUT0/IMG_3399_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-_apfhUw9Cak/Ui_LTbvwqoI/AAAAAAAAeZU/VcGcCJia-G4/s1600-h/IMG_3402%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3402" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3402" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-zxjTQqhzNf4/Ui_LTwoR77I/AAAAAAAAeZc/U_p_yNys8Js/IMG_3402_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Short stroll and then back to Glasgow’s City Centre through the <em><a href="http://www.glasgow.gov.uk/en/residents/parks_outdoors/heritage/heritagetrails/clydebridges/southportlandstreetsuspensionbridge.htm">South Portland Street Suspension Bridge</a></em>.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vDP_mq41YFw/Ui_LUyKbUpI/AAAAAAAAeZk/0FkrCXH9M_g/s1600-h/IMG_3403-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-rHArLVrVa2E/Ui_LVIcv0AI/AAAAAAAAeZs/JSZm4plvXAc/IMG_3403-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-aeqigOxAFIw/Ui_LVmL-Y0I/AAAAAAAAeZ0/Ozz2hVQGCp4/s1600-h/IMG_3404%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3404" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3404" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-0gDByH1ovwQ/Ui_LWOfHnlI/AAAAAAAAeZ8/Hw2I8Di1AfA/IMG_3404_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-LXBxVo7KnNY/Ui_LWujiIBI/AAAAAAAAeaE/QFznwdv9LA0/s1600-h/IMG_3405%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3405" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3405" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/--wRqpoAE91w/Ui_LXBbqASI/AAAAAAAAeaM/K6zBUBDyfuA/IMG_3405_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>My capacity of excitement during long-running journeys is apparently not high this time of the year; not much happened for the remainder of the day, until it was time to get to the concert when things started to get a bit… well… interesting.</p> <hr /> <p>The <em><a href="http://www.braehead-arena.co.uk">Braehead Arena</a></em>, where this tour’s Glasgow concerts take place, is located in the <em>Braehead Shopping Center</em>. Yes, you read it right: <em>Braehead</em> is actually a shopping center that happens to feature an arena. It features a huge parking lot, as well as a bus route hub.</p> <p>Getting from the city centre to the arena is relatively unpleasant—comparing to other “city-to-venue” journeys I had the opportunity to take over the last few years. Going by train is a waste of time as you end up having to take a bus later on anyway (from the nearest train station to the arena), so other than a taxi cab (which would cost you; this place is about 7 miles from Glasgow’s city centre, and traffic leaving the city at evening time is painful at best), a taking a bus is your only option.</p> <p>Buses leave Glasgow’s Central Station as well as the Buchanan Street Station (the latter is very close to the hotel I was staying at). There are a few bus routes you can take, and using <em><a href="http://www.transportdirect.info">Transport Direct</a></em>’s website (check out the journey planner) seems to be your best bet. At least in the Buchanan Street station, you have no convenient way of figuring out your routes (unless you use their funny, extremely-loud primitive system to look up your schedule and have the machine yell it back at you in a rather annoying voice) so you’re better off doing the prep work online.</p> <p>We arrived at the bus station a bit earlier than expected so we decided to take an earlier bus, just in case. Mayhem ensued afterwards when we ended up taking the 747 bus and buying roundtrip tickets for it, only to realize later (when we were already in the bus) that the 747’s last bus back to the city centre departs Braehead Arena earlier than the show’s expected end. Had we stuck to the original travel plans, things might have been less stressful. I take great pleasure in blaming Jeroen for this mess.</p> <p>It’s a long, annoying bus ride to the arena; raining outside, traffic is hell and I couldn’t wait for this ride to be over. Took 35 minutes or so to get there, and we departed the bus back into the wrath of the elements. Luckily, the mall’s entrance wasn’t too far.</p> <hr /> <p>For this tour, as well as for the last tour, tickets ordered online were to be picked up at the venue. Signs on site weren’t very clear as to where one should go to pick tickets up, but at the end we sorted it out, only to find out that we were given different seats than the ones that were allocated to us in the confirmation email. No big deal—only one row behind, and as you’ll shortly understand, it was actually a good thing.</p> <p>Ticket options for this year’s tour were for either GA (General Admittance; standing) in front of the stage, or for seats in the side terraces (I suppose the other, better terraces weren’t available for the initial ticket sales, or were reserved for Bob Dylan’s fans, or whatever). I opted for the seating option as I absolutely can’t stand standing, general admittance concerts due to personal space issues. Having said that, these seats we ended up getting were horrid. View angle to the stage was in the proximity of 15 degrees or so, and the sound in that particular location left much to be desired for.</p> <p>Well, I suppose things can’t go perfect <em>all the time</em>; better luck next time around.</p> <div class="indented"> <p>As mentioned in the last post, this tour carries a strict “no photography” policy which is as strict as can be enforced in venues such as this one, that is—not enforceable at all. People seemed to ignore the various “no photography” pleas altogether, as photos were taken during the entire show. Some people were also seen video-recording the show, which really is impossible to prevent as most of the audience was actually on the floor, at the general admittance area.</p> <p>Well, I sort-of expected this policy to not be enforceable. Unfortunately for many of you, though, I still decided to follow the band’s wishes so no concert pictures this time around, either. However, now that I know that this venue doesn’t confiscate cameras altogether, I will have some venue (non-concert) pictures to show for the next post.</p> </div> <p>7:30pm, the show’s slated start time, arrived and passed; about ten minutes later, the lights went out and the band captured the stage.</p> <hr /> <p>I suppose one thing that was evident in last night’s show—that is, evident even from where I was seated—was Mark being in some great mood. Often on the move, sometimes dancing, and even humming along the instrumental parts of <em>Privateering</em>, all that was missing was for him to wear a wig and put a huge hat over his head, and you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was Mark Knopfler or <em>Slash</em> playing in front of you.</p> <p>Also, reminiscing on Mark’s guitar work from the last tour, yesterday’s Glasgow show featured a more elaborate, fast, and relatively precise guitar playing. After watching this band play so many times, believe me when I tell you that Mark being in a good mood serves to greatly enhance any concert.</p> <p>There were a few set list changes and things worth noting during this show. <em>What It Is</em> opened the show this time around (it wasn’t played in Dublin), and <em>Cleaning My Gun</em> has been enhanced with a fair bit of steroids as it went rocking through the arena.</p> <p>As this was the second show in the tour, the “first show” rush was over so I took some time to pay attention to the music. Jim Cox’s work in <em>Sailing to Philadelphia</em> served very well to demonstrate the difference between Cox and Matt Rollings: while Matt Rollings is very technical and precise, Jim Cox appears to have his own piano tone. Cox’s tone is <em>much</em> mellower, to the point that, sometimes it was barely heard—which is a <em>great</em> shame as this guy really knows how to play. Someone please pump up the volume during Jim’s solo, please… thank you.</p> <p>I haven’t seen Jim Cox perform live before this tour, however I did watch his performance during the “A Night in London” concert (circa 1996) where he did wonders during the <em>Sultans of Swing</em> intermission. So if you remember that piano tone… yes, that’s Jim Cox, and that’s what it sounds like live. Very pleasant.</p> <p><em>Privateering</em> followed and folks, this is such a beautiful tune. If <em>Marbletown</em> used to be the musical pinnacle of the last tour, <em>Privateering</em> takes its place this time around. A beautiful <em>C Minor</em> piece with Mark & Richard on acoustics, Jim on the accordion, Mike on the pipes, John on the fiddle… Bliss.</p> <p>The new, cyan-coloured <em>Gibson Les-Paul Standard</em> made its reappearance during <em>Song for Sonny Liston</em>, sounding different (obviously) than the traditional Les-Paul but still pleasant. The same guitar appeared later during the first Dire Straits song to be played during this tour; call me picky (wait, not everyone at once), but while this guitar sounds great for <em>Song for Sonny Liston</em>, it just doesn’t cut it for <em>Brothers in Arms</em>. The latter calls for a soft, mellow, deep tone and the new Gibson’s tone is more on the “stingy” side.</p> <p>A fabulous <em>Golden Heart</em> tune, played exactly twice during the <em>Get Lucky</em> tour, was a great surprise to listen to. A bit of a rocky start as it seemed as if the pipes and the <em>National</em> guitar weren’t quite in sync tone-wise, but the situation was rectified shortly after.</p> <p>Altogether a good show; one song longer than the Dublin concert, a bit “rough around the edges” but I’d attribute most of this roughness to the awful sound where I was seated. The band left the stage shortly before 9:00pm.</p> <hr /> <p>I’ll just go ahead and say it. I truly appreciate Bob Dylan’s contribution to worldly music over the last few decades. So many artists are influenced by Bob Dylan (Mark Knopfler included) that if you gather all Dylan-influenced music together, you’ll get a huge chunk of today’s music in your hands.</p> <p>That being said, Dylan’s live shows aren’t for everyone. I suppose my biggest problem with Dylan’s live shows is that they are <em>loud</em>. Way, way, <em>way</em>, <em>way</em> too loud. So loud, that I went back to my Dublin hotel with a headache after the concert. I wasn’t going to put my eardrums through pain and suffering anymore so I decided to evacuate the scene as soon as Mark’s set was over.</p> <p>And yes, I know. I know about so many people out there looking out for a joint Knopfler/Dylan performance. Obviously, had I known that such a joint performance is in the books, I would have stayed; however, the entire “joint performance” issue is nothing more than a speculation at the moment and I decided to favour my eardrums’ health over speculation.</p> <p>The mall was basically all closed and empty as I left the arena. Out to the bus station; it was (of course) raining and with the help of a few locals we found the “stance” (that’s how they call a “physical bus waiting-area construct” in Scotland, I suppose) for the correct bus to take back to Glasgow.</p> <p>I believe the driver drove about 600 km/h on the way to Glasgow. Within 15 minutes we were already in the Buchanan Street station; off for a late dinner and back to the hotel.</p> <hr /> <p>Signing off this post at 1:00pm, Sunday October 9. Will go for lunch now, then some more unwinding & rest before the concert tonight at the same <em>Braehead Arena</em>. Stay tuned.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-17621465610528957102011-10-08T08:50:00.001-07:002013-09-10T18:40:08.562-07:00Dublin to Glasgow<p>Went to sleep rather late after the Dublin concert; Bob Dylan’s ended at 10:30pm, then a long walk back to the guesthouse (the trams were packed with people, and traffic was horrendous; walking seemed to be the best option) and finishing up the <a href="http://blog.isaac.shabtay.com/2011/10/concert-day-o-dublin-ireland-october-6.html">previous blog entry</a> before going to bed.</p> <p>I acknowledge the fact that the previous post wasn’t too elaborate with respect to the actual concert. Frankly, I spent most of my time being somewhat excited for actually <em>being there</em> and being overwhelmed with the new songs; plus, I wasn’t going to provide any ammunition to those, who might be reading this blog and then going complaining—about a show they hadn’t seen yet, might I add—to our honourable <em>Guy Fletcher</em> in his forum. This has happened before, during the <em><a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com">Get Lucky</a></em> tour, when things I wrote were taken out of proportion and out of context and then used as basis to all sorts of senseless complaints to the band. Pissed me off to no tangible end.</p> <p>So… I hope you understand. More details about the shows will be provided as we go along. For example, tonight.</p> <hr /> <p><em>Charles Stewart’s Guesthouse</em>’s walls were too thin to bear the noise and yells carried out by my merciless neighbours. In other circumstances I might have done something proactive about it, but being front row in Bob Dylan’s show meant a tremendous headache afterwards and all I really wanted was to shut my eyes and go to sleep. Popped a couple of earplugs and went to sleep in that cold, cold room (heat only works for one hour every evening).</p> <p>Woke up early, filled with joy knowing that that was the last night <em>ever</em> that I stay in that God awful guesthouse. At least now I know what “3 stars” means in Dublin; further research shown that the <em>Charles Stewart’s</em> is actually of the better ones amongst them. For the North Americans who read this, I’d suggest staying in at least a 4-star hotel while visiting the city as “star ratings” vary from country to country, and 3-star hotels here certainly don’t measure up to 3-star hotels across the Atlantic.</p> <p>Got some time to kill, efficiently used to roam around Dublin’s more popular areas. A walk down to <em>Grafton Street</em> and then off to Temple Bar, took me to this magnificent tea place called “<a href="http://www.yelp.ie/biz/the-joy-of-cha-dublin">The Joy of Chá</a>” which is a heaven for tea lovers (which I am not; but it seemed like the right time to sip some tea). Their “Bad Weather” blend is very good.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-nk0XsoN4Yf0/Ui_Jg2ioUKI/AAAAAAAAeSg/8c-Bno0wF8U/s1600-h/IMG_3346%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3346" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3346" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-377Zz47V3hE/Ui_JhaoBivI/AAAAAAAAeSo/mLWPRJGXLIU/IMG_3346_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-KjH1EO6A734/Ui_JiMCMpeI/AAAAAAAAeSw/5Iw9iUaAqMw/s1600-h/IMG_3351%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3351" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3351" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-gzHz5FVVF5Q/Ui_Ji2zTQ-I/AAAAAAAAeS4/swBGPM7tpbk/IMG_3351_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-_-_YSKEYbWA/Ui_JjQHeooI/AAAAAAAAeTA/GvxRpglzduA/s1600-h/IMG_3352-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-NVBydxYFyjI/Ui_JjwhRxCI/AAAAAAAAeTI/TwFNage8B6Q/IMG_3352-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-J8_zZW9wcbU/Ui_Jka8XXdI/AAAAAAAAeTQ/9XA5Wz7q8F4/s1600-h/IMG_3354%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3354" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3354" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lKxM80ElGzA/Ui_Jk4k0dXI/AAAAAAAAeTY/7ltPc8G7hE8/IMG_3354_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Atww68pRNOU/Ui_Jlcd8wbI/AAAAAAAAeTg/vVjebT8vdB0/s1600-h/IMG_3353-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-DBStrnIWdLY/Ui_Jl1AenEI/AAAAAAAAeTo/gLe9r8HP244/IMG_3353-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>The Dublin I was visiting this year is different than the Dublin I remember. I had first visited Dublin in 2007 when I was being interviewed for a high-profile role within IBM (which I didn’t get), and I remember it being vivid and colourful. The next time was last year during the <em>Get Lucky</em> tour, when it was slightly less joyful. This year, however, Dublin looks a bit cold and gloomy.</p> <p>Dublin has been experiencing a tremendous growth during most of the 2000’s: businesses thrived, real-estate prices jumped through many roofs. However, the worldwide financial crisis of 2008 seems to have greatly affected this cosmopolitan city. You can sense that there’s quite a bit of stress in the air; less people roaming the streets and even Temple Bar seems to be less thriving than it used to. Businesses cut their prices, trying to lure people to spend money which, for the most part, they don’t have.</p> <p>In fact, these are hard times in Western Europe in general, as the Euro zone is on the verge of collapse following potential defaults of Greece, Portugal and Spain (the latter experiencing some 20% unemployment rate amongst young people). There’s a great deal of uncertainty here and it is well felt.</p> <hr /> <p>Still, though, this city is pretty and is well worth walking around.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-G7pqyrftN80/Ui_JmTNhubI/AAAAAAAAeTw/aFtIsr0VWL4/s1600-h/IMG_3355%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3355" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3355" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-36KZicuDIj4/Ui_Jm2UEfsI/AAAAAAAAeT4/2hwnvjpMBPE/IMG_3355_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vspHAvQVolM/Ui_JnsukiWI/AAAAAAAAeUA/H6TMnA7ROc0/s1600-h/IMG_3356%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3356" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3356" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-zDgYYF0IqKg/Ui_Jn1qgjdI/AAAAAAAAeUI/O_Dnhk6LIHk/IMG_3356_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lE54jyJm-DI/Ui_JofZO5BI/AAAAAAAAeUQ/55WyhcfmTVA/s1600-h/IMG_3357%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3357" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3357" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4NHmHV3ATP0/Ui_Jo8SNUFI/AAAAAAAAeUY/FWffo8MREtw/IMG_3357_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-y-6pXV7hwi8/Ui_JpZ2QztI/AAAAAAAAeUg/ihjFEfDjH4Y/s1600-h/IMG_3364%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3364" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3364" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bLV2Wu6VQ70/Ui_Jp7y_j2I/AAAAAAAAeUo/FHcs6E--DVE/IMG_3364_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-X0zl-XGbFLQ/Ui_JqrutcmI/AAAAAAAAeUw/gFoRzcAUO4g/s1600-h/IMG_3368-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-s9idvQxkixo/Ui_Jq1ndk2I/AAAAAAAAeU4/_8R0ALPLukM/IMG_3368-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>Birds are aplenty along the river…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-DW2a-PaYfR4/Ui_JrWfCSlI/AAAAAAAAeVA/VoEluFrAqJ4/s1600-h/IMG_3365%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3365" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3365" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bFigIZKhrZ0/Ui_Jr2JTTWI/AAAAAAAAeVI/_BA63_S6JZk/IMG_3365_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>This picture is a good representative of Dublin’s atmosphere:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-nILWk1LEkPg/Ui_JshIoISI/AAAAAAAAeVQ/CkJLgnE10Jg/s1600-h/IMG_3369%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3369" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3369" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-mtTjUXO7CeQ/Ui_JtBFrdDI/AAAAAAAAeVY/PVbcYUBI7qE/IMG_3369_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And then off to Henry Street for a stroll.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-FahCFGtKB0k/Ui_Jt9EvpSI/AAAAAAAAeVg/B2OdP-dk47I/s1600-h/IMG_3370-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-WngwgBJZAHI/Ui_JueiaMjI/AAAAAAAAeVo/l90ROLH1DK4/IMG_3370-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-oduChwunFL8/Ui_Juz-kQiI/AAAAAAAAeVw/7m7EHpMWlxQ/s1600-h/IMG_3371-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-F9gv1QSY1go/Ui_Jvs0tSgI/AAAAAAAAeV4/_BzE5o9dXlc/IMG_3371-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-XvSDcegPr3s/Ui_JwAOvRbI/AAAAAAAAeWA/U6ztoONXits/s1600-h/IMG_3373%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3373" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3373" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-tWQXFmLCrKg/Ui_JwkgheGI/AAAAAAAAeWI/ZYcU4oZZuy0/IMG_3373_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-br38XQGfWsA/Ui_JxNNNFxI/AAAAAAAAeWQ/E3uJAaSIs5w/s1600-h/IMG_3374%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3374" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3374" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gAe9V1l4z9Q/Ui_JxykOYMI/AAAAAAAAeWY/d3KHlZPbmrY/IMG_3374_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Time passed quickly, then we took the <em><a href="http://www.dublinbus.ie/Your-Journey1/Timetables/Airport-Services/">Airlink</a></em> to the airport (possibly the best deal for an independent traveller to get from Dublin’s airport to the city centre).</p> <p>Flight to Glasgow departed shortly after 4:00pm carrying, amongst others, a few of the band’s technical crew. Remembering some of these fellows from the last tour, I was happy to say hello. Short flight to Glasgow, shuttle to the city centre and before I knew it I was already at the <em>Holiday Inn Express</em> up <em>West Nile Street</em> at the city centre. I remembered this hotel from my previous visit here last week—comfortable, clean, affordable and in great location (<em><a href="http://www.pret.com">Pret-A-Manger</a></em>, upon whom my UK diet is happy to rely, is a stone throw away).</p> <hr /> <p>Glasgow is a beautiful city and the difference in atmosphere between this place and Dublin is extremely hard to avoid. As soon as I departed the shuttle right at the city centre, and while walking up <em>West Nile Street</em> towards the hotel, I was able to feel it. Things move slower here and appear to be calmer and more soothing. This is exactly the same Glasgow I had visited last year, only colder (well, it was late May when I last visited here). Something in the city’s air made me feel much better; I was very happy to be here.</p> <p>Quick set-up at the hotel and we went on our ways to hunt for food, walking around this city which is gorgeous at night. Friday night, lots of people in the streets walking out and about. Walked south on West Nile Street, then east to <em>Exchange Place</em> which is a beautiful walkway filled with shops, restaurants and whatnot.</p> <p>Gazing at the menus posted outside, we came across a place called <em><a href="http://www.roganoglasgow.com/">Rogano</a></em>. The place features a cafe as well as a restaurant, but we didn’t know that, much to Jeroen’s dismay (as will soon be illustrated). Upon entrance, we were asked whether we’re headed to the cafe or the restaurant. I said “restaurant” because I was sure I knew what I was talking about—and that prompted the usher to make a phone call announcing our arrival. That was when I first came to think of the idea that maybe we’re missing something.</p> <p>Well, what do you know. Turns out that this place is a well known dining experience in Glasgow, boasting an excellent menu. Clearly not the type of place when someone would dare stepping into wearing something like this, unless someone happens to have just escaped prison:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-eXBS7r2Uw4c/Ui_JyYx0BQI/AAAAAAAAeWg/APqfcIIWA-8/s1600-h/IMG_3378%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3378" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3378" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-jLHJGqC77fU/Ui_Jyx4dhDI/AAAAAAAAeWo/nBdTE_Akv8k/IMG_3378_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>An respectable-looking couple was celebrating her 70th birthday in a table nearby; by the type of people around, I was able to recognize that this is not your everyday dining place. Next to us, a couple from England—Hillary and Iain—were seated, which provided the opportunity for a long, interesting cross-table conversation about everything and anything. Amazingly educated people with deep knowledge and understanding in arts. Was a pleasure to meet with these folks.</p> <p>Oh, and there was food, too.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-MqmyTC0gbBE/Ui_JzasUTLI/AAAAAAAAeWw/vyA-k8q3Jz8/s1600-h/IMG_3380%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3380" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3380" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bvhmZJikjE8/Ui_JzwMiZwI/AAAAAAAAeW4/ObrgRl7yagY/IMG_3380_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-w1tW0_NcldU/Ui_J0WjD3tI/AAAAAAAAeXA/YVDVKfJBdMg/s1600-h/IMG_3381%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3381" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3381" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-PAfrUEmat30/Ui_J091KMoI/AAAAAAAAeXI/xXHnbArH2ks/IMG_3381_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-VPUXn-Qjlbo/Ui_J1XnVBWI/AAAAAAAAeXQ/8rvZsFm-_ac/s1600-h/IMG_3382%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3382" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3382" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tXCMtoSv5WI/Ui_J14aPMkI/AAAAAAAAeXY/jrr17udUX_I/IMG_3382_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-l4aIU7Csx48/Ui_J2a7WuAI/AAAAAAAAeXg/tMh1XdO7BAo/s1600-h/IMG_3383%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3383" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3383" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JBCLa0LJXEs/Ui_J23UXSfI/AAAAAAAAeXo/tKXbh8kshZM/IMG_3383_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>(<em>Legend, top to bottom, left to right</em>: Spicy potatoes & cauliflower pastries; Grilled fillet of sea bass, smoked haddock fishcake, mussel and saffron cream; Red berry mille-feuille with caramel cream, mascarpone ice cream; Crème brûlée, highlander shortbread)</p> <hr /> <p>Mediocre sleep in Dublin for the two preceding nights meant that I was dead tired after this long day. Back to the hotel and I was happy to finally rest my head on a comfortable pillow, without having drunken neighbours challenge my eardrums all the way through the night.</p> <p>Signing off this post at 4:45pm; short snack now and then off to the <em>Braehead Arena</em>, for the second concert in the tour.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-62878145815918968082011-10-08T04:22:00.001-07:002011-10-08T04:22:46.689-07:00Walking Aimlessly in Amsterdam & Other Thoughts<p style="border-bottom: white thin solid; border-left: white thin solid; padding-bottom: 0.5em; padding-left: 0.5em; padding-right: 0.5em; border-top: white thin solid; border-right: white thin solid; padding-top: 0.5em">(This post was written a few days ago while in The Netherlands; I didn’t get to finish it until now, as I’m sitting in a cafe in <em>Glasgow</em>. It’s raining outside, and what’s better than enjoying a good cup of coffee while polluting the blogosphere with my senseless drivel?)</p> <p>Yesterday (Tuesday) wasn’t an overly interesting day, but still had me thinking. One of those “days of reckoning”.</p> <p>Took the train from Delft to Amsterdam shortly before noon; Jeroen was going to take the train to a meeting in a nearby city, so we shared the ride to Amsterdam where I departed and let the Dutchman go about his own business.</p> <p>Half past noon time, and I arrived once again at <em>Amsterdam Centraal</em>—that is, Amsterdam’s central train station. I have been there many times before and had good feelings towards that city. Got of course a bit excited as I left the station; first large-scale European city for me in this trip.</p> <hr /> <p>Perhaps I picked the wrong time to travel this year (well, I didn’t really pick it; <em>Mark Knopfler</em> did); perhaps I got way too used to living in paradise; but anyhow, I found myself getting a really strange, disappointing vibe from Amsterdam yesterday. Walking and walking through the city centre’s narrow, shop- and restaurant-filled streets, I simply failed to find anything overly pleasant to occupy my senses with.</p> <p>In the last few times I strolled around this city, I found it to be pleasant, colourful, unique and exciting; this time around, though, it looked grey, unattractive, dirty and a bit depressed. Absolutely drenched in various tourist traps—mostly “coffee shops” and millions of take-away hole-in-the-wall “restaurants” catering for the post-smoke munchies; scores of tourists, some of which seemed to be as much disinterested as I was.</p> <p>I ended up spending quite a bit of time in a place called “<a href="http://grandcafemynt.com/">Grand Cafe Mynt</a><em></em>”, which is a surprisingly spacious, pleasant cafe amidst the rush of <em>Nieuwendijk</em>, which is the main shopping and activity strip.</p> <p>Time passed very slowly until I met Jeroen again at around 6:00pm. Hungry, we went for dinner at a place called “<em><a href="http://www.lapaella.nl/">La Paella</a></em>”, a Spanish restaurant in quite the shady area of the city center. Food was very good.</p> <hr /> <p>As we left the restaurant heading towards a bakery to get some desserts, we were approached by an immensely stoned idiot in a leather coat, asking to speak to us. He was telling us a heart-breaking story about losing his friends and asked who do we think he should be calling in such a case. We advised him to call the police and went on our way.</p> <p>Not ten seconds passed and I heard quick footsteps from behind us. I turned around, and noticed that idiot walking fast towards us. As he was approaching Jeroen, I asked him “What do you want?”, which prompted him to gaze at me in an empty, vacant, pointless look. He then mumbled trying to develop a conversation about calling the police for helping him find his friends; I simply proceeded along my way as Jeroen was trying to get rid of him by means of pleasant conversation. Seconds later, another suspiciously-looking junkie was approaching, advising his stoned friend to “leave us alone” because we obviously “don’t know who to call”.</p> <p>(Amsterdam, much like many other big cities, is filled with morons trying to scam innocent tourists. A commonly used trick is to make someone give you their phone—for example, so you can call the police to report your missing friends—and then run away with the phone. In Amsterdam where “Coffee Shops” abound, stealing has another incentive—how else are you going to pay for the drugs you need to buy just in order to survive an extra couple of hours in your desolate world?)</p> <p>As we were standing at the bakery, a friend of the junkie kicked an empty bottle of water towards me, and hinted as if he was going to approach me. His friend advised him not to. I sort-of lost appetite for sweets, so we just abandoned our plans and went straight to the train station, to catch the ride back to Delft.</p> <hr /> <p>That was just about the experience I needed in order to decide that this drug-laden pity of an area—that is, touristic Amsterdam—is unlikely to experience my footsteps on it for the foreseeable future. There are many other parts of this city which are worth visiting, but I suppose I’m going to be entirely skipping the main area surrounding the central station for a while.</p> <p>Much has been said about The Netherlands’ policy of permitting the sales of marijuana, mushrooms and other sorts of substances to help one “get in the mood” (for good starting-point information about the subject, refer to <a href="http://www.amsterdam.info/drugs">http://www.amsterdam.info/drugs</a>); people come here from all over Europe in order to settle in some joint-smoking cave and smoke their trouble (or, more often, their boredom) away.</p> <p>Is it good or bad? well, that depends. I for once am not fond of preaching to people what they should be doing with their own body. If you wants to smoke something—by all means, go ahead and do it. Smoke, inject, do whatever the hell it is you want to do—I couldn’t care less what it is that you choose to do with your life and what substances you wish to let into your body.</p> <p>This is much like my approach towards religion. I don’t at all care who or what you believe in—be it Moses, God, Jesus, Allah, Buddha… I don’t even care if you think that the entire universe has been farted out of a goat’s ass. Really, believe in whatever suits you, I frankly and genuinely don’t care (well, unless you indeed believe that the universe has been farted out of a goat’s ass, in which case, please contact me).</p> <p>But the shit starts hitting the fan when people, as a result of following certain practices—</p> <ul> <li>Attempt enforcing their views on others, delegitimizing others’ freedom of choice; and/or </li> <li>Use their freedoms as an excuse to avoid paying the price, or taking accountability, for their actions. </li> </ul> <p>In my standards (and sorry to be blunt; I sometimes tend to have very strong opinions), you lose your legitimacy to practice your freedoms as soon as your practice has adversely affected others’ rights to practice their own freedoms.</p> <hr /> <p>In “<em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man%27s_Search_for_Meaning">Man’s Search for Meaning</a></em>”, author <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktor_Frankl"><em>Viktor Frankl</em></a> argued that freedom & liberty are only one half of the truth—<em>responsibility</em> being the other (hence his suggestion to construct the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Statue_of_Responsibility"><em>Statue of Responsibility</em></a> in the USA’s west coast, to complement the east coast’s <em>Statue of Liberty</em>. Frankl was referring to “responsibility” in a very broad form, broader than what I am interested to cover here).</p> <p>It sometimes seems to me as if our world is too obsessed with the “freedom & liberty” part of the equation, too often neglecting the other, least sexy part of responsibility. People are so vocal and aggressive when it comes to protecting their own rights (or what they deem to be “their rights”), often failing to think through the consequences of such demands. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%C3%B8ren_Kierkegaard"><em>Søren Kierkegaard</em></a> captured it well in his saying:</p> <blockquote> <p>“People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.”</p> </blockquote> <p>A consequence (at least in my mind) of this is that, increasingly, individual rights & freedoms are being preferred and favoured over public rights & freedoms. There have been so many manifestations of this ill trend (one of which hit me very close to home: the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_Vancouver_Stanley_Cup_riot">2011 Vancouver Stanley Cup riot</a>), The Netherlands’ approach towards drug sale & usage included.</p> <p>OK. So you decided that allowing (through regulation) the sale & use of drugs (of certain kinds) because you believe that, over the long run, this approach is better than abolishing drugs altogether. Fine. You know what? I tend to agree.</p> <p>But did you think for a minute what happens afterwards? each individual’s reaction (physical & mental) to certain drugs is different. While some may simply get into a good mood and relax, some will then roam the streets, approach innocent people and rob them in order to be able to pay for their next fix.</p> <p>So what could the Government of The Netherlands do? The best it could do would be to place police officers around popular drug-use areas in order to ensure that shit doesn’t get out of hand. But no, they won’t do that:</p> <ul> <li>It costs a lot of money to continuously monitor such a large area. </li> <li>Unless someone robs you, they didn’t commit any illegal activity. A police officer cannot touch a stoned individual just on the grounds of harassing you. </li> </ul> <p>So if you can’t contain the negative effects of drug legalization (both due to it being a waste of public money, <em>and</em> a violation of “human rights”), then in the bottom line, what you had done is sacrificed public safety & welfare in order to allow just a bit more of individual legal rights.</p> <p>Is that something to be proud of? in one word—“no”; in four words—“my ass it is”. Increasing individual “human rights” without increasing individual responsibility and accountability is not something to be proud of—it’s senseless, irresponsible, and perhaps most importantly in the long run—unsustainable. Can a society exist when individual rights surpass and supersede public rights?</p> <p>I don’t know about you, but I don’t see it happening.</p> <hr /> <p>Finished writing & editing this post at 12:15pm, October 8, in <em>Caffe Nero</em> in <em>Glasgow</em>. Now off for the next post…</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-90002714894216163172011-10-06T17:55:00.001-07:002013-09-10T18:17:10.010-07:00Concert Day: The O₂, Dublin, Ireland (October 6, 2011)<p>Most of yesterday (October 5) was spent unwinding in Jeroen’s apartment in Delft; I needed that, to get my senses together after a terribly disappointing visit to Amsterdam the day before (I wrote about it but haven’t posted yet). I don’t know if it’s me getting old or what, but I find myself nowadays needing a tad bit more than my own internal drive in order to get up and travel.</p> <p>Or maybe it’s the jet lag speaking, I don’t know.</p> <p>Left Delft at peak hour, around 5:00pm. Carrying a heavy backpack in a train full of people (having to stand most of the time) was no picnic at all and by the time we arrived at <em>Schiphol Airport</em>, I was already sweating like an Oklahoma pig farmer.</p> <p>Quick check-in, baggage drop-off, and even a quicker dinner and I really needed some coffee. It’s always a good thing to have a few coffee bars in Schiphol Airport, open 24 hours. Except, of course, when they’re closed:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-OlU8SMk1pXU/Ui_ER1W3rrI/AAAAAAAAePo/tiIvtrwtS-M/s1600-h/IMG00156-20111005-1920%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG00156-20111005-1920" style="display: inline" alt="IMG00156-20111005-1920" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Jx2Mya0fd5U/Ui_ESYO5rDI/AAAAAAAAePw/c1Wk5UlqbGc/IMG00156-20111005-1920_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Two ladies were passing by, noticing my amazement at this ingeniously-stupid sign, and started laughing.</p> <p>—“I really need my coffee”, I said.</p> <p>—“Well, sorry… that’s a really funny sign”, said one of them.</p> <p>My big mouth came into action.</p> <p>—“Is there good coffee where you’re going to? I’ll go anywhere”, I begged.</p> <p>—“Well, I’m going to the toilet so this might not work out” came the answer, leaving me in the ruins. Life 1, Isaac 0.</p> <p>Found a coffee place at some point, disgusting as only the feet of twelve mighty ogres can be. Quick walk to the gate, boarding and the flight left on time. Slightly over two hours later, clock was set one hour earlier and we arrived in <em>Dublin</em>.</p> <hr /> <p><em>Dublin</em> has always been one of the cities I look forward to visiting. Following the repulsive Amsterdam experience from the night before, I was looking forward for some fresh air, fresh colours, fresh faces…</p> <p>Quick cab ride took us to <em>Charles Stewart Guesthouse</em>, a hotel (well, more like a glorified B&B) very close to the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spire_of_Dublin">Spire of Dublin</a>. Small room, unappealing to most senses but I suppose €50 a night can’t buy happiness in this city. Bloody <em>freezing</em> outside, the heat didn’t work (according to the owner, the heating in this hotel works exactly one hour every day—between 7pm and 8pm. Stupid? yeah, tell me about it), noise from outside… not the greatest housing experience of my life. Still, I was tired as a dog so I didn’t care much.</p> <hr /> <p>I sometimes wake up a few times at night—usually when I’m stressed—and last night was one of them. Feeling a bit bored, I reached to my BlackBerry and went on some Israeli news site to see what’s new with the world and verify that my home country isn’t involved in yet another war. Then I see a large picture of one Mr. Steve Jobs holding an iPhone. Before reading the headline, I thought to myself “oh. So he <em>did</em> present some iPhone 5 after all”, only to scroll down and read that the man split the earth and is no longer with us.</p> <p>I’m not an Apple fan at all—for many reasons—yet I felt sorry for Steve Jobs’ death. A truly admirable individual with tons of charisma and talent; if you haven’t listed to his 2005 Stanford address, perhaps it’s time that you do: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UF8uR6Z6KLc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UF8uR6Z6KLc</a>. May he rest in peace.</p> <hr /> <p>A significantly unappealing breakfast in the hotel went by quickly as we went on our quest to explore Temple Bar for a bit, passing, on our way, near the <em>Spire</em>.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-1ly6m6oEwuU/Ui_ESzAFyII/AAAAAAAAeP4/7qxga69fm1U/s1600-h/IMG_3301-rotated%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-AOonomQVER8/Ui_ETWhx9VI/AAAAAAAAeQA/dwetNoRkOqU/IMG_3301-rotated_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JkHo0At5kf8/Ui_ETzgHVeI/AAAAAAAAeQE/oSvs5YpklqI/s1600-h/IMG_3302-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-52XFOQfd4oY/Ui_EUdkpoMI/AAAAAAAAeQQ/54Zf_GiSp0Y/IMG_3302-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-3F7GXO89FQI/Ui_EUgFEIZI/AAAAAAAAeQY/F71K8x_dJdI/s1600-h/IMG_3304%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3304" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3304" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-BbbneG5LB2w/Ui_EVDZlisI/AAAAAAAAeQg/t4X010YTrtM/IMG_3304_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Nada. It was early Thursday morning, almost no living soul on the streets. Tourism season is over already and man, is Dublin boring when it’s empty.</p> <p>A <em>huge</em> teapot, in a nice place called “Brick Alley Café”, wreaked havoc in my bladder for the entire bloody day (up to and including the show; mental note to self—avoid over-consuming tea in convert days).</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cWkbOHfDfxE/Ui_EVugdG8I/AAAAAAAAeQo/lxGdOYjaiAQ/s1600-h/IMG_3307%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3307" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3307" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-AMYvT628ZsA/Ui_EWGDFfQI/AAAAAAAAeQw/fKvDP0kTXio/IMG_3307_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Bored, we decided to leverage the good weather and travel to <em>Howth</em>, a beautiful fishing village some 30 minutes away from Dublin.</p> <p>I had first visited Howth during the <em>Get Lucky</em> tour (see post <a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com/2010/05/concert-day-o2-dublin-ireland-may-19.html">here</a>) and it was good to get back and reminisce. Wind was cruel, making walking on the pier tricky and painful, but what wouldn’t I do to catch a good glimpse at the water? nothing.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-r3MgMjdeohU/Ui_EW9SSA-I/AAAAAAAAeQ4/QV0_ditWSLc/s1600-h/IMG_3312%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3312" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3312" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XPOklDoBsgw/Ui_EXW3bzrI/AAAAAAAAeQ8/AxmvNw8_2qI/IMG_3312_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WGSF9xzVSsE/Ui_EXrMXPQI/AAAAAAAAeRI/ESiqbv0jB0M/s1600-h/IMG_3313%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3313" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3313" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-S5CTUMIyYho/Ui_EYBN5KCI/AAAAAAAAeRQ/K5dY4YkTG6g/IMG_3313_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-UHgn2HA2NJ4/Ui_EYv_qTFI/AAAAAAAAeRY/UqNIN_eEoYs/s1600-h/IMG_3322%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3322" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3322" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-pc_lkdf8yYk/Ui_EZLJgALI/AAAAAAAAeRg/fpH0KmtmktU/IMG_3322_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-d25y6B-ec5Y/Ui_EaubP_8I/AAAAAAAAeRo/ZMhpUNiB9iQ/s1600-h/IMG_3321%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3321" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3321" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-0TPXO_qoHLQ/Ui_EbIV2ZWI/AAAAAAAAeRw/sLL_zMZEPEo/IMG_3321_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>That coat saved me. Very cold outside with murderous winds.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cDXIo66jKLA/Ui_EbknSygI/AAAAAAAAeR4/YW8DZVk4Ntg/s1600-h/IMG_3333%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3333" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3333" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6R2noTFWhVM/Ui_EcNd7kcI/AAAAAAAAeSA/qYQVapKREHw/IMG_3333_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-gqfbeIR-jvA/Ui_EchWe1jI/AAAAAAAAeSI/44TePVwUkTg/s1600-h/IMG_3338%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3338" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3338" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-yZZpJ74hnk8/Ui_EdNedgWI/AAAAAAAAeSQ/Z9AZnz--Ogo/IMG_3338_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Another short visit to Howth’s town centre, lunch and back to Dublin. Excitement grew as show time neared.</p> <hr /> <p>The tickets said 8:00pm was the show’s starting time; the venue’s website suggested 7:30pm so we decided to take no risks and leave early. Delicious meal at <em>Flanagan’s</em> and we went walking towards the venue, <em>The O₂</em>. It’s a long, 2.5km walk in bad winds and cold, drizzly weather. At times it felt like the walk isn’t going to end. Eventually it did though, and at 6:45pm we arrived at the venue as people were only starting to arrive.</p> <p>Shortly before the concert, an email from <em>MarkKnopfler.com</em> suggested that this specific tour carries a strict “no photography” rule. Bizarre as Mark has traditionally never minded still cameras in his shows (as long as they’re used in moderation). Anyway, we decided to not risk it and kept the camera at home. If anybody has pictures of the venue’s surroundings or interior, from before or after the show, please email them to me and I will embed them here (of course, along with credits). Photos from the actual concert will not be displayed here, respecting the band’s wishes.</p> <p>Seats: front row, a few seats to the right of the absolute center. Traditionally my preferred spot, facing Richard Bennett, so my complaint list was rather empty. It felt weird being in a concert venue again, even though I spent four months in my life last year jumping from one concert to another.</p> <p>It was, really, a weird feeling. But at 7:45pm, as the lights went out and the band took the stage, it wasn’t weird anymore.</p> <p>It was natural.</p> <p>They are here again.</p> <hr /> <p>So, what did we have here… lets see.</p> <p>First, we had a standing Knopfler; during last year’s tour (the day before the <em><a href="http://gl.isaac.shabtay.com/2010/04/concert-day-michigan-theatre-ann-arbor.html">Ann Arbor</a></em> show), Mark pulled a nerve in his back forcing him to be playing seated for the remainder of the tour; good to see that everything’s back to normal.</p> <p>Two new (well, one new and one old-new) band members, Jim Cox on keyboard and Ian Thomas on drums. Stage set-up wasn’t too much different than the ordinary, nothing appeared amiss.</p> <p>What was, however, strange and new was the guitar Mark was holding. It’s the first time ever that I see a cyan (was it cyan? pretty sure, yes) coloured <em>Gibson Les-Paul</em>. Capo on the fifth fret and off we went to a rocking start. Some references to Ireland during the song made some audience members laugh as if they were happy that Mark speaks “their language”.</p> <p>Second song also a rocking one (I should tell you that there was not even a short pause during the entire set; the band members were not introduced) and then came song number three.</p> <p>Song number three got me a bit confused as I have never seen this instrument setup before. Mark held the same guitar he uses to play <em>Donegan’s Gone</em> (is it the <em>Danelectro</em>?) along with a slider and <em>boom</em> we went for a third rocking song in a row, a song I had never heard before.</p> <p>So then I started contemplating whether this is a tribute to Bob Dylan (i.e. the band playing a Bob Dylan cover) or are we actually witnessing a song from the new upcoming album? A minute or so into the song I figured that this isn’t likely to be a cover of anything, but a Mark Knopfler original. So yes, folks: the upcoming album has some good rock n’ roll news. I seem to recall the words “Ain’t it pretty?” peppered along the chorus; I may be mistaken.</p> <p>A couple of more songs I have heard before and then… interesting. Another previously-unseen instruments’ layout. Everybody’s gone acoustic and Mike McGoldrick sitting with the uilleann pipes; and that, for me, was the pinnacle of the evening.</p> <p>—“We’re very happy to be here… this is also a chance to play some of the new stuff. This one is called ‘Privateering’” and the band went ahead to play this amazing dramatic piece (in C minor). I was literally set hypnotized in my seat, gazing at Richard’s and Mark’s guitar work through the entire performance of this song. If the upcoming album has more songs like this one, then we’re definitely talking about a winner.</p> <p>Remember that name. “Privateering” (no, it’s not “Private Hearing” and not “Privateers” as some people asked me over email). It’s wonderful.</p> <p>A few more songs were played and I noticed something interesting. Time was running out for the band’s part and still no Dire Straits songs being played. Indeed, the show ended (after about one hour and ten minutes) with no Dire Straits tracks on the set, which for me is great news. Not that I don’t like Dire Straits’ material (<em>Brothers in Arms</em> is my all-time favourite and I’ll definitely miss <em>Telegraph Road</em>) but the post-Straits material, in my mind, is worthier of live performances.</p> <p>After an hour and ten minutes, Mark bid the audience goodbye and the band left the stage. Nobody got up as I’m sure everybody was expecting an encore; imagine our surprise, then, when the lights turned on and Bob Dylan’s crew started rearranging the stage for Bob’s performance.</p> <p>That was it, then. 70 minutes show, followed by about half an hour break, followed by a Bob Dylan concert (which I will not cover here). A joint encore didn’t happen and by 10:30pm or so, it was all over.</p> <hr /> <p>Millions of people on their way to the tram going back; huge traffic jams so we decided to walk back. Cold, drizzly night and it was good to be back in this extremely cold room (there’s a draft from the window). Sitting on my bed signing off this post at 1:50am.</p> <p>Tomorrow will be a short day in Dublin; flight to Glasgow departs at 4:00pm.</p> <p>Stay tuned for more updates, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-62425780377332568582011-10-03T06:47:00.001-07:002013-09-10T17:15:47.330-07:00Leaving Vancouver; Arriving at The Netherlands<p>Vancouver—up to Expo 1986, a quite modest and relatively underrated spot—has seen incomprehensible growth ever since the late 80’s, often to be considered the #1 city in the world to live in. The 2010 Winter Olympics which took place there had a lot to do with the immense infrastructure upgrades the city has been experiencing ever since the mid-2000’s. Three of the noteworthy changes are the Sea-to-Sky Highway Upgrade project (converting this fabulous ocean- and mountain-side drive from a 1-lane to 2-lanes highway, each direction); the building of the <em>Canada Line</em>—essentially, a brand-new subway line taking you from downtown all the way to the airport; and the superb renovations made to YVR—Vancouver’s international airport.</p> <p>Bidding my father goodbye, I departed the 1:30pm train from <em>Yaletown</em> (the Vancouver neighbourhood I live in); 20 something minutes later I was already in the terminal.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/--GAdm2hzslo/Ui-1zVjvUNI/AAAAAAAAeJg/mz_E915JHRI/s1600-h/IMG00151-20111001-1359%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG00151-20111001-1359" style="display: inline" alt="IMG00151-20111001-1359" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Mbwt_s1Mcig/Ui-1z-iTZeI/AAAAAAAAeJo/AVV71Id0vJg/IMG00151-20111001-1359_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Even the terminal’s interior is amazing. The airport won the Skytrax Best North American Airport award for 2010—for the second time (first time in 2007), and the terminal building is very well themed after British Columbia’s most respectable trait—its immense, indescribable natural beauty:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-O3R8JunAETg/Ui-10WvHHVI/AAAAAAAAeJw/hGQlZ5fIcEo/s1600-h/vancouver_%25255B3%25255D%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="vancouver_[3]" style="display: inline" alt="vancouver_[3]" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-yyJZ76caaYA/Ui-104jy_UI/AAAAAAAAeJ4/Q5h0d5QLWfM/vancouver_%25255B3%25255D_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="369" /></a></p> <p>Therefore I wasn’t surprised to find this in the terminal:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-qdbrFFef4Z8/Ui-11fF4UFI/AAAAAAAAeKA/b2yk8NCzQR4/s1600-h/P1040234%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1040234" style="display: inline" alt="P1040234" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-r7pQezbwMY4/Ui-11zh5scI/AAAAAAAAeKI/bAKSvewBihA/P1040234_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="492" height="328" /></a></p> <p>As well as this aquarium:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-i3YE-bSMMUU/Ui-12STVwEI/AAAAAAAAeKQ/Sfx-ns0V_bs/s1600-h/P1040235-rotated%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1040235-rotated" style="display: inline" alt="P1040235-rotated" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GrwXYCcPygg/Ui-13LICrAI/AAAAAAAAeKY/8DgO6r1fcPw/P1040235-rotated_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="369" height="554" /></a></p> <p>Sat down for a pre-boarding meal at <em>Milestone’s</em>:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Vw9zure5A8o/Ui-13gA9NmI/AAAAAAAAeKg/L4Qlgek1MYA/s1600-h/P1040230%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1040230" style="display: inline" alt="P1040230" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-o1OIX4ncRho/Ui-14F6-REI/AAAAAAAAeKo/WNtLN7Udhok/P1040230_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="160" /></a><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-XfHwuAfPqok/Ui-14g_Mw2I/AAAAAAAAeKw/OqGUnlBIaww/s1600-h/P1040231%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1040231" style="display: inline" alt="P1040231" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-nDFtsfakhFM/Ui-15LBfUhI/AAAAAAAAeK4/E_KrpeAHNic/P1040231_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="160" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-H4eaJAzzquk/Ui-1541h4ZI/AAAAAAAAeLA/Yr4ixxJ5GcU/s1600-h/P1040233%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="P1040233" style="display: inline" alt="P1040233" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Ssi9fVd3aos/Ui-16dao_fI/AAAAAAAAeLI/tUeR7ILqyS0/P1040233_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="160" /></a></p> <p>Slight flight delay and we went on our way.</p> <hr /> <p>$187 spent in an attempt to have a comfortable 9 hours flight from Vancouver to Amsterdam turned out to be somewhat of a waste. KLM flies a McDonnell-Douglas 11 (MD-11) on their direct route from Vancouver to Amsterdam, which isn’t the most convenient aircraft in the world to begin with. Their “Economy Comfort” class, for which you have to pay to upgrade from “Regular Economy”, does buy you some extra leg room but still, flying with Air Canada you can get a better-quality “Premium Economy” seat for about one third of the price.</p> <p>So keep that in mind if you happen to take such a flight.</p> <p>Anyway, my immense height (astounding 1.83m) meant I just couldn’t get into a position suitable for any level of sleep, which resulted in a rather unpleasant, sleepless flight. Failing to fall asleep during the flight, I watched that Hollywood movie, “The Adjustments Bureau”. Nice idea for a movie, extraordinarily dumb script and execution. My advice: avoid.</p> <p>Tired, but happy nonetheless, I finally arrived at Amsterdam’s <em>Schiphol</em> airport. As soon as I picked up my backpack and arrived at the arrivals hall, flashbacks from last year’s tour kicked in: I am, once again, on the move; and when I’m on the move, I’m alive.</p> <hr /> <p>Took me a couple of more minutes to get into “train riding” mode. One way ticket from the airport to <em>Delft</em>, through <em>The Hague</em>—done. To the platform, where a lovely young lady asked me if I could share with her some of my experience in Schiphol airport. Rarely happy to answer questionnaires but always happy to say “yes” to beautiful women (that’s what my mother taught me), I obliged only to start thinking “WTF” when she asked me if I had the chance to use Schiphol’s restrooms. I said “yes”, genuinely intrigued as to what question was coming next.</p> <p>As the train was approaching, she thanked me and asked me if I have any comments or remarks.</p> <p>—“Yes, I have one”, I said.</p> <p>—“What is it?”</p> <p>—“I think you’re gorgeous”.</p> <p>A semi-puzzled, semi-embarrassed look wasn’t too far off what I had expected; hopped on the train and off I went on my ride to <em>Delft</em>.</p> <hr /> <p>My good friend Jeroen Gerrits, with whom I had the pleasure of sharing a few dozens concerts in the past, lives in Delft. I have been here before—if my memory serves me right, this is my fourth time here. It’s a beautiful quiet little Dutch city about an hour away by train from Amsterdam, and about ten minutes away by train from <em>The Hague</em> and <em>Rotterdam</em>.</p> <p>When I first packed for this trip, I relied mainly on my common sense claiming that this is autumn in Europe so I should better bring some warm clothing. Luckily, I double-checked with Jeroen the day before; turned out that October 1st, the day before I arrived here, was the hottest October 1st in Delft since measurements had begun: 26℃. Therefore I wasn’t that surprised to step out of the train into the platform and be welcome with a punch of warm wind and humidity that I’m sure even hell would object.</p> <p>Nevertheless, it’s always good to see this good Dutchman. Quick setup in the apartment, then off for some afternoon coffee in “Coffee Company” at the Market Square, which is where things are happening in Delft: nothing much happens anywhere else around this beautiful little city.</p> <hr /> <p>Dinner time didn’t take much to arrive but did end up being quite the peculiar experience.</p> <p>Before that, a word about the dining experience in The Netherlands (in general; even though the same holds for a few other western European countries). Tipping isn’t a common practice in The Netherlands as the waiting staff in restaurants get paid reasonable salaries (unlike North America where a part of the waiting staff’s salary is skilfully delegated by the restaurant’s owner to the diners).</p> <p>Therefore, if you come from North America and you get to the typical Dutch restaurant, under no circumstances should you feel insulted or mistreated should you fail to see the waiting staff doing everything within their powers to impress you. Nobody here is going to kiss your arse for extra tips, which, in my mind, is a blessed norm (I can’t stress enough how annoying it is for me to step into Canadian restaurants and encounter fake smiles and artificially-enthusiastic manners).</p> <p>So anyway, we were sitting down right in one of the squares, an outdoors patio-like arrangement when we were greeted by a young waiter. Now I can’t exactly recall how everything started—hell, I don’t even remember what I had asked—but within a couple of minutes, we were all having a rather enthusiastic conversation.</p> <p>Which wasn’t that bad if there were no other customers waiting for service right by us, often looking at him and failing to understand why it takes 20 minutes to take an order.</p> <p>About 5 minutes into the conversation, I was already familiar with much of this guy’s life. Barely 18 years old, dating a blonde model (he agreed to show a picture. Yes, she has been granted Isaac’s Seal of Approval, despite her being blonde which I usually take points off for). They are moving in together (she is 17), into a house that they <u>bought</u> (again, they’re 18 and 17 years old), much thanks to the guy’s father who happened to win €100,000 in the lottery last year (€40,000 went towards buying the house, another €30,000 towards buying a new car and I could quite get where the rest of the money went).</p> <p>He was taking on a waiting job as part of his studies, as he wants to be in the hotel business (customer service is indeed a skill worth developing for that purpose). His girlfriend’s sister is 19 years old (blonde, too) and he happens to have a girl friend who is 29 years old, brunette and carrying a D cup-size bra—allegedly, a perfect match for yours truly. She lives in a suburb of The Hague.</p> <p>This entire thing was pretty strange. I didn’t know whether to become annoyed or to laugh when I realized that the reason for our drinks to be 25 minutes late was merely that this guy found another patron to sit next to and talk to.</p> <p>20 minutes after asking for the bill, it failed to arrive which prompted us to take pro-active measures and go ask for it ourselves.</p> <p>Strange… very strange. But funny, nonetheless. Yet another interesting turn of events to add to my never-ending array of social puzzlements.</p> <hr /> <p>Didn’t catch much sleep last night. Vancouver is 9 hours behind Vancouver which makes trans-Atlantic visits a living hell for west coasters. It’s Monday, everybody’s back to work so I went on my way to enjoy the city. Perfect weather for walking out and about.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-QYKd4hBg220/Ui-16lEglXI/AAAAAAAAeLQ/9F_lNphAa90/s1600-h/IMG_3280-rotated%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-2XvLQ-LJES0/Ui-17KfvPkI/AAAAAAAAeLY/kGrU32_n3Ss/IMG_3280-rotated_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>“Hond In De Goot”, according to Google Translate, means “Dog in the Gutter”. There are bylaws in The Netherlands practically begging people to clean up after their dogs (in Canada, this is very strictly followed) but apparently people aren’t listening, so “Hond In De Goot” asks people to at least have their dogs respond to their nature calls over the gutters.</p> <p>Quite the picturesque place, Delft is:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-xwiiOo6NwIQ/Ui-17g-Sc5I/AAAAAAAAeLg/70MXtQl4ons/s1600-h/IMG_3282%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3282" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3282" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-qKNUrIg0DB4/Ui-18JlzL_I/AAAAAAAAeLo/6LBwT-FQje4/IMG_3282_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-FfcgzPjxCoU/Ui-18t_h-6I/AAAAAAAAeLw/BNshJrM20Ag/s1600-h/IMG_3283%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3283" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3283" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9ix6tWnSg0Q/Ui-19WBZeWI/AAAAAAAAeL4/7fX9_nYeF9c/IMG_3283_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-w_wLDgszzMY/Ui-19-jleQI/AAAAAAAAeMA/wNOyUs_pxJE/s1600-h/IMG_3284%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3284" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3284" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Z3YMVR4aPMc/Ui-1-TTvTQI/AAAAAAAAeMI/nLrfDTqbrpg/IMG_3284_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-E_RwaOL-tK8/Ui-1-8LyRrI/AAAAAAAAeMQ/ARoTeXPXrTA/s1600-h/IMG_3285%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3285" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3285" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-sg9d3UhlU4M/Ui-1_dqbj5I/AAAAAAAAeMY/vVRvq0RIWhE/IMG_3285_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-uWZ2EXwdm1Q/Ui-1_y3OlII/AAAAAAAAeMg/EVTWArb94Ig/s1600-h/IMG_3286%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3286" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3286" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-_mM1WcmbGaY/Ui-2AdktMEI/AAAAAAAAeMo/vq5amQbOgUk/IMG_3286_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Now I don’t know about you, but I’d feel quite uncomfortable having to be parking so close to the water. This, however, is very common in The Netherlands.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-1WvU7MjEVjg/Ui-2Azt7yTI/AAAAAAAAeMw/KOtkncZ7f_U/s1600-h/IMG_3287%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3287" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3287" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-T4RnuMYoEeU/Ui-2BXiwhzI/AAAAAAAAeM4/7vRLd4lqIlM/IMG_3287_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-3hSmpR-UbMw/Ui-2B26UC6I/AAAAAAAAeNA/l5wMS4q0XMo/s1600-h/IMG_3288-rotated%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JZ1YkAfkgbQ/Ui-2CbBF2gI/AAAAAAAAeNI/K0705FU_fKs/IMG_3288-rotated_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p>How about this, a floating patio:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-NgVq7Kz-loo/Ui-2C_nibVI/AAAAAAAAeNQ/tiSDeGtjjak/s1600-h/IMG_3289%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3289" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3289" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-TGUOYinoYs0/Ui-2DbXSQnI/AAAAAAAAeNU/yh8L_c_qL7M/IMG_3289_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-E1PIdVphq4M/Ui-2D-CdKRI/AAAAAAAAeNc/ZeLrF2DDcQE/s1600-h/IMG_3291%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3291" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3291" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-64VY-v-hjrg/Ui-2EsCFD9I/AAAAAAAAeNo/v3SA1T-wDug/IMG_3291_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Another huge patio, shared between a few restaurants:</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xFgN67mugUM/Ui-2FFoZ46I/AAAAAAAAeNw/UdJixjiRMYg/s1600-h/IMG_3292%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3292" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3292" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-8MYwqQQdc3g/Ui-2FqCTZLI/AAAAAAAAeN0/ELKvjGmnRAg/IMG_3292_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-WGx4wjy1cWM/Ui-2GJfPgkI/AAAAAAAAeOA/CIS6_ieIXbY/s1600-h/IMG_3293%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3293" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3293" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Vve2jgTXAaA/Ui-2Gpobm-I/AAAAAAAAeOI/G0tJy6yjbpk/IMG_3293_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-e5cUlwx7yEg/Ui-2Hr8HNFI/AAAAAAAAeOQ/AmXynXD6O38/s1600-h/IMG_3295%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3295" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3295" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XVO9sDM-Yv8/Ui-2IO4EshI/AAAAAAAAeOU/HJ4t4JGgpJQ/IMG_3295_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>A swan…</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-EZHXclfrLvk/Ui-2IrInDjI/AAAAAAAAeOg/V8L8ZITpoqg/s1600-h/IMG_3296%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3296" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3296" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rK3mMBsNNe0/Ui-2JMkm4WI/AAAAAAAAeOo/6b5wjVpt8ts/IMG_3296_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>And what’s better than this amazing store selling cheese and wines by the truckloads?</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-H6fHjIX3RXI/Ui-2JpXE25I/AAAAAAAAeOw/slunhQDElxE/s1600-h/IMG_3297%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3297" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3297" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-8O82gWNqmRM/Ui-2KMsYknI/AAAAAAAAeO4/WlqVUQyHAEg/IMG_3297_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>Sitting down for lunch, I encountered this interesting item in the menu. According to the menu, that sandwich was a finalist in the “Most Delicious Sandwich of Holland 2010”.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-7kEgZKciP9M/Ui-2KpB7KLI/AAAAAAAAePA/admGxX74Zk4/s1600-h/IMG00155-20111003-1245%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG00155-20111003-1245" style="display: inline" alt="IMG00155-20111003-1245" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-yW078sF--gY/Ui-2LTQYESI/AAAAAAAAePI/krJADLtWLs0/IMG00155-20111003-1245_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <p>I’m not exactly the type of person to easily dismiss such a bold invitation for a duel. Not cheap for a sandwich but delicious nonetheless.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jfAuHbSPxZs/Ui-2L9-kP_I/AAAAAAAAePQ/bCcPyscd5dw/s1600-h/IMG_3298%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="IMG_3298" style="display: inline" alt="IMG_3298" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-T_gtRelS4_A/Ui-2MaUo3xI/AAAAAAAAePY/pCo4okZvdIc/IMG_3298_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a></p> <hr /> <p>Around 3:40pm Monday afternoon; time for a nap. Tomorrow—Amsterdam for the entire day, before departing to Dublin on Wednesday. Stay tuned.</p> <p>Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-34097953771605927582011-09-30T18:22:00.001-07:002011-09-30T18:22:50.265-07:00To the Old Continent Again<p>After our intense past with the highs of Italy & Bergen, and the lows of Spain (yes, Spain; I still remember), still, I have to admit: I love Europe.</p> <p>There’s quite a bit of magic there in the Old Continent. Everywhere you go in Europe, you’re bound to see something unique that you can’t see anywhere else—mostly because Europe is, after all, old. Ever country you get to walk / ride / drive through, presents its own history in ways that are as hard to explain as it is easy to experience. You can see—forget see; <em>feel</em>—that people, <em>lots</em> of people have lived there before you.</p> <p>Now I am not a culture buff; museums, galleries and the like are usually of little interest to me. But if that’s your fix, then Europe is certainly the place for you to go. Heck, to see buildings and artefacts from the Medieval times, you need not even step into a museum in some cases; just walk the streets, gaze at the buildings, the bridges and the towers; breathe in, and feel it.</p> <p>This is why I am happy whenever I get the chance to travel to Europe. If only I had the brains to travel more often when I was actually living in Israel… oh, if only I knew back then. Flights from Tel-Aviv to Prague, for example, sometimes sell for as low as $200-250 round-trip. London—which is of the furthest places to (in Europe) fly to from Tel-Aviv—sometimes has sales for about $500 round-trip. Or you can just fly to Frankfurt for cheap and take a train virtually anywhere.</p> <p>I’m all packed now. Sitting in <em>JJ Cafe</em> a stone-throw from my apartment, listening to bizarre new-age music; to my right, a man and a <em>gorgeous</em> woman are sitting talking nonsense. They don’t look like a couple—something there just doesn’t add up. He’s speaking profanities every so often, she’s bragging about her work (modeling) being an easy cash-cow. One of those no-brains-involved, light-headed chit-chats you tend to overhear ever so often here in the “life is oh so easy” city of Vancouver—precisely those types of dialogs I can never bring myself to participate in, let alone initiate.</p> <p>Checked in to my KLM flight departing tomorrow to Amsterdam; even paid an extra $187 for a “Premium Economy” seat—it’s either that, or I’d be stuck in some middle seat in Economy Class (all seats left were middle seats) for approximately ten hours.</p> <p>My now-famous (well, sort-of) green backpack was brought to <em>Mountain Equipment Co-op</em> (MEC; that’s just about your #1 place to go to, in Canada, for outdoors / travel needs. Quite an amazing store) a few days ago to have some of its strings re-done. Purchased nine years ago and still rocks like a champ.</p> <p>Everything’s ready… except for me. Ever since I moved to Vancouver, I find it hard to get the 100% motivation to get up and travel anywhere—the reason being that I now <em>live</em> in my dream place. Living here, for me, is already some sort of a vacation because I am absolutely in love with this place. But hey, I’ll sleep on it and see how things go. I should be all ready to go tomorrow.</p> <p>Arriving at Amsterdam’s <em>Schiphol</em> airport, I will immediately be boarding a train en route to <em>Delft</em>, to meet my buddy Jeroen. A few days there to unwind, before flying to Dublin (Jeroen will be attending a few shows as well) where Mark Knopfler’s and Bob Dylan’s tour begins.</p> <p>Stay tuned for updates via the RSS feed of this blog, if you’d like; you’re also welcome to visit <a href="http://facebook.com/isaac.shabtay">my Facebook page</a> and use the “subscribe” button for updates (please, unless we know each other… no friends requests).</p> <p>Cheers, <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-1942529293210531662011-09-26T01:43:00.001-07:002011-10-02T13:27:34.777-07:00West Coast Autumn; from Dublin to Rotterdam<p>And so after a magnificent summer in Vancouver, spent—to some considerable extent—either on the beach or very close to it, it seems like the sun has sailed away and autumn is here. The breathtaking beauty of Vancouver-in-the-sun has been replaced with a less breathtaking—yet still much enjoyable—greyish hue.</p> <p>It isn’t cold here yet; it’s comforting to know, though, that even at the winter’s peak, temperatures here are still above zero and snow is seldom seen in the city.</p> <p>My first summer in this pearl of a city appears to be over, making its way to autumn. It’s September already… and as every year, there’s the “September thing”.</p> <hr /> <p>In every year since I came to Canada, the month of September always had some weird “atmosphere” in it. It seems as if the chilly winds of September carry the seed of change with them; just when you think you became comfortable enough where you are, doing what you do, comes the breeze of September and shuffles everything.</p> <p>While living in Waterloo, Ontario, I used to rent out two bedrooms in my house to students (as Waterloo is world-renowned for its excellent universities). September was when tenants moved out and new ones moved in: old, familiar faces to bid farewell (mostly with extreme jubilation on my part; seldom, like in Laura’s case, it was hard and sad) and new, unfamiliar faces to welcome and get accustomed to.</p> <p>The Jewish high holidays usually take place in September, emphasizing the feeling of being away from the family.</p> <p>Travel plans are usually done in September, as the outlook for the rest of the year becomes clearer and my annual visit to Israel can be scheduled without being worried of it interfering with everything else.</p> <p>And of course, last but not least… September is when autumn comes.</p> <p>All combined, it gives me the feeling of some sort of an end… end of something. Change. A slight touch of melancholia. Change. Again.</p> <hr /> <p>People who know me well would tell you how I dislike promising things I don’t know for sure I’m going to deliver. Rarely, if ever, do I put the carriage before the horse.</p> <p>I won’t get much into the details of how and why, or why it took so long; I’ll suffice by saying that things haven’t been very simple here over the last few months (relatively speaking) so only very recently I finally made up my mind.</p> <p>I will attend the first third (<strike>ten</strike> eleven shows) of Mark Knopfler’s joint tour with Bob Dylan, from <em>Dublin</em> to <em>Rotterdam</em>, inclusive. I will fly to Amsterdam to visit my good friend Jeroen this coming Saturday; on October 5, I’ll be flying to Dublin and join the tour (as a spectator; no, I still haven’t made it to the band’s line-up) by trains and a couple of flights, ending my share of the tour in <em>Rotterdam</em>.</p> <p>Plus, I may be doing some writing throughout, in this blog you’re reading at the moment.</p> <p>So, if you happen to catch one of these shows, come by and say hello; don’t be a stranger.</p> <p>I just have to warn you in advance, though, to avoid confusions and shock. I know it might have been a bit irresponsible for me to do it, but I did. Please, try to contain yourself if you come by and say hello and find out that something’s not quite right. Don’t freak out.</p> <p>I shaved.</p> <p>-- <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83848415226842340.post-80470886456999031102011-09-13T22:03:00.001-07:002013-09-10T23:27:37.563-07:00For 9/11<p>I seem to recall being home early from “work” (it wasn’t really “work”; and lets leave it at that) on that Tuesday.</p> <p>Back then I was still living in Israel, which is seven hours ahead of New-York City. It was a barbecue day and we had a few relatives over for a pleasant early dinner. Everyone was upstairs on the deck, chatting and gossiping about whatever was worth chatting and gossiping on, but I was in my room. Food was just about to be ready and I was expecting the customary “Isaac, come on upstairs” call. Instead, I heard my uncle calling my name from upstairs.</p> <p>—”Isaac!!”</p> <p>I dislike yells, especially when the subject of the yelling is myself.</p> <p>—“…Yes?”</p> <p>—“Turn the TV on, something is going on in the USA”. Apparently he got a phone call from someone telling him that something serious was happening.</p> <p>I turned the TV on and switched to CNN, where I saw a huge building going up in smoke. It took me a few seconds to get the idea of what it is that I was looking at, but it only really occurred to me once I actually read the text that was scrolling there beneath the picture.</p> <p>There were (well, still are) eighteen stairs leading from our Israel home’s main floor to the upper deck, and never before have I climbed those eighteen stairs as quickly as I did right after I realized what was going on. The USA was under attack; and from then on, for many days, my (and many others’) eyes and ears were fully dedicated to fathom what it was that the world was going through.</p> <hr /> <p>Eight years minus a few days later, I flew from my then-home in Ontario, Canada to London, UK for attending Mark Knopfler’s charity concert for the <em>Prince’s Trust</em> (read about that experience in <a href="http://blog.isaac.shabtay.com/2009/09/mark-knopflers-princes-trust-concert.html">this blog post</a>). Crossing the Atlantic Ocean for this concert, along with the preceding VIP mini-concert, had turned out to be quite the right decision because nothing—I repeat, <em>nothing</em>—beats Mark Knopfler in small, intimate venues.</p> <p>A few songs into the concert, the host suddenly mentioned to Mark the fact that the eighth anniversary of 9/11 was going to take place in two days. That got me a bit confused; why on earth would 9/11 be mentioned in such an unrelated event?</p> <p>I still remember suddenly hearing a soft weeping voice. To my immediate left, a mature woman—I figured she was about 60-70 years old—started sobbing. This entire 9/11 reference, along with the sudden thick, dark atmosphere that had landed upon the entire venue, caught me by surprise.</p> <p>Back then, I didn’t know that “<em>If This Is Goodbye</em>” was written about 9/11; I had always considered it to be a beautiful, romantic farewell song. With this newfound knowledge in mind, I started re-interpreting the song’s lyrics as it was so brilliantly played on stage. It was an extraordinarily soul-wrenching experience, being that song so outstanding in any way imaginable.</p> <p>Fortunately for you, (almost) the entire concert has been filmed for the Bio channel (in the UK), including that song. There you go:</p> <div class="embedded-video" style="width: 448px"><iframe style="height: 252px" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_tyhlgfzPH0" frameborder="0"></iframe> <div class="embedded-video-caption"> <p>Mark Knopfler performing “If This Is Goodbye” during the Prince’s Trust charity concert, September 9, 2009.</p> </div> </div> <hr /> <p>9/11 has made a worldwide impact. Other than leading to wars (justified or not) in the Middle East and complicating international affairs bloody everywhere, 9/11’s deepest and most profound impact was on people’s mindsets. 9/11 served as a day of reckoning to millions of people worldwide, signifying the evaporation of yet another bit of innocence left in this blue planet.</p> <p>People started getting scared, which, at least literally speaking, meant that terrorists, after all, got what they were looking for. A lot has been written & said about what 9/11 did to Americans when it comes to the sense of security in their homeland, however 9/11’s impact has cascaded well beyond just the United States of America.</p> <p>The Western civilization—before 9/11, never being the subject of systematic terrorism—was caught in a state of severe mental shock. Things that were taken for granted before, suddenly started appearing more elusive and much less clear; apparently, the vast majority of the Western population never before thought that there are people out there who will strive for innocent people being killed as means for achieving some sort of ideology. True, occasional terrorism acts took place over the last few centuries but something in 9/11 was different. This time, it was the sign of something more systematic.</p> <p>And that very revelation shocked everyone.</p> <p>But it didn’t, at all, shock Israelis. We already knew.</p> <hr /> <p>It is hard, if at all possible, to explain what it is like to grow up in a country that is surrounded by people who’d like to see it burn in flames, frequently targeting the said country’s citizens with missiles, rockets, bombs and whatever else is necessary to make it clear that you are not wanted there.</p> <p>Something in you changes when you finish up writing a math exam in high school, and on your way out to breathe some fresh air, you hear on the news that yet another jackass decided to explode inside a bus killing dozens of people in the name of his moronic religious ideology.</p> <p>Something in you changes when new government regulations call for your body being scanned by metal detectors whenever you’re about to enter a public establishment such as a mall, movie theatre and whatnot.</p> <p>You get used to it, harbour cynicism and move on. </p> <p>We, in Israel, were of course terribly shocked of the very barbaric act of 9/11; but were we surprised that terrorism has eventually hit the Western world? Not much so. Attempts to commit terrorist acts in the Western world were made well before 9/11, and way after it. So, the intention to commit such acts has already existed for decades; the only thing that had to happen for such an attempt to actually succeed was failure to get enough intelligence to avert the attacks. It was bound to happen at some point, and it did.</p> <hr /> <p>9/11 has sent the <u>world</u> (not just the USA) to a war in Afghanistan in 2001, and another war in Iraq in 2003. Thousands over thousands of soldiers and civilians have died, including one who used to answer to the name “Osama Bin Laden”.</p> <p align="left">Governments in the Western world became more aware of security-related issues, often leading those governments to devise and enforce laws—some of which would have caused worldwide turmoil had they been suggested, say, back in the 1990’s (<em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USA_PATRIOT_Act">The PATRIOT Act</a></em> is a good example).</p> <p align="left">And it’s not like the other end of this civilization clash (and whoever tells you that 9/11 was about anything other than a civilization clash, is lying to you) has been idle over the last ten years. Extreme Islamic terrorism, while being defeated in the battlefield, still exists and is harboured and sponsored by more than a few countries in the Middle East and around it. The motives for extremists to commit acts of terror are still there.</p> <p align="left">So we all went to wars; made air travel and border crossings significantly more cumbersome than before; surveys worldwide show a decreasing global fondness of Western countries’ citizens of immigrants and foreigners. International politics, having been complex and delicate to begin with, became even more problematic.</p> <hr /> <p>On the ten years memorial for 9/11, USA President Barack Obama stated:</p> <blockquote> <p><em>“These past 10 years have shown that America does not give in to fear.”</em></p> </blockquote> <p>That statement has been resonating in my brain over the last couple of days.</p> <p>True, we (and I’m allowing myself to generalize the world “America” to “The Western World”) haven’t given in to fear. But, have we <em>defeated</em> fear?</p> <p>The answer to that last question is a resounding “no”. The very fact that our daily lives are still impacted by the existence of morons who strive to kills us for the mere reason that our values & beliefs are different than theirs—that very fact is sufficient to determine that no, we haven’t defeated fear.</p> <p>We haven’t defeated fear and we haven’t defeated terrorism. We have <u>absorbed</u> them; and there’s a huge difference.</p> <p>In other words, rather than defeating fear (that is, not living in fear anymore; essentially, rolling back whatever 9/11-impacted aspects of our existence), we learned how to live with it and sort-of get on with our lives.</p> <p>We gave up a few things on the way, too: the aforementioned <em>PATRIOT Act</em> is just one example; having governments peek way deeper into our lives for the mere purpose of, say, crossing a border or foreign travel, is another such example. Global economy sucks the behinds of many goats, and the overhead involved in dealing with security issues can’t be discounted as one of the reasons for it. We send troops overseas to battle against terrorists.</p> <p>Is that something to be proud of, though?</p> <p>Is that all we can do? absorb?</p> <hr /> <p>The only way to <em>defeat</em>, rather than <em>absorb</em>, such fear, is to make that fear irrelevant.</p> <p>If you know that you’re going to be spending some time walking through alligator-filled swamps, protecting yourself with head-to-toe protective gear would help you cope and live with the fear of being bitten, but assuming that alligators have the most basic sense of cost vs. benefit, wouldn’t it be much more effective to somehow get alligators to not desire to bite you in the first place?</p> <p>There seems to be a tendency to believe that taking protective steps against terrorism is a viable solution: heck, we will make it <em>harder</em> for them to destroy us (of course, it’s going to cost us something: for example, personal freedoms), so eventually they’d understand and leave us be.</p> <p>My take is that taking protective steps should be a <em>tactic</em> rather than a <em>strategy</em>. We can’t defeat terrorism and our fear of being terrorized by increasingly protecting ourselves against it (while paying the mental price associated with such overprotection). It is absolutely and completely useless to take protective steps (which deal with <em>symptoms</em>) without taking proactive steps to address <em>the problem</em>.</p> <p>As long as there are <em>motives</em> for useless, deformed minds to terrorize us, such said minds will find a way to do it regardless of any protective steps we take. It’s basically a negative vicious circle that feeds itself: overprotection that leads to increased attempts at committing terrorist acts, which leads to yet additional overprotection.</p> <hr /> <p>The only way to eliminate such a vicious circle is to change the rules of the game in such a way that such negative, infusing dynamics become positive and diffusing. Rather than responding with “more of the same”, change the dynamics so each “side” does less and less over time.</p> <p>(If you hadn’t read “<a href="http://amzn.com/0393707067">Change: Principles of Problem Formation and Problem Resolution</a>” by Watzlawick, Weakland & Fisch, perhaps you should)</p> <p>I am by no means claiming that I have a solution for it all. But what I do know is that taking reactive steps to overprotect ourselves, while giving up more and more, is not only not a solution but it further amplifies the problem. While we can <em>absorb</em> fear and live with it, we can’t <em>defeat</em> fear by merely striving to minimize the risk of being hit again. It simply doesn’t work.</p> <p>It never did.</p> <p>-- <br />Isaac</p> Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com7