Trip to Europe — David Mayden Images

This trip started like most other trips, with my traditional pie and coffee at some diner on the way to the airport, train station boat dock, or whatever. I am not sure how long I have been doing this or how it started, but I have been doing it for years. By the time the last sip of coffee washes down the last bite of pie, I’m ready to go home, home being far away from where I live, the Road.

Arriving in Paris, I have mixed emotions these days. I can’t help but think of the Dickens line, “It was the best of times it was the worst of times” oh Paris, we do have a history. I did feel good walking the dirty streets, with the history flowing up from the ground, old and more recent. I looked off into the distance in the direction of the rooftop, where many years ago I stood asking the powers of this life to be able to feel deeply, to remember things even if I didn’t want to, where I asked to be called a poet while falling to my knees screaming out with a loud barbaric cry that still rings my ears.

This trip I am here for art, to see this incredible Van Gogh exhibit, it looks incredible in all the promotional things I’ve seen for it. I made my way to where it was and was about to have my phone scanned when I noticed this Spanish woman nearly in tears. Her ticket wasn’t on her phone like she thought, and she couldn't just buy another ticked because of the exhibit being sold out for the next few days. I watched her struggle with the ticket taker guy for a while. I figured he would just let her in, but he didn’t. I felt bad for her, I had a thought, I got out my phone to see when the first days were that I could get a ticket, it was in three days, so I bought one. I had the ticket guy scan my phone, told the woman to take my place. She was so grateful! She was able to see the show she came up from Spain to see and filled my soul with the tightest, most heartfelt stranger hug I have ever felt. Now I just needed something to do for the next three days and felt like I didn’t want to stay in Paris. I thought for a few moments, and it came to me. Fast train to Belgium to drink beer, yep brilliant!

A couple of trains and a few hours later, I’m making my way by foot to the Kulminator in Antwerp Belgium. The Kulminator has been voted as the number one beer cafe in the world, as well as the best place in the world to have a beer. I would have to agree. I get there, and the door is locked, I guess you have to ring a doorbell, that's new, I thought. I rang the bell. Dirk, the owner, opens the door. I ask, “Are you open?” he says yes but does not give me room to walk by him. He stands there, looking at me sizing me up for something. I ask, “may I come in?” “What do you want,” he asks me. Okay, I know Dirk is a little eccentric, and his appearance today verifies this, with his Doc Brown from Back to the Future hair a bit wilder than usual. Before today I would have thought that impossible, but I answer him, hoping he rememberers me from past encounters when we got along very well. “I'm here to drink beer,” I say as the door almost closes the in my face. “Dirk,” I say loudly as it suddenly dawned on me what was happening here, “Dirk, I am here to taste beer,” I say with an emphasis on the word “Taste,” he asked if I had cash, I nodded my head, and he let me in. I smiled at him as I walked by and thought how magical this place is. I was the first through the doors for the day it looked like, I took my favorite spot at the end of the big table, ordered a beer on tap, something to sip on as I tackled the massive beer menu. Dirk’s wife, I can’t remember her name, maybe I never knew it, she takes my order and tells me Dirk was tired of people coming in to take pictures, or bar hopping and just stopping by to drink beer and not there to appreciate the beauty of what this place is. This is a place that has more of the world's best and rare beers stored in its cellars than almost anywhere on earth. It's a museum where you can drink the artifacts. She gave me some cheese and said to me, “you like IPA’s” and poured me one she thought I would like. Magic, I haven’t seen her in 4 years and she remembered me.

The first person in after Ime was a bar owner from Rotterdam, on one of his trips he takes to the Kulminator 2 or 3 times a year he says. He is a beer connoisseur also a Sommelier. We had a great conversation about beer with all its subtleties, and comparisons to wine and all the things that make beer amazing. He recommended we try a beer together. He asked me the beers I like the most, and after some thought, he orders a beer called S.H.I.T. super hoppy intense taste, and it was terrific, with the first sip it reached top three beers I have ever tasted! So good! while slowly sipping I thought about this beer that was so powerful yet delicate, felt like it was from the earth, and how I wanted to sip it, to savor it, but it demanded deep full swigs, refused at times to be put back on the table. I could not help but think about the parallels to everything. If something is perfect, sips don’t cut it, embracing it is what brings true pleasure, is beer life? I don't know, but it sure tasted and felt like it at this moment. We finished the large bottle, had a few more laughs, and he had to leave. I reached out to shake his hand goodbye, he pushed it away, and I had the second tight heartfelt stranger hug. I smiled from someplace near my bones, and he said to come to visit his bar sometime. I will.

Then the Russians walked in, for young men from Moscow sat next to me at the big table, they came from Russia to drink beer in Belgium, to have the best beers in the world. They ordered first off Westvleteren XII. A beer that, in most years, considered the world's best, and it is tough to argue that if you have ever tried it. I joined them in their excellent choice of beer, and we raised our glasses with loud cheers. We drank it as if it would be the last time. With pats on the back, loud laughter, and the constant flow of glorious beer, and Russian drinking songs, we lived. As quickly as they came in, they disappeared into the night. I was once again alone with my near-empty class, my notebook, and my soul feeling a little more full.

The rest of the night was a mix of locals and random travelers from around the world. Another group gathered around the big table, a couple from Korea, a couple from the States, as well as a local couple from a few blocks away. We drank it good, we laughed and became best friends. We exchanged emails and numbers with pledges to meet up here one day again, that may happen, of course, but if it doesn’t, we all know its enough. The last call was made, my stomach full with the gut joy of beer, I stood in the middle of the licorice street, in my private spotlight. Wet from recent rain, I watched as the group went their separate ways into the dark, I walked to my hotel or maybe stumbled, but I made it. The next two nights in Belgium were much the same as the first. And now it was time to make my way back to Paris.

The exhibit was incredible. It was called Atelier des Lumieres. It was an exhibit that combined art and music into this wild immersive experience. The be surrounded by the genius of Van Gogh was enough to make my eyes water. I thought about the old Spanish woman. I was happy she got to see this. I was very happy about my decision to come here and see this beautiful exhibit. I wasn’t there very long, they kind of move you through, and it is still early in the day and no plans for what to do now, but I felt like I wanted more, more art. So I made my way to one of my favorite art museums, Musee de L’orangerie, where the massive murals by Monet are displayed. I can never get enough of this place. Surround by those colors, changing with the sun angle, the room being lit with natural light. Remembering the first time I was here, how I stumbled into this place just because the line was short, not knowing what to expect, how my knees felt weak when I saw these murals. This time I felt much the same way even knowing what to expect. I stayed a couple of hours until closing, feeling blessed to be able to see the things that I have seen on this day. I set out into the streets to slowly make my way back to the hotel and take pictures, looking for poetry.

Morning came, and it was time to catch a flight to Budapest. A place I have grown to love in the last few years, and I’m hoping to see some old friends. Landing and walking out to the taxis and shuttles, I realize I never booked a hotel. Hopefully, I wouldn’t be sleeping in the subway tunnels, I thought to myself. I quickly found a room in the part of town I wanted to be in, went to the local pub that I love, 4 Sale Bar its called. I have no idea why it's called that. The walls are covered in paper, of notes left by people pinned to the wall, poetry, and stories from people that came from all over the world, I wrote a few lines. Wrote a good friend on facebook saying if you are around, I am in town at the 4 Sale Bar. Within two hours, she was there with the old gang, five of us total, a mixed group of three men, two women all Hungarian but me. They are the friends I met the last time I was in Budapest when we stayed up late into the nights writing poetry and sharing art. They arrived, and those days a few years past seemed like they never ended. It was a night filled with open mic spontaneous poetry, laughter, and drinking it well. Words flew out of mouths like water through a broken dam. Poems were stapled to the wall, between poetry on the mic; live music was played that everyone danced to. We were powerful, and the night turned into day. This is why I travel. I spent the next day with a friend that had known for a long time. she took me to some neat local places, a hike high in the hills overlooking Budapest, and beautiful parks, very Hungarian restaurants while teaching me about her city. She had to go about her life as it became evening, so I walked around, taking photos and talking with people. I love this city. I stayed around for a couple of days, never met up with the group again but had a fantastic time exploring and also coming across remnants of these areas troubled past. Heart sinking memorials that were made to remember the events that happened in the war, the deaths of the innocents. Another reason to travel is to remember.

It had been a few days, and I felt like I wanted to go someplace I’ve never been, looked at the map for something somewhat close, settled on Krakow Poland, I’m not sure why I think I had remembered someone saying it was cool. I was on a bus headed through the mountains on my way. When I got there some 8 hours later, the guy checking me into my hotel asked if I would like a tour of Auschwitz. I thought for a moment, Yes I would I told him, thinking to myself I think I would regret it if I didn’t. I went to bed and was on the shuttle in the morning. How I felt being there, I think it may be obvious. It was heavy. I was sad, I doubt I will ever go again, but extremely glad I did go. I didn’t take pictures.

Krakow is amazing! Loved it. It's old and feels like it. The city was not destroyed during the war, like other major cities in Poland, I loved feeling that old energy, and walking the foggy streets at night felt like home. I did feel like I could stop right here and not go any further, I can’t remember when a town felt so comfortable to me, I made many friends I will never see again. Still, their faces and smiles will be with me forever, and the vodka was perfect, the laughter angelic, poetry was everywhere.

I made my way back to Budapest after a few days to catch my flight home. That night, I took it easy just walked around, looking in windows taking pictures when I ran into a beautiful human being. We shared such an amazing moment: Zsolt Farkas, a violin player busking in an ally. I stopped and talked with him, giving him a few dollars and listening to him play, it was beautiful, we spoke, he didn’t speak much English, I can’t speak any Hungarian, but he knew Italian, so we found words, but the language we shared was humanity. We spent hours talking about life, love, and loss, poetry and art, music. He looked me in the eye and smiled, called me a shinning diamond. He played me a special song that he wrote, so beautiful, I could not hold back tears. He was beautiful. I told him so. This is why I travel.

About to drink some really good beer in Belgium

Yes I will come visit your bar in Rotterdam