Travel log

As some of you know, I'm on the front end of a scheduled frothy two-week European vacation --nothing but girls, booze and shoes -- that will culminate in a pilgrimage to the house of Vass late next week before returning to the states to be on hand for the Sartorial Excellence event in NYC.

I left LA at 6:30 a.m. Tuesday, connected through NYC and arrived in Dublin where I'm currently laying over for three hours before continuing on to destination no. 1: Amsterdam. What I've been most struck by on the trip over is how poorly the Irish dress. I mean there hasn't been even a hint of a sartorial sighting anywhere, and I'm here during the morning business traffic rush!

The only twinkle so far was an asian-looking woman who, like me was probably just passing through. She had on a sexy pair of knee-high boots with jeans, a tight white T-shirt, white waffle-weave car coat, tight pony-tail and just the right attitiude. (I know, "without pictures this thread is useless" but, truth is, I'm not at all skilled in digital photographym)

Beyond her, however, there has been absolutely nothing to notice. Does anyone know if Ireland even has a sartorial tradition? (There certainly is no sign of one. Rather feels like Detroit or Newark.)

Am now in Amsterdam, which is nine hours ahead of LA. Trying to adjust to the time change, after 18 hours of travel, has been brutal. Nevertheless, I've had breakfast and am off to explore Amsterdam.

Last night I had dinner at a sushi restaurant in the Okura hotel. There was this gorgeous Japanese beauty working the sushi bar -- talk about your yellowtail! Fuc_kin' HOT (an easy 9 on a 10 point scale). She even had the little pillow affixed to her back like she was ready to offer the "full service.". But, alas, after all that travel, not to mention a box of cold sake, I was in no condition to pursue. But, with god as my witness, I can't let too many of those get by.

My overall impression of Amsterdam so far is that its socially liberal -- as if that's news -- with a highly educated population. Visually, its not special; although full of canals, which could/should be beautiful, but because it is dreary and overcast the water looks brown, which is really just a reflection of the color of the buildings (which themselves add to the heavy darkness of the city as does the layer of algea which covers a lot of the concrete). Its definitely Old World, the charm of which I've yet to feel.

Anyway, as I've now had breakfast (its about 1:00 a.m. in LA) I'm heading off to find a good cuban to enjoy with my second cappuccino of the day before heading to the Rijksmuseum and Anne Frank house. I plan to hit the red light district later this evening -- and am eagerly looking forward to that.

Her name is Alia, a 27 year old Turk. Strawberry blond, bluish-green eyes with a slender frame, nice boob job (and I'm not even a boob guy!), wonderfully soft hips and a pliable nubile ass (which I plied to the fullest for much of my 45 minute work out!!).

She works on one of the "quiet" streets of the district. (For those who don't know, the red light district is comprised of three long avenues and about four side/alleyailike streets. Only one of the avenues is very busy -- total dick farm -- as are most of the alleys. Alia and her partner, a Dutch native, work off the main avenue. I got -- and took full advantage of -- the "full service" (massage, blow job, hand job and a double-header). Ca'ching!!!

Only thing was that she squeezed the little guy so tight that, for a minute I felt more like John Wayne Bobbit than Johnny Holmes; but once we straightened that out I got jiggy wit' it, and lightened my load.

On to Prague (home of the condomless blow job)!!!

As morning dawns on my third day in Amsterdam I find that I'm having the same trouble here I had in Dublin: can't find an ounce of style. What's gives? Has everyone gone low-tech American grunge?

I must have passed several thousand people on the streets and in various cafes, shops and even the Rijksmuseum, yet can find no evidence of sartorial interest. Even on their most fashionable street, i.e., home to Vuitton, Hermes and Ferragamo, it was not apparent that patrons had any clue what to do.

There is one tailor shop on Beethovenstraat that seemed to offer hope (Thurston braces on display, along with an elegantly cut grey worsted suit and several swatches presenting other options) but it was empty both times I passed. So much for a thriving artisanal community.

Also, they all ride bikes here: the big beach comber style. One bright spot -- I got quite acquainted with a couple of Cubans at a famous tobacconist over on Roykin; phenomenol shop for cigar afficionados -- a virtual museum with displays of probably every cigar made in the past 100 years.

Since arriving in Amsterdam I have formed a few general impressions: the Dutch were a force to be reckoned with in the 17th century, but have since receded in stature as a significant global power. Their culture is very engaging and the have great liberal and intellectual underpinnings. They are not elegant people, nor are they particularly attractive (very pale, often with blue-gray eyes, washed out hair and ruddy cheeks -- they look just like the people in Rembrandt's paintings), but they are dedicated tangueros (tango dancers).

They have a great art tradition, but I was totally underwhelmed by their Rijksmuseum, which I'd been led to believe is their national museum; it takes only about an hour to tour the entire place.

Will update after my visit to the Van Gogh -- the other national treasure (even though Van Gogh himself worked from and preferred Paris, which any fool can understand).

They're definitely tall. As for being beautiful, its all in the eye of the beholder. (My view of beauty ranks Persians first, followed closely by other middle-eastern girls, Italians, Brazlians, Argentines, Mexicans, Americans and Koreans. I'm hoping to add the girls of Eastern Europe to the list.)

Had my first pure oxygen session today; interesting. I've heard of oxygen bars -- they have them in LA and NYC -- but I've never been to one. My session was at a spa and paired with a foot massage.

They check the oxygen level in your blood before beginning, to determine the proper inflow amount, and require you to sit for 15 minutes after its over. The experience involves putting two little tubes on a strap attached to the oxygen tank in your nose and have you partially recline in a massage chair. It is quite nice, and very relaxing.

The sensation was similar to getting gas from a dentist or oral surgeon, and you come out of it feeling a bit light-headed, which the therapist explained results from the oxygen loosening up your red blood cells, which apparently become compressed from things such as air travel (and breathing recycled air).

I'll have to try it again when I'm back in LA.

Really like the Van Gogh museum; that guy was a stud!! He's definitely one of my favorite artists, along with Lautrec, Sargeant, Monet, Manet, David, Delacroix, Degas, Rembrandt and Vermeer.

Great stuff. That alone, along with the Rijks museum, was worth the trip.