04.17.13 — 15.56 — Wednesday — Best Western Arthotel, Eindhoven

It was a foggy, wet kind of morning when the plane landed at Schiphol, and as towns whizzed by on the train, it was a measure to see it had rained here, hadn’t rained there. It’s about an hour and a half by rail from Amsterdam to Eindhoven — and did I sleep on the plane no of course I did not sleep on the plane — so I got out of the airport as quickly as possible. 35007 (Phase V was perfect for the weather and made me realize again how much one less tired than I could argue they set the stage for the explorations of bands like My Sleeping Karma) and the new split between The Machine and Sungrazer were my accompaniment, as well of course as my luggage Big Blue, which according to the scale back in Newark weighs over 60 pounds this year. It doesn’t even have any CDs in it yet! They put a tag on the handle that says, “Heavy.” Fat people can’t go anywhere these days.

There was some debate on my part whether to bring them, but in the end, I think lugging the DVDs of Arrested Development along for this trip was the right idea. When I told The Patient Mrs. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have them with me on account of thinking that when you’re traveling you should sort of put yourself out of your comfort zone — as if I fucking am ever comfortable anywhere, ever, ever — she more or less said to drop the hackneyed bullshit, grow up, and put them between the t-shirts and my socks so they didn’t get bounced around. I’m paraphrasing, but you get the idea. She was right, in any case. As I slammed into bed to crash out for a few hours, it was a much appreciated comfort of home.

And anyway, I brought my fucking pillow and the place I’m staying calls itself an “Arthotel,” so I’m hardly roughing it. I have no idea what “Arthotel” means, but it’s easily the nicest Best Western I’ve ever set foot in. Even at reception, Mike, whose last name according to the tag was Trainee, checked me in from behind a giant transluscent plastic flower. There were three of them set up instead of a registration counter. It being the Netherlands, I went to the orange one. So far what I can surmise about the “Arthotel” aspect of the thing is that the signs with the room numbers in the atrium-type hallway are whacky and don’t match and the walls have different paints and wallpapers on them.  Apparently in Eindhoven, the artists also enjoy 10-ft. ceilings. Also the toilet is in a little room separate from the shower and the sink, which means you have to pee in one spot and then go over to the next room to wash your hands. That’s performance art.

Eindhoven is beautiful though, which is more or less why I’m here. I got off the train and stumbled, dragging Big Blue — whose wheels made loud clacky sounds on the brick walkways as I went as if in a gallop announcing to anyone awake that, yes, there was an American in town — and had some trouble finding this place. Thinking it was a Holiday Inn didn’t help, and neither did not knowing what street it’s on. I turned on my cell phone, which I’ll be keeping off as much as possible to avoid incurring roaming data charges, and looked in my email for the note from The Patient Mrs. with the confirmation. Of course she booked the room. She booked this whole thing. I’d be lost without her.

For evidence, I’ll give you the picture of greasy, post-flight, no-sleep me, clomping around early morning Eindhoven trying to find a hotel when I’ve got the name wrong and no address. I went a couple blocks in the direction of the Markt, where I stayed last year, and then looped around after checking the address and eventually found it on my way back to the train station to look at the map. Surprisingly, “Holiday Inn” wasn’t on the map when I looked on the way in. No word on Best Western.

In a couple minutes I’ll jump in the shower (while I’m giving pleasant images), and then find coffee and get on a train to Tilburg to do a bit of record shopping at a place called Sounds that I’ve wanted to visit for a few years now but never had time. In case I need to fire up this post and look later, it’s down Stationstraat (which is by the station) after it merges with Nieulandstraat. I love the Dutch language, the sounds of it, and wish I was not entirely ignorant of it as I am. There’s a lot I feel that way about, but I’m away and lucky enough to be here in this gorgeous place, and if feeling like you’ve just said all the most embarrassing things you ever said in your life all at the same time every time you open your mouth is the price to pay (aside from the actual price), I’ll chalk it up to being an American abroad.

It felt good to sleep, and I’m confident that if I got back in bed, I could do it for much, much longer, but it’s time to get up and get out of this room. So that’s what I’m going to do.

04.16.13 – 7:45PM Eastern – Tuesday – Over Atlantic

The pigeon pigeon (yes, I know I typed it twice) above was walking around under the benches at Gate C72, Newark Liberty Airport. Wildlife, man. Nature is nothing if not persistent.

Airline food smells like chemicals and I consider refusing it a grand act of defiance. The staff always look at you so surprised. “Really? Nothing?” Even the salad is made of pink slime, I’m sure of it. Like the scientists usually in charge of seeing what we can learn by spraying flame retardant chemicals in rabbit eyes suddenly stumbled on the formula for potatoes au gratin. No. Nothing. Thanks.

We’ve been in the air for a little more than an hour. Our cruising altitude is 35,007 feet and we have a little more than 3,000 miles to go before we reach Schiphol. If we were on the ground, we’d be doing 577 miles per hour. I can see it’s gotten dark through the peephole on the cabin door, but last I looked out the window next to me, the engine and the wing were still there. It’s important to know these things.

They have on-demand movies now. They sell drinks now – credit or debit cards only; before we took off, the flight attendant referred to it as a “cash-free plane,” and I immediately wanted to make a Leno joke about the cost of airfare, but I don’t think the four-year-old in the seat next to me would’ve gotten it, and I hate making toddlers feel like they should laugh just to be polite – and duty free catalogs are around here somewhere. The marketing is astounding. The budgets. If they actually gave a fuck and invested, those rabbit-blasting scientists surely could’ve come up with a better, less flying-death-trap-y mode of transportation by now. Hoversomethingorother. Teleportando. Anything but Economy Class on United.

I have headphones on, because Mama Koczan didn’t raise no fool. First was Olde Growth in the airport, then Anciients, now Colour Haze. A double-album is all the better for long-distance travel, and I expect I’ll revisit She Said several times before this trip is over.

Unless of course we plummet into the ocean at a thousand miles an hour, in which case I won’t have the opportunity.

Kersploosh!

I suppose that’s what you’re really paying for: the distraction. The in-flight entertainment, the on-demand movies, the toxic food, the beverage carts – it’s like they’ve all been focus tested to draw your mind away from the fact that with each minor tumble could come immediate, irrevocable, explosive death in the sky, from which you will then drop out, to die a fearful death alone as you lose a one-sided fight to gravity, never to be found again among the expanse of flaming, floatable debris.

If it happens and I go, I want to be eaten by an octopus. It seems only fair.

My wife asked me today if I was excited for the trip. She wasn’t the only one. I guess it wasn’t showing, the thrill of it all. That starts after this.

It’s -74 degrees outside. I can see it on the monitor. Fasten seatbelt light on. Shake shake.

I won’t lie, turning on the “Out of Office” for my work email was the most satisfying thing I’ve done at my job in three weeks. It’s been a breaststroke through bullshit to get ready, and I’m already exhausted before I’ve even left, but I know that in an hour’s time when I leave to go to the airport, get pulled out of line as part of a “random” check and finally get on a plane headed (direct!) for Amsterdam, it will have been worth it. I’m looking forward to it the way lungs look forward to air.

Well, not the flight itself — that I’ve been looking forward to the way lungs look forward to water — but certainly what comes after. Over the next two weeks, I’ll be keeping track of what until I can think of a better name I’ll be calling the “Euroventure 2013.” Tomorrow morning, when my plane lands at Schiphol in Amsterdam, I’ll jump on a by-now familiar yellow and blue train to Eindhoven, where I’ll check in at my hotel, probably crash out for a few hours, and then hit up a record store or two in the area — I was bummed to read Bullit Records closed, but maybe I’ll jump on a train and head to Tilburg, where I know there are a few shops — in preparation for what’s to come this weekend.

Thursday starts the Roadburn Festival 2013 at the 013 venue in Tilburg. As I have the last four years, I’ll be covering that as much as possible (one can’t see everything) front to back, words and pics from the whole thing. It’s going to be a massive undertaking, but for the next several days, there’s no place better on the planet to be than there.

Monday morning, I’ll hop a train back to Schiphol, then on to London hopefully in time to catch Elder at The Black Heart. I’ll be staying in London for a few days in advance of the start of Desertfest 2013, which begins with a pre-show Thursday night featuring Greek rockers 1000mods. From there, it’s another mind-boggling weekend of heaviness brought to you in similar fashion, words, pics, complaints about sore feet, and so on.

As with every year, I hope in advance you enjoy keeping up with this trip, and I want to say and advance thanks to the Roadburn and Desertfest crews for hosting me at these festivals, and to The Patient Mrs., who I’ve no doubt will have occasion to live up to her name before the next two weeks are through. I may post some off-topic stuff along the way, news, etc., but I hope you’ll bear with me in that regard, since time will no doubt be limited.

Much appreciated.

Off we go.