Thorn Around the World

"Shuffling Through Scheveningen"
It was grey, rainy and windy my last days in Scheveningen, on the coast of Holland. More than once conditions were perfect for chilling out, talking around the fire pit, and just enjoying the community in the hostel. Everyday I made more friends, as new faces came and went on their own adventures.

When it was on, I watched the 2011 World Grand Prix on the Jorplace flatscreen, listening to my friend, Jacques Nieuwlaat, call the matches in Dutch. Or, I'd dive into my computer for a while and catch up with the cyber world. But sometimes, I couldn't resist playing the plinkety old standup piano that sat in the middle of the hostel's main common area.

One of those afternoons, Robert and Patricia returned to visit me. We drove through the streets of the old fishing town down the harbor docks to a cluster of fresh seafood restaurants, including Simonis, the best of the bunch. A huge display of fish was splayed out on ice, filling the senses. We sampled all the local delicacies, deep fried or raw. A country's cuisine is always a deliciously unique experience-especially with a few cool Dutch brews. After lunch, we walked to the beach along the raised esplanade, where roving seagulls hovered still in the steady gale. Despite the dark weather, the surf was up, and dozens of hardy folk were flying across the water by kite or wave while fishing boats and birds bobbed through the background. In the pelting rain, scanning the sea and surveying the coastline for windmills, I couldn't help but admire the complex history and peaceful progressive culture of The Netherlands.

Another last evening in Holland, I sat around the covered fire pit drinking and socializing with other guests and off duty staff. We got bombed, and pretty soon story telling turned into a ukulele singing session followed by suggestions for a late night bike ride. Before I knew it, we were pedaling through tight turns in a maze of alleys down to the sand for an extended stare into the black waves and sky under the watchful eye of a lighthouse. Experiences like that-biking through a stormy Dutch coast town to the sea-are the ones you remember.

But, my time in Holland was winding down-it was time to move on with my trip. But where to? Belgium? France? Spain? Portugal? I wasn't sure. Then, fate stepped in.

One day, probably the last, I was approached by one of the guests. His name was Maxim, a Russian from Moscow. He explained that he was a guitarist and professional busker-a traveling street performer. Once a year, he got a three month travel visa and would play music in the streets of Europe's cities. He said he heard me playing piano the other day. Then, in fractured English, Maxim asked me if I wanted to join him as his drummer. I was shocked.


At first, after the surprise, I thought, "That's just crazy." Then, Maxim explained that he averaged about $400 dollars a day for a few hours of playing, and he would split it with me. Then, I started to think, "This could be really cool." Besides the chance to put another awesome check on my bucket list, I could use the money! After hearing Maxim play-a unique style of free form east European rhythms and haunting riffs-I was convinced. But, Maxim also said the weather here is too cold to play, and we had to head south. "Where should we go?" I wondered. "Marseilles, France, warm, beautiful city," said Maxim. Putting my trust in Maxim, I agreed. Chances like this don't come along too often, and sometimes, having faith in strangers leads to amazing experiences. By midnight we both bought bus tickets to southern France, departing the next evening.

So, I contacted Patricia and Robert to say goodbye; I was moving on. Robert offered to pick Maxim and I up at Jorplace and drive us to the bus terminal. After packing our bags and a warm round of goodbyes, we were on our way. The dartboard still wasn't hung in the hostel, but with luck, it would be up soon, and another little legacy of darts and travel will remain and grow.

Robert smiled when he heard about the next phase in my adventure-busking across Europe. He's seen me do some surprising things before. I was excited too, putting paranoia in my pocket, and I'm sure Maxim was too. We drove past the parliament buildings, national flags, and parks lining the central streets of the Hague. Robert dropped us off near the massive transit center, and with a shake, we departed ways.



Maxim and I had an hour to kill, so we wandered the shops downtown. We got a coffee in Caffe Belmondo-the barista turned out to be from my home town!
We exchanged pleasantries they way Portlanders do, before moving on. Maxim and I hit a store for some long distance bus ride supplies. After all, it was a sixteen hour trip through Belgium and across most of France.

Finally, the time arrived. Maxim and I made our way through the walls of bicycles outside and the commuters inside the massive glass transit center, Den Haag Centraal. We found our coach, stowed our bags in the lower compartments and claimed two seats each-thankfully the bus wasn't full.


We talked a little across the aisle. But mostly, we each stared out our respective windows, watching Europe roll by and the night approach. With luck, my spare seat would stay empty, and I might be able to slouch out a few hours of sleep.

Asleep or not, I kept my trusty little Olympus digital camera handy.


Over and double out.












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