Antwerp | the.applied.process.

21.06.2011

BeNe(Lux)

After what one could barely called a decent nap, I woke up. I have to mention I don’t sleep much, but I’m also not as resilient as I was in my early twenties. Each time it gets progressively harder and takes progressively longer to spring back from the previous drunken night.

I went downstairs and jotted down the finishing touches to my Antwerpenian bucket list. I walked to the corner store, bought a classic backpacker’s breakfast (a pastry from the local offerings, a juice, and a bottle of water), and started walking to my destinations.

It was an eventful day. First accidental stop: Dries Van Noten, where I left my first few hundred euros and came out with an overpriced canvas and leather tote. Off I went to find a tattoo shop. The one on my list didn’t have time, but they instructed me to go around the corner to this other shop. The new shop told me to come back in two hours. I headed to MoMu (mode museum). They had a wonderful exhibition on the history of knits. At first I wasn’t as excited about it, but they did a superb job, and it turned out significantly better than I’d expected. My love for Antwerp grew.

Having 20 minutes to spare before my tattoo appointment, I went next door to a clothing store. I saw a few potential purchases, but this shopaholic is getting wiser, so I left with the intention to come back if the items were still on my mind after the tattoo. They were. Fail.

I got my tattoo. It was not executed to my steep expectations (as I assume anything permanent on your body should be), but also, I’ve learned to appreciate the slight nuances that come with getting a similar tattoo done repeatedly by different tattoo artist all over the world. Like most of my others, I’ve grown to love it.

I left the shop, shopped a bit more, and tried to find a famously good fish restaurant that, unbeknownst to me, had closed a year and a half ago. I walked back to my hostel hoping they could host me for the last night. They were completely booked. Being really exhausted and craving a place of my own where I could shit, shave, shower, sleep comfortably, and walk around with my damn balls hanging if I pleased to, I forked 150 USD for a night at a Radisson across Stadspark. Best. Fucking. Money. Spent. In. Antwerp.

I left the hostel and went to my haven. I bought a bottle of J&B and a coke, showered, grindrd, made plans to meet random strangers at random bars, made a road soda, headed out. The bar was nowhere to be found. The club sucked. My night was a fail.

The next morning, I went to MuKHA, the museum of modern art. Antwerp, I love you even more. I walked back to my hotel, picked up my bag, and stumbled to centra station. I say stumble because my bag was really heavy which hindered my walking. Off to Amsterdam I went.

Finding my way in Amsterdam was an easy task. I checked in at the hostel, and ‘climbed’ the steep stairs up to my room. No lockers again! note to self: leave iPads and Rick Owens at home next time. My roommates were friendly. I immediately started talking to a girl from Chicago and a Finnish man. “Chicago” and I went for dinner at a tapas place next door. She seemed hypnotised by my persona (which is always nice), and kept asking me about my life. It was entertaining.

Eighty euros later, we went back to the room and coerced “Finland” to join us for a beer. Grindr hadn’t proved to be too helpful this time, so we walked to a touristy spot around the corner. I drank whiskey, they drank beer. We left. They went home, I ventured to a nearby gay bar. Nothing special to report. I did, however, meet a lovely expat lesbian from New York with whom I conversed the whole night. The bar closed. I went home. I grindr’d, facebook’d, and lonely planet’d till I passed out.

19.06.2011

Grind Date No. 2: Antwerpen.

To start off, I want to say that I was trying to come up with a nickname for the guy and nothing really stood out. Is that a bad thing?

I arrived to Antwerp on the 10th of June. On my way there we stopped at other Belgian stations. They all seemed gloomy and desolate. I was not feeling this. But then, I saw the light. Rectangular pillars of light were welcoming the train to its final stop. It was as if we had time travelled into the future the last leg of the trip. I got out and everything was pretty and modern… and then one of the most beautiful train stations I’ve seen (personal opinion, but also, I guess this has been documented). I’d arrived in Antwerpen.

I quickly switched my gaze from the majestic building, to the locals. Most dressed in effortless fashion. I could clearly see why this is one of the fashion capitals of the world. This city was getting better by the second.

I bought some fries with curry ketchup (bad choice), figured out my bearings, and headed to the hostel. Twenty minutes later, I was at my Belgian home. The hostel had “character”. It wasn’t like the rest of Antwerp. Instead, I felt like I was somewhere in the middle east. It was somewhat run down, smokey, cluttered, and ran by a White guy and an Asian lady, both with unbelievably bad teeth, who were playing some card game and smoking a cigarette. They asked me to sit down and wait. I did. A few minutes later, I followed one of them four stories up (sans elevator, of course) to “the penthouse”. They didn’t actually call it “the penthouse”, but it was the top floor, and with significant renovations, the room could become quite nice. It wasn’t much different from the average hostel room: five sets of bunk beds, white sheets, nasty comforters, and even nastier pillows… there wasn’t, however, a locker, which is an issue being as I usually travel with plenty of valuables. I quickly devices a way to lock my bag to the bedframe, laid on the bed, and started planning my evening.

As usual per this trip, I logged on to grindr. I started talking to a few people. Within minutes I sort of had a date. He didn’t live in Antwerp, but he used to. At the moment, he lived about 20 minutes away, but he offered to come pick me up in his car and show me around. We exchanged numbers, and made plans to meet in a couple hours. I went downstairs to kill time and look up other things to do.

He texted me at about 20:30 saying he was close and for me to go outside. He picked me up in a very European hatchback and we drove to old city. We parked his car at some big theatre where he works, and walked around till we came to a bar called “delux”. It was a nice gay bar with an older crowd who immediately fixed their eyes upon me. It was somewhat funny. Me and ‘Antwerpen’ ordered drinks and had a pleasant conversation. He was very open about his sexual escapades… I wasn’t sure if he was hitting on me, gauging my reaction, or just being himself, either way it was fine.

After a couple rounds of drinks we ventured to the next destination, a place called, and forgive my forgetful brain, “hessenhuis”. This place was a bit more divey and the crowd was a bit more stereotypically gay. The music was camp and dancey. Again, I felt looks left and right. We kept talking effortlessly. I wasn’t initially attracted to him, nor was I planning on sleeping with him, but the alcohol was lessening my inhibitions, and enhancing his looks. He was approached by a handful of people, who he then told me he’d either slept with, or wanted to, or denied. I told him about ‘road head’, he told me about ‘prosthetic arm’. It was getting late and he needed to head back, so we walked to his car, and he dropped me off. I gave him a peck. Not sure if he wanted more, not sure if I wanted more, but so it was. I politely texted him thanking him for the night. We kept in touch for the next few days but I never saw him again.

That night, I got home to a mess of a hostel. One of the girls who works there, not the Asian lady with bad teeth, another Asian girl, was thoroughly inebriated, half naked, and threatening to kill herself. I tried helping the guy with the bad teeth talk some sense into her head, but it just kept getting exponentially worse. A group of Dutch kids showed up. They were young and a tad pretentious. They annoyed me. I went to bed. The next morning, same group of Dutch kids woke me up being excessively loud excessively early in the day. I didn’t get much sleep.

29.05.2011

off i go.

it is exactly 5:30 a.m. and I am desperately trying to stay up. I have to leave for JFK in an hour to catch a flight to San Diego to start my month long “vacation”. Why the quotations? this time it doesn’t feel like it. I am mildly excited about the trip, however, lately I’ve been telling people who ask me about my upcoming trip how when I used to live in LA I was always glad to get out, but now that I’m in New York I almost feel like I’m missing out by leaving for a whole month. Foolish? perhaps. I really do like this city.

Today I went to work. Nothing crazy, my boss, The Cock of the North, was out all day in “meetings” or as I like to call them: watching a football match. And to be honest, he should! He works too damn hard, which is part of the reason why I love working for this man. He is one of the most devoted employers I’ve ever met. He is not afraid to get his hands dirty and sweep the floor of the gallery if need be, and that is commendable.

After work, I planned on going straight home and start packing for my trip. However, he texted asking if I’d meet him for a drink. I almost feel obligated to do so, not that it’s a pain, but he’s just such a nice guy and fun to be around that I don’t mind it. And so I did. I met him for a drink, and then went home to pack. It was a bit hectic, but that’s what I love. I’ve often said that if I have 10 things to do, I’ll do 15. If I have 1 thing to do, I will do absolutely nothing. So I packed and then met friends for dinner. I chose a Catalan place I had never been to. I’ve been craving tapas for quite a while and I was somewhat disappointed by the place I chose. Whatever… the company was great. Apres… I went to visit my friend who just recently broke his foot. We had a “bed party”. Drank a few beers and then headed back to my place. A quick stop before our final destination.

We ended up at sugarland, a warehouse in the middle of Billyburg where gay boys gather every Saturday to dance their derriers off to the latest top 40. It was fun. I drank at a steady pace making sure I wasn’t too drunk to forget say… my passport while I finished packing… but enough to keep me going. I came home at 4 a.m. Continued packing. I think I’m good. I hope I’m good. It is the first time I pack this light. Slightly nervous, yet at the same time I think I’ve learned my lesson… I often overpack and don’t even wear half the shit I bring with me… not to mention, I end up shipping myself stuff home because I end up buying stuff I have no room for, and I’m still too paranoid to check my bag when I fly.

I am about to finish the remains of a bottle of Montepulciano that’s been sitting on my kitchen counter since Wednesday. I am smoking a cigarette. Once both are done I will take a shower, get dressed, call a car, and head off. I am somewhat looking forward to spending a few days in Mexico at my mom’s doing ABSOLUTELY nothing. I love New York but it can be quite exhausting. Even when you don’t want to do a single thing other than staying at home with your dog and watching TV, somehow you end up having another long night.

Anyway… I must part. New York – San Diego – Tijuana – Los Angeles – London – Birmingham – London – Antwerp – Amsterdam – Paris – Stockholm – London – San Francisco – Los Angeles – Tijuana – San Diego – New York await.