Amsterdam on a cool, grey day that alternates between miserable downpours and patchy blue skies. Awaiting a train, killing time, propped up in a bar drinking coffees served by a woman that thinks much blue eye shadow works wonders for this day. To one side a couple of Irish guys, fresh from the neighborhood of red neon, are far into the beer and the table behind me is full of locals making like Harley Davidson billboards. My feet slide like pucks on the sand-strewn floor as I depart into a rising tide of puddle splashing bicycle riders and the world’s youth coming to and from the hostels.
The Brussels train slides quietly into the Central Station. The bright orange seat that I am going to warm as far as Antwerp is the brightest thing in sight. Although the station is nothing short of packed with pushing, shoving, and mostly scruffy people there is a dearth of color from men and women alike. A dreary day, one of a long string I am sure, might warrant some more gaiety in the wardrobe surely! This miserable grey day is matched in color by palls of cigarette smoke and the ever present grit and sand of a city underfoot. This is a rather bleak place in early November. The train leaves on the minute as advertised and I am still astonished that despite the people present, from both in country and from on the tourist trail, literally from all over the planet, this is such a colorless place. Women are in dowdy coats and boots while men wear the ubiquitous black leather jacket. Maybe, just maybe, everyone is too busy making things run efficiently to be bothered with wardrobe and grooming. (more…)
