Reminiscing in the Netherlands

I arrived in Holland this morning, hopping, off the beaten track as it were, munching on the rare carrot here, gormandizing a twig there. The forests (nothing but planted Scots pine and oak) are rather desolate this time of year, I must say. Not a lot of animals to talk to either; none of interest in any case. I came across this squirrel. In stead of “Good day sir, and how, may I inquire, are you doing this fine morning?” I get “Who the hell are you? Dude, did you steel my acorns? I swear to God, I buried them right here. Right here man! Hey, where you going? Fleeing the crime scene hey? My lawyer will be in touch with you.” Other than that I can’t say that I’ve really been looking for company. There is the vestige of fatigue in my limbs from my recent adventure, or should I say; calamity. I long for my lair on Svalbard and find myself waking up at night in whatever cavity I manage to contrive for the night, searching for the TV’s remote control. In addition, I’ve a rather different memory of the Netherlands from when I was last here in 1991. Back then I was working as tour manager for Soundgarden on their seminal “Badmotorfinger” tour. Of course, I only saw Amsterdam that time and I didn’t really leave the hotel either (it was a dreadful hovel), spending most of my time on the telephone with assorted doctors, trying to find a throat specialist because of Chris’s voice problems. Those days now seem like a lifetime ago and it is with hear-filled fondness that I summon up the powdery memories. I do believe those were happy times…