Well, I'm back in the States again. I'm really sure how I feel about that. I miss the friendly Dutch people, the clean streets, and the feeling of safety. But SF is home, and I do feel a great fondness for the hustle and bustle of the city.

My last night in the Netherlands was quite a blast. The troublemakers took me out for one last night on the town, complete with pub crawl, rokerij, and spicy food, and terror-filled ride on the back of Fred's bike.

The Dutch have a peculiar way of fitting extra people on a bike. One person rides, the other person sits on the cargo shelf over the rear fender, side-saddle. It's kind of funny to see, watching some poor schmuck bouncing his tailbone on a steel shelf as the bike rattles over cobblestone streets. The Dutch are deceptively non-chalant about it.

I am not. It's terrifying: add 90 kg to the rear wheel of a bike, mix in good rhythmic side-to-side swaying, and top it off with several pints of good Belgian beer. We actually clipped at least one other bike as we cut too close, but I didn't take a spill into the street. Thank God it's easier to ride a bike drunk than walk. Hell, I'm just glad we didn't fall into a canal.

Friday morning, I packed up, bid my roommates farewell, and caught a flight to London. Original plans called for a direct connection to SF, but I arranged for a two-day layover so I could see the city.

There's a lot I could say about London, but I'd like to know one thing: why the hell do I have to mind the bloody gap? The London Underground ("the tube") is famous for signs and electronic voices warning you that there is a gap between the train and the platform. I understand that the system has been around for a long time, and therefore deserves some slack. But compared to SF Muni, BART, or Amsterdam Metro, the tube is slow, noisy, cramped, and disturbingly loosely engineered. The cars sway and rattle, and the gap varies from flush to the platform to a full foot away and a 6 inch step up. Even the newest lines have this problem.

Actually, I loved every second of it. I'm a sucker for an adventure, even if it's just public transit in a foreign country.

That night, I went clubbing with some of Zannie's friends from her London work/study. They took me to Pop Star, a fabulous three-story gay dance club with at least four main rooms. Each room has it's own DJ and bartender, and there are smaller rooms and staircases all over. I settled into the Rubbish Bin, the top floor "80's and 80's techno remixes" room. God, I love Europe.

I didn't really chase the ladies while I was in Amsterdam. Perhaps I was just being laid back, or maybe respectful; who knows what was wrong with me. I cashed in my karma that night.

I met a fantastic girl named Debbie - a cute brunette with a beautiful smile and real energy on the dance floor. We had a blast dancing and flirting all night, and even came out of the closet to each other.

"I have a confession to make. I'm actually completely straight. I came here for the dancing." "Me too! I love 80's music!"

We spent the following day together, just exploring London. Excellent food, amazing shopping in Camden Town (SF has nothing on this place for club clothes and raver/goth/punk gear!), and lots of great conversation. And we both share a dangerous love of gin and tonic, the stingy British bartending notwithstanding.

We rode the London Eye at dusk, a massive Ferris Wheel across the Thames from Parliament and Westminster. The view was fantastic; you could see all of central London; the evening twilight was just bright enough to see the buildings and people, but dark enough to show the glow of city lights.

We parted after wonderful Italian dinner and drinks in SoHo, exhausted from the day. I don't think I could have had a better time given only two days in a strange city.

Westward flights across the Atlantic tend to fly far to the north to avoid nasty weather conditions. Sometimes, this grants the traveller with a window seat some amazing views of lands rarely touched by man.

Tihuatulcoaxlotimlotl, god of weather and airline booking, smiled on me this trip. At 39,000 feet, with crystal-clear skies and a window seat at the rear of the aircraft, I saw the most beautiful landscapes I've ever seen. Frozen ocean, cracking in the spring sun. Huge white mountains casting long shadows to the north over frozen tundra. It's beautiful, deceptively peaceful, and absolutely breathtaking. There isn't a trace of mankind up here, just the kind of scenery that make you want to refer to it as "God's Creation", whether you've got religion or not.

I've really enjoyed writing these little emails to all of you. Thanks to all of you who wrote me telling me how much you enjoyed hearing what I was up to, or enjoyed the little stories and jokes. You're the ones the kept these coming.

I do intend to write the occasional story or announcement like this in the future. If you don't want to stay on the list of recipients, please let me know. If you just want to badmouth me, do it in a public forum - it's more entertaining that way.