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Europe in a Box

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Page # 1: England/Spain - Page # 2: France/Italy/Hamberg - Page # 3: Netherlands/Belgium/Berlin

The last page/report was riddled with angst, energy, and sexist explosions. I will contain myself more this time, but it may be less fun.

Page #2

Marseille is a little big town. It has the feel of Cocoa Beach and the public transportation of Atlanta. At the top of the hill, you can see the whole town from Julien Court. In Julien Court every shopfront comes standard with a mural. The place is all painted up, and the result is that fantasy and reality get confused. I will live here some day.

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Smack dab in the middle of the action at Julien is a big water fountain with jets and crazy kids keeping the water flowing. There are ganksters in one corner, artists in another, some locals, and one or two gentrifiers. The ganksters would like to be gangsters, but they just rob peeps. Watch the guy on the moped take a look at my camera before trying to gank it during this alive report from Marseille (big AVI, wait for download). The reason the place is relatively empty is because that day was a French bank holiday. Yet another reason to live in France.

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Nice had great water and rocky beaches.

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The museum of modern art in Nice was at times incomprehensible. I did meet one nice piece of African art with whom I stood on my head.

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This piece makes me think of how when the arms and legs focus on a routine task, the mind slaloms between longings and passions.

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From the top of the art museum, the town looks quiet, and I look stupid. I don't need to live in the country, just somewhere high that overlooks everything. I need that.

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What better to do when in a foreign country than to go with a fellow American to an American pub that plays American music. I really did like hearing the rasta'ish singer switch from singing as a perfect Kurdt Cobaine to taunting the audience in perfect French.

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Every landscape artist should live in Italy. I only saw it from the train. It was dark almost the entire 12 hours I was there.

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Trains trains trains. So stable and sure with a one track mind.

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But the people on them know the world. One girl from St. Petersberg playing in some famous orchestra or other taught me some sewing techniques after failing miserably at hiding her laughter. Mostly I slept, arriving in Amsterdam juiced up and ready for some funk.

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