As an exhausted individual having to sleep on a bunkbed made for people half his size, I am writing this in neither the right frame of mind nor mattress class. The hate mail continued from you readers today, as I received a series of very aggressive instant messages from a coward, essentially threatening me with violence if I was unable to post. And thus, as I am nothing but accommodating, write to you from the friendly confines of London, England, Great Britain, UK.

I traveled from Berlin to Amsterdam via train, as mentioned in my previous post, and stayed there for essentially a day and a half. This amount of time was recommended to me by none other than a few self loathing Amsterdammers who find it to be about as boring as a city could be and are unsure of why it continues to be one of the main tourist havens in Europe.

I arrived in Amsterdam at around 8pm. I found my hostel after a bit of struggle, and it had been raining, so needless to say, I was happy to have a roof over my head. Then I dried off, and realized that the roof over my head wasn’t particularly nice, and was attached to a hostel that was nautically themed. The stairs went straight up, closer to a ladder, and my duvet cover was freshly christened the night before with the strongest lingering scent of BO that probably exists anywhere outside of the area beneath the flap where Rush Limbaugh’s nutsack used to be before he sold them to the Devil for pill money.

Regardless, the hostel was right in the thick of it, and given that it was only two nights, and I lived with the monster that I did last year, I could basically live in a fucking gutter. Anyway. Knowing that I had a limited amount of time, I decided to wake up early, and hit the town. It was raining, and that was a bummer, but I decided to take a walk to the Van Gogh Museum.

The museums in Germany were usually between 3.50 and 7—fair, considering they have large quantities of priceless artifacts also. This museum was fucking 14 Euro, and like a chump, I paid it. Everything in Amsterdam was frustratingly expensive. I paid 1.80 for a CAN of soda. But after walking through the museum, which naturally wouldn’t let me take any pictures, I am at peace with myself when I say that it was ALMOST worth it. The place was jam packed, and it didn’t have Starry Night, but still, the guy was kind of a legend.

After that, I had planned to go to the Anne Frank House, but every single person who I pitched the idea to thought, given that it was my birthday and everything, that that might be the worst idea they’d heard. So I scrapped it, and just decided to sort of walk the town from end to end. It’s not a big place, and I am a fat pile. Didn’t have a chance to make it to this place, unfortunately.

Amsterdam, as you’ve all heard, is filled with crazy people who are at least a LITTLE bit high on bicycles. However, on a number of occasions, convinced I was about to see a biker get slammed by a car, I was impressed each time by the abilities of the bikers to dodge fast approaching hunks of metal.

Feel the mediocrity of the beer! Feel it!

I didn’t really partake in any of the interesting or unique to Holland cuisine, because my sister told me about a place called Wok To Walk, which is basically a japanese Chipotle type setup. I ate there twice.

I also didn’t get high, and didn’t allow any of the women tapping on the windows in the Red Light District to convince me to approach them. SIRENS. THE SIREN’S SONG. I read The Odyssey.

Good old Rembrandt. Lived just beyond this square for a few years before having to leave, due to the fact that he was completely broke. And Kim Kardashian exists.

Overall, a pretty good day, and just the right amount of time. By the end, I was feeling a bit bored, but the could’ve been out of excitement for the trip to London, AFTER THE JUMP.

I had booked a ferry from the Hook of Holland to London, worried that my baggage was well over the allotted weight for budget flight companies like RyanAir, and also because it’s a boat.

Took the train to Rotterdam, then to the Hook, and boarded this tremendous ship that I neglected to take a photo of, for some reason. It was a cruise liner, and I think there were maybe…MAYBE….200 people on board, including staff. I basically had the run of the place. It had a video game center, a movie theater, a basketball court, a couple of bars, and some pretty bad WiFi. But I can’t stress this enough: it was a fucking ship taking me to England.

Wonderful shot of OCEAN. Harbor. Or harbour, where I am, currently.

I get to Harwich in the UK, which is about an hour outside of London. I knew the customs guys were going to be dicks about the fact that I was staying so long. I could’ve lied, and said that I was here for a weekend, but I decided to play by the rules. After showing them my credit cards, telling them how much money I have in my name in different accounts, giving them different addresses, showing them how small my bags are, and giving them basically a rough sketch of my next 6 months, they let me through. Kind of terrifying, but I guess they’ve been having immigrati—I’M LOOKING TO SPEND MY MONEY IN YOUR COUNTRY. LET ME PASS, my good man.

Decided to go to the British Museum today in the little time that I gave myself to go out and do fun, touristy things. This museum costs exactly 0 pounds, and is one of the great places in the world.

Rosetta Stone. Looks way different on the commercials.

After the majesty and awesome power of a building like this, laying on a cot of foam feels much worse.

Let’s keep in touch, huh?