After a hectic flight itinerary that involved a 24 hour layover in New York (and about 16 hours of the serious drinking mix with Charles as a result), a classic 8am Guinness at Dublin airport, another flight that was strangely overpopulated by Poles (judging by their homemade onion salads and aggressive attempts to all pile off the plane at the same time) and a half hour train ride past cows and flatness, I arrived at Den Haag Holland Spoor Station.
What a ghetto. I headed for the hostel tout de suite, only to find that it was simply a ghetto with a roof. The place smelled like a nursing home. There were a bunch of young ferals from Germany getting naked in the half-sun on the patio outside. I decided to embrace the rankness and paid my 110 euros for four nights’accomodation (a precaution in case I couldn’t find an apartment quickly).
Continue reading ‘1. In which the Wombat returns to the amazing world of human experience.’