Becomming The Tourist

http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=Yjni3dOwSBE

Up to the land of my ancestors I went,
Holland and Denmark were my grandfathers' decent.

I imagined lots of white and fluffy Christmas snow,
And for everyone and their mother to look like my bro.

So I packed extra clothes, warm gloves and all,
And headed north from Belgium, long gone was the Fall.

Of the snow there was none,
So I looked for other fun.

I studied the culture with lovely brick/cobblestone clues,
And found that indeed, they wore pointy wooden shoes!

The cliches kept coming
As herds of windmills running,
Out of their grainy past
And into modern electrical masts.

There was a Christmas man around complete with white beard and velvety red coat
But his name wasn't familiar, it was Sinterclaus, and he came on a boat.

Even more awkward were his gangs of black slaves,
Dressed in bright clothes, gingersnap cookies to children they gave.

But I was happy to learn, even with the wet and the cold,
Everyone was riding a bicycle both young and old.

Speaking of bicycles, I joined a good friend named Jason Moore,
Who studies the wobbles of a two wheeled mathematical metaphor.

Together we moved from The Netherlands to Copenhagen,
We missed the train so we took a bus, barely a covered wagon.

Couchsurfing.com we were ambitious and tried,
Considering Denmarks prices we would have otherwise surely died.

A bowl of soup at a cozy downtown cafe,
Costs $15 or five Californian burritos what the hey?

Two strangers took us in,
They names, Claudia and Morton.

They were friendly and generous and travelers of their own.
Staying with them I felt almost at home.

Crazy and rowdy we danced in the street,
Hella cool people were easy to meet.

With a cargo trike full of DD bliss.
We cruised that bad city “Becoming the Tourist”.

Then off to Sweden we roamed,
To an old friend's farm country home.

Swedish Christmas dinner parties are fantastic,
The spread will make your taste buds go spastic.

So we at and drank and did easy things of the sort,
I was saving energy for three nights at the airport.

Now here I am all ruffled and cute,
Flying from Moscow to Delhi without my parachute.