Philadelphia I

I made it across the atlantic ocean. It was easy, actually. I was lodged in 'cabin one' - labelled 'Owner'. So that gives an idea of the luxury I enjoyed (if you happen to know the exact amount of luxury a freightship owner receives - I do. Pfftthh). It was actually suprisingly imaginable. I read a vast amount, made friends with the one other passenger (Herman the German), enjoyed the crate of german beer I bought in the 'slapjus' (or something - a nautical word for buying things that are in the bottom of the boat), associated with lots of phillipino, romanian, liberian and polish crewmembers, including a good few rounds of table tennis, and film-watching, and I kept a journal, which, upon looking back over for interesting excepts for this entry, is staggeringly dull, and that was that. It was just as I wanted it to be.

I learned: There is NO better atmosphere for the second half of Blood On The Tracks than a dark and rolling evening and a few bottles of kostritzer; the distance between liverpool and chester, philadelphia is roughly 3000 miles, and a freighter crosses it at about 17 miles an hour; the whales promised by the crew are not that common; and, courtesy of Naomi Wolf, how The Beauty Myth is used to control the populace. You should find that out, too.

I made NO spiritual discoveries.

Philidephia has so far endeavored to make me feel at home by being grey and raining hysterically. I found a place to stay, from which I write - The Bank Street Hostel. It is really a wonderful place of friendly interesting people (I reckon the Mike I met is in a band!), and they showed 'Amelie', which is a nice film. Very nice.

Bert Jancsh is playing in Philadelpia tomorrow. I have seen no cream cheese.

SO okay there isn't anything fasctinating or useful in this entry, but maybe you can colour it in with the adventures that I may or may not have had: I cannot promise anything. Following articles will deliver more satisfaction.