Haywire Photo

Every rose has its thorn, Just like every night has its dawn

2009-10-06T12:14:00.002+02:00

It was a dark and rainy morning. I knew below the grey mist there must be something beautiful to see. At first I didn't see it. But I kept searching. Grey turned to color, and silence began to chirp. Leaves left and birds flew. Mushrooms grew and dew dripped too.

Obscured beauty is out there. You just have to look.

1 YEAR ANNIVESARY OF THE "DEPRESSION"

2009-09-14T13:49:00.004+02:00

1 Year ago I happened to be in New York City when the financial shit was hitting the fan.

September 14th, 2008. New York City. Photo: Haywirephoto.com

EuroTrip 08/09

2009-08-22T14:52:00.004+02:00

Here's a few photos to tie you over until I actually have a chance to post up the rest and write some tales from the road....

Sedan, France

Champagne, France

Gien, France

Farm camping, near Bordeaux

Underwear premier Surf Session France, at Le Pin Sec.

Durango, Basque Country (Spain)

Durango, Pais Vasco

Islares, Cantabria, Spain

Playa in Asutrias

Sunbather in Gijón, Asturias (Spain)

Delivery Man, Gijón, Asturias

Spearfisher, Asturias

Lafitinia, SW France (August 22nd, 2009)

to be continued..

Arrived in Germany

2009-08-05T12:19:00.003+02:00

After an all nighter packing and cleaning our house, we made it to the airport with 30 minutes to spare. I had to pay $600 for my extra luggage (but for excess weight it could have been at least $1500) so I consider myself lucky. I brought my desktop computer, laptop, 6 harddrives, 2 surfboards, a snowboard, skateboard, some clothes, videocamera and my computer gear.

We've been in Vanessa's hometown of Meschede for almost a week getting prepared for our trip to France and Spain. Yesterday we purchased a '91 Diesel Bus and we are now gearing up to hit the road. Here's Mr. Finke's final moment in his beloved bus. Hopefully it makes it to Spain and back! We leave tomorrow morning for the French coast then down across Northern Spain to Asturias, and back to Köln!

Mr. Finke's final moment in his beloved bus

Buena Vista Art Sale - Sunday July 12th, Santa Cruz

2009-07-11T02:03:00.000+02:00

Concussion DVD Premier at Bender's in SF

2009-07-04T00:11:00.009+02:00

The scene at Bender's

Jonah

Leticia, Kenji, Maru & Birdo

Jaks

Timmy Jaks & Friend

Maru & Noah

More Jaks

Orr

Charles Manson was there.

Peacock selling his Cancer Dust

Davoud

Skreetch pawning off porn

Birdo, Kenji and Me

Dan Drehbol

Davoud & Vanessa

"Paying in Pain" Joey & "Concussion" Davoud

Free Concussion Schwag

Kenji & Leticia

Birdo gave us a ride to Delirium down Valencia in the pick up

Delirious @ the Delirium

Hustler

Drehobl, Kenji & Maru

Leticia & Danger

J. Hay & Vanessa

Peabody & Kenji

Maru & Jonny

Hope

2009-05-11T07:19:00.003+02:00

Maru's Blog is way more interesting than mine. Check it.

Montreal, Canada (Feb. 2009)

2009-02-12T19:39:00.000+01:00

Monday February 9th - Friday the 13th
Feb. 9, 2009 10:57am
Chicago, IL
"fresh coffee before landing....fresh coffee before landing." I woke up from my hazy dream, and recognized I'd slept through most of the 3.5 hour trip from SF to Chicago, en route to Montreal. With 2 hours of sleep the night before and a 70 minute trip to the airport already under my belt before 5:45am I'd had a fun-filled morning. 10am. The flight is preparing for landing in Chicago O'Hare Airport. Next stop Burlington, Vermont. [side note: a super large Marmite jar I supposed to deliver to my brother (to go with his super large Marmite tattoo) was confiscated at security.]

Feb. 9, 2009 3:08pm
Burlington, VT
Just finished a bit of work, consolidated ad for Boardkill magazine... and we are descending as my ears are popping. Frozen snow covered rivers below, the sun is shinning, mountain peaks rise above their dormant frozen juices below.... there's a ski run from a peak. Tree runs abound. "Seat backs and tray tables upright to their original positions..." on the ground in 10 minutes.

Feb 9, 2009, 7pm
Burlington, VT
The Nuclear Energy sub factory boss / pilot from Montana I chanced to be sitting next to on the plane offered me a ride downtown Burlington, Vermont instead of taking the bus or the taxi. I walked around for an hour, had a view of Lake Champlain at Sunset, walked downtown, took a few pics and then walked 1/2 mile to the Greyhound station and bought my ticket to Montreal for $28 (supposed to be $30 round trip??). Went to the local hippy/overpriced market and bought some local cheese and a 6 pack of Vermont IPA. Sampled the local produce while walking back to the Greyhound and stepped in an ice puddle to totally soak my right foot. It's now thawing out as I'm lurking in the station, waiting for the bus. Hey, the bus just rolled up. I'm off to Canada.

Feb 11, 2009, 8:35pm
Day 2 and a half of staying with my Simon and Alannah and other Simon (see-mon). A night out at the bar, a morning (mid-day breakfast), a tour of the surrounding streets, a peep at the smoke stacks of the Molson factory, and then back to the loft for some beers and dinner. Today Simon and I walked around to old-town Montreal, had an espresso, found a box of National Geographics from '48-84, and he carried them back and we've been entertained ever since. Walked through the park La Fontaine, had a Pilsner Urquell, looked at his two old apartments and slogged on through the melting snow back to the loft. Warmest day in three months, so my fears of -20 fahrenheit were for naught. Came back and Alannah had some sausage, portobello pesto sandwiches and some fresh chocchip cookies. Trés bien. They speak a weird french hear in Montreal, supposedly TRUE french because it hasn't changed in 400 years. So they say...

Blog or Die

2008-11-12T00:15:00.003+01:00

OK i'm going to get this thing rolling again and post up all the missing photos from my 2 years in Europe, so "follow this blog" and you may be notified when I post some new stuff. It's gonna be so sick, oh my god you just can't wait to see my new blog....

Westside, Santa Cruz - Feb. '08

The Shunned - Trefz Compound, June '08

Nobody

Antwerp, Belgium - March '08

Santa Carla

2007-07-14T06:01:00.000+02:00

Back in Santa Carla, only thing that sucks, too many damn vampires.

Week 100: Malmo, Sweden - 10 days of skateboarding

2006-06-06T15:46:00.001+02:00

I arrived in Malmo, Sweden at 10am, after an overnight stay at Stanstead Airport where I spent the evening making a website to pay for my flights. I took out some Swedish Kronas from the bank and bought a coffee. A 20 Krona note for one cup of coffee! I had no idea how much that was in dollars, but I knew life in Sweden was going to be expensive. The new Concussion Swedish distrubor Kalle agreed to pick me up, and let me stay with his friend Per, in Malmo. We went straight to the indoor park, Bryggeriet, after Per gave me an 8.4% beer, which I waited until the night to drink. I met up with his brother John Magnusson, one of the most famous Swedish skaters and the man behind the new Stapelbaddsparken designed in part by Oregon's (PTR - Placed to Ride) skatepark designer, Stefan Hauser. We then went to Per's house, dropped off my backpacks and skated down to Stapelbaddsparken, which from here on out I will refer to ass "The Valley", the nickname Per gave it after chronically listening to Eddie Spaghetti's latest solo album. "They're going to be peace in the Valley, tomorrow," which would become the late night, early morning sing-along ballad. When you hear Per singing that, you knew everyone was drunk and having a good time wandering the streets/bars of Malmo.

So we arrived at the skatepark, I'd had little sleep, maybe 2.5 hours, because sleeping at the airport, worrying that you won't wake up and miss your flight, doesn't lead to a deep sleep. Upon arriving at the park, I was in awe, as this was one of the largest, and probably most creative parks I've ever skated. The sun was shining and it was hot in the notoriously cold Sweden, and within an hour, we were drinking boxed wine, a few Swedish beers, and getting a bit crazy. I met up with long time Swedish subscriber, Marcus Olsson, (aka Pissling or Swedish Bailey) and watched him draw smooth lines around the park he's been skating, and helping build for the last few months. I'm not really sure who all helped build the park, but let's just say I'm sure all the local rippers, Per, Marcus, John, etc. etc. had a good deal of input on the final lay out of the park. Kalle was busting rolling in lip slides on the THICK pool coping in the shallow end of the big bowl, and everyone else was working on their tricks in the new park. I was just getting warmed up, when I did a backside grind in the shallow end, and my front foot followed the board, and my backfoot didn't, resulting in the splits, and bashing the inside of my knee on the cement. I couldn't skate for a few hours, but after a little wine medicated pain killing, I was back skating the sick kidney pool before sunset. I took numerous slams, just getting a little grind in the deep end, and trying to learn the tight, and at the time, slippery walls of the pool. We later went down to the bars, and had a long, blurry night finally returning home in the wee hours of the morning.

The next morning I woke up and I couldn't move my leg. Sharp pains were shooting through my knee and I was panicking as I had no idea how bad my injury was the day before. I couldn't stand up or sit down without using my hands to lower me down. I spent the next day taking some photos at the park, and just drooling at all the people skating the insane park, while I could hardly squat down to take a photograph. Luckily for me, my injury rapidly healed so that I could skate two days later, at Steppenside, the park engineered by Pontus Alv (film maker "Strongest of the Strange" and also pro skater and photographer). Of course, everyone else helped build the park, so I'm not going to get into any disputes over whether it's Pontus's park or whatever, but many people helped construct this DIY hectically sketchy park in the middle of an abadoned lot in Malmo. The 'park' or cement structure, is super tight, bumpy, dusty, rocky, and almost impossible to skate. But watching Pontus and D-Boy skate the park I was impressed at the potential not scene at first glance. After trying to make it around the tight corner about 15 times only to fly onto my hip, I finally started getting the hang of it, and finding some grind lines! I was stoked, but unfortuantely due to shitty weather, and body pain, the rest of the week, I never made it back to skate or take more photos, and I tried to persuade Jimmy the Greek and Screech to have a session at Steppenside (because Pontus wanted to film them), but they were too burnt from skating, and drinking free Fosters in the VIP tent, and Screech not wanting to leave all the girls in the tent. So unfortunately, it never happened. It would have been sick...

Speaking of free Fosters, let's jump to the Quiksilver competition at 'the Valley'. No, first I must talk about the first weekend competition, the Globe Bowl Bash. The comp went down in the pool (unlike the Quiksilver competition that was held primarily in the rest of the park). Guys from all over Europe were ripping it up, with Mathias Nylen from Sweden finally taking first place, with Enrico Petralia (Sweden) and Seb Durel (Bordeaux) taking 2nd and 3rd. Front side blunts in the deepend, nose grinds, hi-speed smooth lines, and airs of all kinds were going down, and the weather held up just long enough for the competition to finish and the party went on throughout the night. Some serious slams went down in the heat of manic action, so the next day was a mellow day of cruising around, not heavy skating.

The next severals days before the Quiksilver competition we went to the indoor park, which has one really sick bowl with over vert, pool coping wall, and 3 other bowls with coping to rip around, as well as another large bowl, a street course, and a wide vert ramp. I was doing fine on the rest of the park, when Per told me to skate the vert ramp while he was eating his sandwich and wanted some entertainment. I should have had a sandwich too because I was dizzy from not having eaten enough. So I dropped in (no pads or my usual broken thumb/wrist guard) and a few backside kick turns later, not even quite grinding, I went into a four wheel slide down the ramp, which had me falling belly first onto the flat bottom, not being able to breathe and slightly spraining my right wrist. Ugh… We ate that night at Lilly’s Chinese food, which is really like the dirtbag skater hang out, with cheap Chinese food, and sometimes that week there were over 20 skaters in there filling their empty bellies before a large night out on the town at one of the numerous ‘after parties’ (which also had ‘after parties’) which were the norm all week.

The Quiksilver Bowl Riders competition arrived which much skepticity (oh, that’s not a word), as the weather was predicted to rain for 4 days in a row. There was talk of moving it to the indoor park, but that would have been a disaster, since it wouldn’t have been big enough for the 50 skaters + media + spectators that arrived for the event. Talk of putting up a tent to cover 'the Valley' for 500,000 euros was put to rest after realizing holes would have to be drilled in the park. Luck was on the side of Quiksilver and all the skaters, spectators, etc. who had come to Malmo to witness one of the best skate competitions of all time.

I’m not going to go into detail about the competition, you can read about that in Concusison or something, but Rune Glifburg (Denmark), Omar Hassan (USA), Daniel Cardone (from Italy), and a ton of local European rippers absolutely destroyed every inch of the park, with the hugest boned out airs, high speed everything, and technical tricks on large walls being carried out simultaneously, as 5 skaters would skate at the same time during parts of the heat. Total mayhem and very difficult to shoot photos of, focusing, following a certain skater, avoiding the other camera dudes, etc. But you can check out the photographs here:

http://www.haywirephoto.com/malmo/
http://www.haywirephoto.com/malmocolor/

What else went down? About 100 free Fosters beers as all the media and skaters had VIP passes to the Quiksilver tent where at 4pm each day, free Foster’s cans were waiting to be drunk, and get drunk they did, as did everyone else who had such luck as to have the free food and free beer wrist bands. From the tent it was to the after party’s, skate film premier’s (including Hosoi’s biography and a local Swedish skate film), bands (like stoner rock band Nebula), and your not so typical dance party, punk rock fest with Malmo’s Concrete SS. A funny story I'll end with is when Concrete SS were playing and Screetch (one of the most ripping pull skaters from So. California who was killing the pool to everyone's amazement) got too psycho smashing beer bottles all over the pit, and smashing into everything, including knocking me over into the speakers. The body guard grabbed him and was smashing his head on the table. The bodyguard stopped but Screetch kept head banging the table without his aid. The bouncer stood confused and didn't know wha to do. The same night my friend Linus from the bands Concrete SS and Disco Volante, who also played at the two skate competitions, spit on a cops back when they were taking away (for being too drunk) the one skater from Belgium who was in town. After the cop, he spit on the bouncer who has helping the cop. The bouncer caught onto it after Linus was narced on by some idiot who thought it was the right thing to do. The bouncer grabbed him by the throat, but being used to anarchist street protests, Linus knew how to get out of it. The bouncer chased him down the street and wanted to kill him so I followed. I pushed the bouncer off Linus, almost onto a parked car because I really thought he might totally pummel him, and next thing he had a 8 inch metal rod sticking in my chest.. I somehow got around him as he pursued Linus who just went home, and I snuck back into the club before anyone knew what happen.

The nights were chaos, but the drinks were expensive, and I spent all my money before I left Sweden. I literally had an extra $30 to spend in Dublin for the next 4 days. I could write another 10 pages about Sweden, but it’s probably time to wrap it up, but I am definitely going to return to Malmo, which is right on the beach, sometime before the snow falls again. It’s not the most beautiful city in Europe or Scandanavia, but it has tons of parks with geese and rivers and bridges that you can walk through at any time of the day to escape the small concrete jungle. I met some great friends in my ten days in Sweden, and it is true that Swedish girls are beautiful and interested to talk to you and wonder what you are doing in Malmo, Sweden.

Hopefully the competition will go down there next year (it has been in Marseille’s for the last 5 years or so), because I think it’s the perfect place for people to go visit for a week or two, skate the amazing park, hang out with the Swedish people, and just get wild and crazy… The Swede’s know how to party, maybe because it’s only sunny a few months of the year, so when the light is out, it’s on. – Check Concussion soon for some video footage of the skatepark. I'll also add some photos from Steppenside and the indoor park this week.

2 months in Anglet - SW France

2006-05-18T13:13:00.000+02:00

So it's been a while since I gave an update on my 'travels', but mainly because I haven't been traveling so much lately. I've just been living in Anglet, next to Biarritz, in the South West of France. My day to day life has been much the same as in Santa Cruz: work, surf, hang out with friends, skate, make another website, take some photographs, work on Concussion stuff, etc. Nobody really needs to know, or cares about how my surf session was or some other semi-uninteresting activities as such. Therefore, i'll just give you some highlights of the last two months of my life, sleeping on the couch at my friends house, and working just enough to pay my bills and eat some food.

Highlights:

Staying in Petite Bayonne for one week while my friend was out of town, where i could finally sleep in a bed for the first time in 8 months. Petite Bayonne is a historic city (10 minutes from Biarritz) with a picturesque Cathedral and a Castle and a river that separates it from Grand Bayonne. The streets are filled with characteristic Basque people walking the streets, drinking booze before noon, talking in Basque, and smoking cigarettes.

Surfing Anglet, at a spot called Cavaliers, probably the best spot in Anglet, with a fast, sometimes hollow wave that breaks right, and left. I caught my biggest wave on my friends 6'6 which gave me speed wobbles before i could do the bottom turn. An adrenaline rush that lasted the whole day. Also pulling a little air on my 5'10" in the shore break regained my confidence in surfing.

Snowboarding the Pyrenees with my two roommates and my friend Marina. Although the conditions weren't epic, I enjoyed being back in the mountains, slashing away at any little obstacles we could find.

Skating the Tarnos skate park with 2 cement bowls, and a 3 foot cement half-pipe with a hip and curved coping on the other side. It's too small, but still fun. Also the Globe team came to the Biarritz indoor park for a demo which was slightly cool. I met Matt Mumford (pro skater from Australia/San Diego) but I wasn't allowed to go shoot photos with them because the Globe team manager guy said they had too many photographers - typical.

Driving down to Irun (the border city in Spain), eating Spanish food, and tripping out on how you just drive 30 minutes and you are suddenly immersed in a different culture where they eat different food and talk in a different language (ok so it's the same as San Diego/Tijuana but it's cool all the same). People often go there to buy gasoline, liquor, and cigarettes, as it is much cheaper than in France.

Finding out the Mediatech (hi-tech library) has wi-fi for 1.50 euros an hour. A good place to work for almost free, with no distractions of going surfing or skating, etc. Located in Biarritz, I usually ride my bike from Anglet or skate or walk. It's a fun ride and you can check the waves on the way there and back, or just ride on the promenade next to the beach to check out the 'scene'.

Two harsh wipeouts in two consecutive days, the first of which was at the castle in St. Jean De Luz. I jumped from a wall, to a lower wall over some stairs. I landed on the lower wall and slipped backwards on the sandy landing, and fell on my back the other 4 feet, and I had my camera in my hand, as gravity had it the heavy lens hit the cement as well, but only slightly. A tiny fracture on the outside of the lens seems to have no negative effect. I got lucky.

Fall number two occurred while going 2 miles an hour on my bike. I popped the front wheel up on a curb to do a little front wheel ride on the bank, when the cranks hit and sent me over the handle bars with my camera/computer bag on my back. I landed perfectly on my chest, made a big whole in my hand which took a month to heal, and luckily the backpack just stayed tight on my back and didn't impact the ground. Ughhh! Could have been worse.

Other than that, I've just been hanging out with a bunch of cool people from France, Venezuela, and Pays Basque. Everyone is always willing to help out with a ride, a place to stay, sometimes something to eat, and to teach me french (and learn English). Often I go out to a party or concert or something and I feel like I'm going to school, trying to learn the future and past, and the other 6 verb forms that make French one of the most difficult languages to learn.

Davoud (Concussion) asked me to go to Malmo, Sweden to photograph the Quiksilver bowl competition which is usually held in Marseilles, France. He even gave me $150 travel/photo budget which helped pay for the plane ticket (actually the plane ticket was only 1 euro to London, then 1 euro to Malmo, Sweden, plus about 60 euros in taxes, but pretty damn cheap!) I'll leave the Swedish stories for my next blog after I go to Dublin, and then back to Biarritz on the 27th of May....

- Vi syns.

(photos coming when I get back to France because it's 30 euros a scan here in Sweden)

Jonny's Diet for an Old Europe

2006-04-20T18:05:00.000+02:00

or How to Lose 10 kilos (22 pounds) in 6 months

1) buy a one way ticket to Europe for 700 dollars
2) start a new habbit (smoking, for example)
3) drink coffee until after midday because you really don't need to eat in the morning
4) walk everywhere, especially up 7 flights of stairs as much as possible
5) eat cheese and bread and tomatoes and cucumbers every day. Cheese doesn't make you fat if you follow steps 1-4
6) surf, skate or do something that gets your heart pumping and your muscles aching
7) have some beer or wine for dinner, along with a little cheese and some pasta on occasion
8) Don't eat at McDonalds more than once a month, IF EVER
9) Look what other people eat, if they are fat, don't eat what they are eating or you will be fat too.

And that is all. Guaranteed to work. Not sure what happens when you come back from europe and quit whatever habbit you decided to start. This is still in beta test phase.

Week 24-27: Berlin, London, Biarritz – Déjà vu all over again

2006-03-15T18:26:00.000+01:00

Berlin
So it’s been a while, but I’m starting to think no one even reads this blog anymore. Jonny is seriously gone….lost forever in Europe, and never coming back. Well, maybe none of that is true, so “here we go, again on the road, going down the only road I’ve only know, like a drifter, I was born to walk alone.” I won’t even tell you what song that is because it’s downright embarrassing. So I made it to Berlin, after chillin’ the night away drinking coffee in the Stanstead airport with this 24-year-old couple from Lisboa, Portugal, also on the early morning cheap flight, but they were heading back home. I arrived in Berlin early morning after maybe 45 minutes of sleep to a bleary snowy morning.

Snowy Tracks, Berlin.

My shoe had a nice hole in the toe, which isn’t such a big deal unless you’re pretending you can afford new shoes, but when it’s snowing, it’s a whole other
deal entirely. The week passed in a breezy blur, as traveling from place to place tends to do, but in that 1 week I climbed to the top of the highest peak in Berlin, Devil’s mountain,

Flowers and Barbed Wire, Berlin.
Teufelsberg [Devil's Mountain]

with my friend Kris, struggled to get tickets to one film from the Berlinale film festival, picked up a free pair of Nike shoes from the Carhartt/Nike store (thanks to Jürgen and a promised Concussion show review), worked on my underground artist’s website (haywirearts.com), skated the Berlin Bowl again (created a beautiful double swell-bow on the vert segment), ate falafel’s and walked around the city, quite a few times in the snow. Berlin was awesome as before, but I can never really put into words or thoughts what exactly it is I like so much about the city.

London
Before I knew it I was back in London, at Scott’s house, skating the Bay 66 skatepark for the Wednesday night session, and with my friend Whip at the Meanwhile cement 70s ‘waterfall’ bowl skatepark,

Meanwhile, London.

and Meanwhile 2 under the freeway, drainage ditch style. What else did I do in London? I stumbled upon a spoof on Monty Python's Holy Grail while looking for Scott's work to pick up his house keys.

Jeremey, rock to fakie at Stockwell

I also walked around Regent Park when I had 8 hours to kill after my early morning flight. I stumbled upon a bird sanctuary with birds from all over the world. The intermittent hail stopped, and the sunshine shone through the clouds as the birds dried themselves off. I hopped on the tube and then the train and was off to my friend Cornel’s in outer London for some more working, eating, and surviving on as little money as possible for one week.

Hawaiin Geese, Regent Park Wildlife Refuge, London

Unidentified species of duck, Regent Park, London

As luck would have it, a few more website jobs randomly appeared from outer-cyber space and I cranked them out as fast as I could eat a cheese pizza with fresh cut vegetables. I returned to Scott's for some more website work, Concussion new issue stuff, and general low-key schnanegans. My time ran out, I paid some overdue tabs, and I was off to my Uncle’s to drive through the Chunnel to Paris.

NEWS OF THE DAY: TUBE STABBING the night before and COLDPLAY breaks up

Sir Spamalot, Monty Python spoof theatrical production, SOHO, London

Sir Spamalot subscribes to Concussion, so should you!
"Get back here and fight like a man, I've still got one leg"

Paris
My uncle’s Jag pulled up in a dark alley at3:20am, Saturday morning, in the far east end of Paris. I unpacked the car with some help from my uncle and drug the stuff to the hostel door. He then headed off to La Souterraine in the center of France, to check on the progression of his barn. It was time to speak French again! I tried to barter for my acceptance to hang out in the lobby until the morning and then check-in for the following day. Nope. 2 paid nights later, after being ‘accosted’ by a French muslim guy in the hostel bar, who apologized to me about 9-11, and then smacked a wet one on my cheek after telling me he just got out of prison (after being there for 9 years for selling pot and LSD)…I could go on and on about the whole situation and ones to follow, but I’ll save that for another time. So I was off to my friend Alexis’ house, who owns the Nozbone skateshop. I spent a good week, working, skating, shooting skate photos, and

Roman de Paris bashing up and back down the corner brick wall, rocking his new Concussion hat

hanging out with French skater kids at Nozbone, learning French and French street slang. Of course, I attended the protest/manifestation that you can read about in the following blog entry if you are so inclined. One night I crossed town on the metro to watch Le Luidg (Luidgi from Nozbone) spin at this little bar/club in the 6th, near where I used to live. I somehow (ok well I know exactly how but I’m not telling) made it through the night, only buying one drink. The night crawled on into the morning and I took the first metro home, with all the other weirdoes, at 5:40am.

Roman Bertleman, Paris. March 2006.

After some more skating, working, and hanging out, I took the night train from Paris Austeralitz to Biarritz, and after only a few hours of sleep, arrived in my favorite place in France. My friend Marina picked me up at the station as the sun rose, before several days of rain led to a day trip, along with my 'housemates' Bertrand and Vince, to snowboard the Pyrenees. We schraped up the snow as best we could, and returned to the sunshine of Biarritz which would finally arrive, along with some rideable surf the following day. I will stay here for as long as possible on the couch at Bertrand and Vince’s house; work, surf, snowboard, skate, and photograph all these things as well as people, the woods and the sea. - JH

Martin. Noseslide to fakie. Paris. March, 2006.

Political Rally in Paris goes Haywire

2006-03-06T11:19:00.000+01:00

Manifestation: Paris (Nation) / February 28th, 2006
Subject: Protest of the murder of a Jew by a mostly Muslim extortionist group who claimed they held him for ransom because they assumed the stereotype of a rich jew to be true

I had just arrived at my friends apartment in Paris, when he explains to me the police are sealing off the roads because there will be a manifestation (protest) today. The topic of the protest is a jewish guy was kidnapped by this group of extortionists, that chose him because of the old stereotype that jews are rich. It as been turned into a anti-semetic hate crime and all the jewish groups, and muslim groups, took to the streets, with high ranking political and religious leaders, but the muslim groups joined the jewish groups in solidarity, so it was really a bit strange and hard to understand if they were with each other or against.

While running around with the pack of angry protestors, I took lots of photographs. I was told by many muslim youth and jewish youth not to take photos. There was supposedly a group of 'radical' jews who can get very violent and don't want to be photographed. People wanted to know what side I was on and sometimes when they found out I was NOT a journalist (that was the big question, which magazine I worked for), and found out I was an american, they were ok with me taking photos, but most warned me for my own safety. I was shaking taking some photos, due to half adrenalin overload and part fear of getting stabbed or punched, so hope they aren't too blurry. It was an intense situation, like war photography which I've always thought about doing, so this was a good taste for me. I also photographed a war 'peace riot' in SF, but that wasn't nearly as intense as this. So due to the fact that it was sketchy to take photos, I'd take one, and then move through the crowd. I'd also conceal my camera (but it's big and hard to do), and I think it looked like I was hiding a gun, black, metal, shiny, concealed. I think this may have caught the eyes of the police, and they had obviously been watching me, for hours.

La Police se prépare

As I left, I took some more photos of the police in riot gear, and taking over the little hills in the Nation park in the middle of a giant round-about (an area of many immigrants in Paris, where I have been staying for a week). The protest was winding down, and I was walking back to my friends apartment, when this guy in black asked me who I was photographing for and telling me it wasn't allowed and what was I doing, etc. He was not in police uniform, then he grabbed my shoulder and said come with me. I backed up to get out of this random guys grasp, as I was scared I was going to get robbed and beat up, etc. I backed up into another guy, then to the other side, another. I was surrounded by muslim/jewish guys who were not happy with my photography... But no, they were undercover cops. They questioned me, and turned me over to the riot police in uniforms (and battle gear) who took me (forcefully) to their vans, removed my backpack, hands against the van, searched through everything, very closely and invasively, and they went through my wallet and took my CA driver's licence, (and it turns out they stole 20 euros!). They said the way I took photos from one place then to the next was pas normal, very strange, and wanted to know who I was working for, what magazine, telling me it is not allowed, to which I questioned but no, I was not allowed to take photos. After 15 minutes of scaring me and saying they were going to arrest me, they gave me my stuff, and pushed me back towards the sidewalk. I walked back to the apartment, went to buy some fruit and vegetables and relax with a few beers, when I realized my id was gone (I still hadn't realized the 20 euros were gone). So I had to go back to the scene of the 'crime' and ask for my carte d'identification back, and they asked who took it, and I had been hassled by more than 10 police and couldn't remember. I finally got it back, and walked back to the apartment, looking over my shoulder the whole time, and even walking in a few shops and around a building to make sure I wasn't being followed. I heard the next day that the French judicial system is not to mess with, that you are guilty until proved innocent, and the judge has ALL the say in your case, so it's very possible for unjustice to be served.
Fuck the police of the world and every government. They're all corrupt and solely concerned with their interest, which is the interest of the people that pay them. They control the world. You are powerless in the grand scheme of things. That doesn't mean it's worthless to fight against. - jonny haywire

La manifestation

Les manifestants prennent le control

Ils tentent d'appaiser le conflit avec le Police

Les manifestants envahissent la bute

La Police vide la bute

Un groupe de Musulmans

Prise de le statue

Le police retablit le calme

Un groupe de Juifs

Week 19-23: London to Biarritz and Back Again

2006-02-04T01:58:00.000+01:00

The sun glares through the window above the clouds, ears popping to the dilapidated sounds emerging from my 1 inch speakers of my iBook, en route to Stanstead Airport, London, wondering how many euros it will cost me for a Bloody Mary as the stewardesses approach. I last left off without any money, in the North East of England, in refuge of my English family for a week of Xmas holidays. The time past enjoyably as I revisited my past, and had a few nights out with my cousin Mark who is 19 and now attends Oxford University, and returned to his parents house for the holidays. The last night we went out to some fancy dress party in a bar/club which we had not dressed for, and enjoyed the silly sights of the crazy NE Englanders. The snow was coming down, and girls dressed in mini-skirt Nurse outfits strolled the snowy streets as if they were in New York on a hot summer’s night. Suddenly 4 o'clock in the morning was upon us, and the taxi que was too long, so we went our separate ways by foot, trunching through the snow in my low top Van’s arriving back an hour later for a 3 hour slumber before my bus to London. My cousin had a 5 mile run back to his house, but I’m sure it was no problem for him.

I made it to the bus, feet still wet from the night before, and bloody cold, and I embarked on my 5 hour bus ride (cruising the cheap these days), to Victoria station, central London. It was here I was to meet my friend Reed again, who would join me for New Year’s festivities in London. He was on the ferry from Amsterdam, and would arrive at Victoria station 5 hours after me. I had hours to kill, and kill them I did. A few hours were spent getting lost doing laps of the London Underground, eating fish and chips, having a few pints, and waiting and waiting. He arrived 2 hours late, so after 7 hours of doing nothing but picking up my bag and putting it back down, I was in pain, and getting antsy to get out of the transportation madness. Reed finally arrived, and I had already found a 10 pound a night hostel, where we headed off to, and crashed out after a brief chill out in the dungeon lounge of the hostel. The following day we went to an old family friend’s house on the outskirts of London and spent two days enjoying gourmet meals, and resting. Then came the 31st, and we headed off via the train, back to inner London. The London Underground had decided to strike, so tube access was very limited at best, so we took to the streets with some beers and walked to Picadilly Circus. The evening was simi-uneventful except for your typical hoorah that always comes with New Year’s in any big city across the world. We shared a bottle of whisky, got lost in the streets, ended up back at our old hostel to see what was going on around 3am, and then headed off to a party at another hostel after piling 8 people into a taxi, and then returned back several miles by foot with some friends from the hostel. After the sun rose, we bid good night (or good morning) to our friends and ate a disgusting meal at the world famous McDonald’s as it was the only place open where we could eat. I had 2 hashbrowns and a coffee and we headed back to the train, back to our house. Not wanting to spend another 13 pounds, I thought we should just use our same tickets as 2 days prior, which would have worked fine, but we fell asleep and woke up 50 miles past our stop. We got off the train at the next stop, and headed back the way we came, passing farm lands, and rivers, and hilly countrysides. Then came the train conductor to see our tickets, well, that was a problem, we had the wrong day, we were going the wrong way, and he asked us to pay 5 pounds. "No way! We fell asleep, it was an accident”, “Oh just like you conveniently did just now, sure, 5 pounds”, “No, we’ll just get off at the next stop!” After he informed us he’d given all the train conductors our descriptions and we would not be able to board the next train, we boarded it, and heading back to our destination without a hitch. Phew! 2 for 1 train fare. Nice one!!

Reed headed off a day later, after another good meal, and I stayed for another week, getting some work done and planning my next step. I had only spent 30 pounds in about one week, including everything, so I was quite stoked at my economic preservation derived through necessity.

Adam, me, & Whip at Stockwell Skatepark

The next stop was my half-uncles house where I continued to consume extremely good gourmet meals for another week, and get good rest, and use the hi-speed internet to finish up the last of work I had to complete. I then headed to my friend Scott’s house in inner-london. Scott is a friend of my friend Martin, the son of whom Reed and I had been staying with for a week. Martin tragically died about 10 years ago when, due to some sketchy unexplainable details, he was perhaps chased onto the train line, and was electricuted on the third rail. Through skatingboarding (Martin and Scott were close skateboarding friends with a skate-crew called The Village Idiots), Scott came to know of Concussion, and came to visit me in Santa Cruz about 6 years ago. I took him and his two friends around to the Consolidated Ramp, my old ramp on Dufour St. and of course to Derby Park, which at in my backyard.

Scott and I after our skate session on my way to the train

So now he returned the favor and allowed me to stay in his house for 1 week, with wireless hi-speed internet and took me to the old Playstation Park (now known as Bay 66), and also to the 70’s park, Stockwell, where we had a blast, and skated around with about 6 friends, shooting some photos and video footage which will hopefully be seen in Concussion at some point in time. We also went to a Pie & Ale party the night before our skate session at Stockwell, where the most memorable pie (by name at least, because I still try not to eat red meat) was the Guiness Beer and Beef pie. The next evening after our skate session I returned to my Uncle’s by train, packed my stuff, and prepared to return to France.

At 5am we awoke, clambered into my Uncle’s Jaguar, and drove to the coast where we pulled into a train that goes under the Channel from Harwich, England to Calais, France. My Uncle bought a Grange (an old barn to renovate) in the middle of France, and I was going along for the ride, and also to help him to communicate in French. We stopped by my ex-girlfriend’s house in Paris, where I had a box of my stuff shipped from California which took 10 weeks to arrive. We completely filled the Jaguar and headed out of Paris within the hour, heading south to a small town between Poitiers and Limoges in central/west France. The towns were very picturesque and rural, with cows and sheep and rivers and trees and hills and stone buildings and everything you could imagine a rural French countryside to look like.

La Souterraine

We stayed for 2 nights in a fancy hotel, where we were one of two groups staying in a hotel that has over 50 rooms. We were catered to by two beautiful French girls and ate an elegant meal with some Bordeaux wine. Superb! We met the builders at the barn, and everything was going according to plan, and we even toured the wood factory where they use the local wood and create the steps, and banisters, and window frames. It was true learning experience for me who knows little about building and renovating houses. Soon again the time came for me to hit the road, and I was dropped off at La Souterraine train stop, where I took 3 trains that would land me in Bordeaux, on my way back to Biarritz. I had never been to Bordeaux, and I quite enjoyed it, but it’s a big city to get around on foot. I stayed in the youth hostel which was to be the first and last time I paid for accommodation in over one month. I walked around for most of the day and night, seeing as much as I could in the short time I had. Unfortunately, as is common in Europe in the winter, the lighting wasn’t so good (flat) for photographs, also a problem I face when going from place to place without spending too much time in one area for the weather to cooperate.

The next day after some coffee and bread and cheese I headed off again on the train to Bayonne, where I would stay for the next 10 days with friends I had met in the Anglet and Biarritz Youth Hostels several months before. I am so grateful for the hospitality of my friends in South West France for they offer me a place to stay and ask nothing of me but my friendship. I am also participating in a ‘Cooperative Language Learning Institution’ where I am both an instructor and student (ok it’s just me talking and drinking beers, surfing and skating with my French friends who are trying to learn English while I learn French but I thought I’d give it a fancy name). My French has been improving and I can now participate in conversations in French, although sometimes I just have to zone out in fear my brain will short circuit and explode.

While in Biarritz, I received a final payment for website work I have done for US companies, which was enough to pay off my monthly bills from abroad. With no solid internet access and no new jobs lined up, I decided to sell my soul to the devil on Ebay for $1700, and have now stopped stressing out due to a bordering on negative bank balance. Thank god for the devil. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say if I live to be 60 I better have a good way to make money, or I’ll be a crochety old man with a bucket and no teeth asking you for some coinage on your way home from work, 'spare any cutters me brotha.'

I spent the last 5 days of my stay in Biarritz not freaking out about money for the first time in 6 weeks, and finally decided to enjoy myself. I went to Hossegor to surf, and the waves were barreling and a good size, but there was a motocross event on the beach, and the 320 riders raced down the shoreline en route to the course, and access to the waves was forbidden.

Motocross racers shutting down perfect waves. grrrrrrrrr!!

So I shot the competition and then headed a few miles south to Capbreton which also has good waves with WWII bunkers strewn across the beach. I surfed with no booties and no leash (they were stolen from the hostel in Biarritz where I had left them), but I managed not to fall and lose my board the whole session (except twice in the white wash when it slipped out of my hands), and caught some fun waves, and watched some grommet get a 4 second tube ride. Little shit. I surfed another session at Cavalier’s, probably the best spot in the Anglet/Biarritz area, but it was a bit too small, with a few air drops on the larger creeper sets from the horizon. The rest of the time the waves went flat, but we still managed to have a good time skating in Geitery, on the Basque coast, in a fun 6 foot bowl, and also in Tarnos, at a cement mini ramp with a bowled side and a hip on the other. There are also two bowls that aren’t too much fun, and you can easily get stuck doing laps. I decided to have a contest with my friend, and we did 18 laps before he jumped out from dizziness and fatigue, and I jumped off 1 lap later, totally exhausted. Today I am more than soar, I packed my bags, and made it on Ryan Air (1 Euro to London + taxes), without the excess baggage fee (although I COULD have been charged 48 euros even after I fully downsized my bag). I am lucky sometimes, othertimes, unlucky. But never inbetween. I am now enjoying the last of my bloody mary (6.50 euros, but they gave it to me for 6 because that’s all I had), and my computer is out of batteries, and we are about to land, and this whole flight I summarized my last 6 weeks. I arrive in London, and then a bus to the underground, and then I go to Brixton, where my friend Scott lives, for a week of hi-speed internet so I can find some work via the internet via craigslist.org in one of 50 cities around the world. We will skate the Playstation/Bay 66 park tomorrow and then next week, I am going back to Berlin for 1 week (2 pounds ROUNDTRIP + taxes). Once you get to Europe, if you bags aren’t too heavy, and you have a flexible schedule, it is really really cheap to fly around. It’s totally amazing, and part of the reason I am trying to stay here as long as possible. It costs me 2 pounds plus taxes to go to Berlin. From San Francisco, round trip, it’s probably 300 times as much money. Tu comprende? A la prochaine fois. Don't forget to leave a comment sometimes so I know someone even reads this babble. – Jonny Haywire

Photos with me in them were taken by Scott's girlfriend: "Thumper Stone"

Week 14-18: Berlin, Stuggart (Germany) to Amsterdam (Holland) to Newcastle (England)

2006-01-03T16:45:00.000+01:00

Before my memory hazes out on me, it is time to recount the past month’s adventures. I left my friend Cornel’s house in the small town of Horst, Holland, after working for three weeks and having enough money to again continue my journey, this time, riddled with countless transportation mishaps. The train from Venlo to Berlin apparently wasn’t going to show, so I was redirected to Dusseldorf. From Dusseldorf, I found a 4 hour train ride to Berlin. I bought a Nutella and banana crepe and headed off to the train. The train arrived 6 minutes early, and I boarded for a four hour trip to Berlin. At 4 pm, when my train was due to arrive in Berlin, I went to grab my bags and head off, but curiously I was in a small town that wasn’t at all what I had imagined Berlin to look like. I anxiously questioned the non-English speaking passengers about my whereabouts, and finally discovered from the train conductor that my arrival in Berlin would not be for another 4 hours. Arghhhh! Hungry, tired, and bordering on depressed by now, I realized my mistake: I had bordered the slow train, which takes 8 hours and stops in every town with a station, instead of the high-speed direct train. So, I thought troubled thoughts and struggled to cover my eyes and sleep in my seat until another 4 hours passed, eventually landing me in the center of Berlin, where my friend Jurgen was waiting for me. I stayed with Jurgen in his apartment for several days, visiting an architectural photo exhibit at an old, defunct train station, eating good organic vegetarian food and checking out all the hip shops around his East Berlin community. Shops like American Apparel, Carhartt, Paul Frank, Adidas, Converse, Doc Martin’s, and anti-corporate/anti-consumerism clothing shops (is that an oxymoron?), as well as a cool Army surplus store. Jurgen left to set up the Pushead art show in Stuggart and I stayed and worked in his apartment for a week and spent some time exploring the city with my Berlin friend (& tour guide) Kris, whom I had met momentarily in Biarritz several months before. We walked to a punk art squat, experienced the Weinersmarkt (Christmas Market), participated in a Gluewein (hot spiced wine) party and roamed the streets of East and West Berlin, as well as stopping in at the John Lennon photo gallery in the Berlin library. I spent a lot of time just wandering around by myself and enjoying Berlin which has been one of the most fascinating and exciting cities I have ever been to. I am determined to return and digest more of this historical city which has turned quite progressive with it’s magnetic appeal for alternative lifestyles and Bio (Organic) grocery stores. One night Jurgen had a company Christmas party at his super high-tech video editing job, and all of the media hipsters from all over East Berlin and beyond showed up to enjoy: being a hipster, listening to live acoustic guitar folk rock, DJ dance floor action, and an open bar that finally ran dry of hard liquor at the time I was leaving in the wee hours of the morning. My time of eating healthy food, and cheap beer (30 cents for a 22 oz beer) finally came to an end, and I went to hook up with my rideshare to Stuggart where I would meet up with Jurgen and Daniel (Fauxami.de) for their Nike sponsored Pushead show in their Skateboard Museum in Stuggart.

I showed up in the center of Berlin at 9 in the morning, after having to walk half way because the subway was closed because some vagrant had thrown a shopping cart, or perhaps themselves, on the tracks). I arrived 15 minutes early, but my ride never showed up in the next hour. I tried the next ride, and the one after, but both were full. So instead of paying 30 euros for a 6-8 hour car drive, I had to spend 4 times that much for the train.
I arrived in Stuggart in the evening, and Daniel came and picked me up (on his skateboard) and we headed to his work, the Mos Eisley bar (coolest name ever for a bar), where I dragged in my suitcase and sat and read On The Road and had some free beers and food until night, when I went and crashed out on the floor. The following day I went to my friend Niko’s house where I would stay the following night, just about 15 minutes walk from the town center. That night was similar to the following, going to a few bars with my German friends, heading off to a club, and then a late night falafel and walking home in the snow back to Niko’s house (it NEVER snows in Stuggart). I woke up and Niko picked me up and we went back to Mos Eisley and had a good breakfast and coffee(s). Later that day we hit up this underground super tight mini ramp with an extension. Daniel was ripping it up as usual, and the session was short but fun. We skated, I took some pics, and then it was finally time for the much anticipated Pushead show. I cruised down to the Filmhaus and chilled out for several hours, meeting German skaters from all over and taking in the skate art, and watching some old school skate videos (and the Concussion video that was on a loop most of the night). It was 3 AM and my train didn’t leave for Amsterdam for another 3 hours, so I went and kicked it at a club with my friends, and returned to the Art Musuem at 5am, picked up my backpack and camera bag, and headed off to the train station. I gave my friend a hug goodbye as my train pulled up, and my fancy art cap fell off down by the tracks. I reached for it, but only knocked it down further. Whistles of the conductor were blowing, I stuck my foot down by the steel gnawing wheels that were hungry to devour my entire leg, the train would leave any minute, the conductor was running towards me, I finally dragged the cap up the cement with my foot, grabbed it, and jumped on the train with the conductor yelling at me in German. “Whatever”, I said to him and the doors closed in his angry face. I was off to Holland.

I had yet to buy a ticket, and the ticket office wasn’t going to be open until 6am (my train left at 5:51), so when the conductor came for my ticket, he told me it was 110 euros to another German city, where I had to transfer to another train to Amsterdam. The entire ticket was only supposed to be 114 euros, so I contested this fee heavily. I refused to pay. He threatened me, another conductor came and said they were calling the police, I said I would pay, I suppose, but I demanded to know what city I was to get off. They wouldn’t tell me until I paid, I said “I want you to fucking tell me where I get off before I pay”, the second conductor said “ooohhh, you keep your voice DOWN, you are going to jail!” I paid the bastards and they walked away and didn’t tell me where I was supposed to transfer to Amsterdam. I thought I’d get some sleep on the train, but I probably only slept for 20 minutes and when I woke up, I realized the train was now 20 minutes late in arrival. I had missed my connecting train and had to get out in some city in Germany and wait 2 hours until my train for Amsterdam was to arrive. I asked random people if I was in Germany to their complete confusion. I didn’t know where I was. I hadn’t slept, I had been up all night arguing with the conductors, almost had my leg chopped off fishing out my stupid cap, but as it turned out everything was cool and I got on the next train, right on time, and headed off to Amsterdam where I was to meet my friend Reed from Santa Cruz.

AMSTERDAM

I arrived zombie style in Amsterdam around 1 pm (only a few hours later than I had originally planned). I walked straight into downtown, apparently missing my hostel, The Flying Pig (theflyingpig.nl). I was completely exhausted, carrying my new army backpack on my back (I tossed my suitcase after the zipper had broken and my friend Niko gave me a backpack he had found in an attic and never used), and carrying my camera/computer bag in my hand, which was like a 40 pound dumbbell. I had to stop and ask for directions. I had passed the hostel by about 1 kilometer. I returned back to where I had started and found the hostel down some dark, curvy, little alley, checked in, and crashed out for a few hours. I woke up and found my friend Reed who had undergone several similar incidences getting from Portugal, to London, to Amsterdam and also had not slept. So, when darkness suddenly arrived, the two Santa Cruz zombies took to the streets, hit up the first coffee shop, and bought some Blueberry and Northern Lights, which settled us down into Amsterdam mode. We were back on the streets, getting offered every drug known to man, just cruising around and checking out the fabled tales that you all have heard about Amsterdam. We nipped down a very narrow alley way, super shady, and stumbled upon one of the “highlights” of the red-light district, the hookers. It’s quite crazy, and a little sad (like when you go and see the cute doggies in their cages and they just want you to buy them), but there are these scantily clad ladies in their little booths, that lead back to what I would guess would be a bed and a sink. They beckon you like sirens to the sailors, sometimes banging on the glass almost pleading for you to come in and service them, trying to smash your ship on their rocks. Well, that was a part of Amsterdam I chose not to sample, but the experience of walking down those alleys and seeing what I saw, was one I will never forget.

The next few days were more of the same, late nights in the hostel playing pool, renting bikes and doing loops of Amsterdam trying to find a certain not so exhilarating park (it is really really easy to lose your way in Amsterdam), taking some photos of nick nacks and paddy wacks, and having numerous “rest breaks” in one of hundreds of little “coffee shops” around Amsterdam. One night we hooked up with this crazy Polock who was staying at the Pig, and we all tried some Thai ‘Shrooms. Trippy man, especially with a group of people you just met and know nothing about their emotional and mental temperment, while doing another pedestrian tour of the dark alleys of Amsterdam. So, we experienced Amsterdam as much as we could, but we still felt like we weren’t being good lil’ tourists because we had just as much fun hanging out in the hostel bar, laying on the cushions smoking splifs (notice I did not and never did write ‘bifters’), and playing pool as we had going out and getting freaked out on the streets of Amsterdam. Trolling around Amsterdam reminded me of this quote from Janis Joplin about Jim Morrison, “We walked around the streets of Amsterdam and were offered all kinds of drugs: uppers, downs, LSD, mushrooms, and we would all take one and put the rest in our pockets for later, but not Jim, he just took everything he was given, right then and there.” Crazy psychodelic nutcase, no wonder I’ve already outlived him by 4 years. So it was time to leave Amsterdam, and get on my ferry. I drank coffee, smoked spliffs and worked on my photo website in the Hostel until 2 hours before my Ferry was to leave and then headed down to the central station with my crazy Polish friend Marek; he was carrying my camera bag while I had the big pack on. When we arrived, no one knew where the ferry was leaving from, or some had no idea about a ferry in Amsterdam whatsoever. I was told 10 different things, and was doing laps around the station, when I started to realize the ferry wasn’t even leaving from Amsterdam, it was leaving from Ijumuiden, which was about 1 or 2 hours away from the Amsterdam Central station. Panic struck, I was stressing hard, with my heavy bags, and I got on a train to Harlem, and then was supposed to take the bus (no two buses) to Ijumuiden. I was required to be there an hour before departure, but there was only 45 minutes before my Ferry actually set sail, or whatever Ferries do. I gave up. I headed back to Amsterdam and back to the Flying Pig, with my curly tail between my legs, checked in with a 5 euro discount for being a sad sappy sucker and just hung out in the hostel all night, too late, and crashed out around 5 and woke up with some dude kicking me out of bed because check-out time had passed. I left for the ferry 5 hours before it was to depart, deciding not to take any chances with another botched North Sea crossing. I took the hi-speed Flying Ferry to Ijumuiden, arrived 3 hours before departure, and when the time was right, boarded the Ferry and checked into my cabin. The ferry was quite cool, complete with 5 restaurants, a disco, show girls (The Scandanavian Queens), and you can go out on the “sun deck” at night and watch the frigid ocean pass you by. The dinner was 27 euros, so I obviously skipped it, as that was my “Change of ticket” fee I had to pay, which was me being lucky, as I really should have had to buy a whole other ticket. I ate my bread rolls and cheese and bought a 4 euro bottle of crappy Spanish wine, and just hung out and watched the ferry world go buy. I watched the Scandanavian Queens show, poured out the last of my wine, and went to my quarters. I woke up to some Dutch monotonous semi-soothing voice on the loudspeaker, surfaced to the sundeck and England was in the distance, I had made it (almost). I spent all my money going from train to train to ferry and paying for hostels, and food, and whatever else I don’t know, but I found myself out of money again. The bus to Newcastle was 3 pounds, but I only had 1. Luckily, a kind British lady offered me the other two as my feeble attempts to persuade the bus driver to let me on with my ferry stub and one pound failed. I arrived in Newcastle, and then had to figure out how to get to Sunderland, without any money. I saw a sign to the metro, and a sign for a 20 pound fine if you didn’t pay. I had no choice, but to risk it. I barged the metro to Park Lane, where I was supposed to take a taxi. At Park Lane I decided to walk the final two miles, arriving at my Gran’s house sweaty and tired, but I had made it!

Week 13: Dusseldorf, Germany – 24 hours in Germany

2005-11-28T18:29:00.000+01:00

I left off planning on heading to Germany to skate Dietsches Pool, a wooden 'pool replica' bowl he built almost completely by himself over a 6 week period. So I started my German adventure at 12:58 in the early afternoon from Horst, Holland. I skated down the street to the bus stop where I waited for about 20 minutes. No bus came. The third person I asked actually answered me, and told me what, “De Idiot van Hey, er is geen bus die bij deze bushalte ophoudt” translated to in English. Yup, no bus. So I skated through the town following signs to Venlo, the border town in Holland where you can take the train to Germany. After some stuggle and miscommunication, I found out there was a train from Horst that could take me to Venlo. I skated about 5 kilometers to the train station, not without incident. I was about to skate into the street (smoother surface) but realized the bike lane was too small and the road too fast with cars. I stopped, and slipped, and fell on my ass hitting my semi-broken thumb (before I even got to the bowl) and my legs dangled in the street as my board shot out. Screeeeeeeching of brakes, and a few honks later, I was back on my way. I arrived to the train station in about 25 minutes, and waited 50 minutes. I borded the train and got to Venlo. Switched trains to Mönchengladbach which I had to transfer again to Dusseldorf. This 1.5 hour estimated trip was already into hour 4! So I am finally on the train to Mönchengladbach, and the train stops. Murmers in German let me know something was wrong. Bomb threat at Mönchengladbach. Great. Bin Ladin, or old WWII bombs were the guesses from the unamused germans trying to get home. And me, I had Dietsches and Gerd Rieger (contributor to Concussion #27 with Basque skate article) waiting for me in Burger King. So, I took the bus to Mönchengladbach, and when I arrived, the station still existed. No bomb: shocking! I took the train after 25 minutes and finally arrived in Dusseldorf, met Gerd and Dietsches at Burger King (where they had waited for 2 hours), and proceeded to the pipe warehouse where the bowl was situated. The bowl was super fun, bigger than I thought, complete with a death box, pool tiles, and stairs. I skated with about 6 other Germans, who took turns skating and huddling around a home made gas heater because it was less that 0 degrees celsius in the pipe factory (apparently the metal pipes hold in the cold making it colder than outside). But after some runs in the bowl I quickly warmed up and although I slammed at the end of almost every run, I had a blast. I stayed the night at Dietsches house and we watched pool skating videos of Fresno and other California pools and after almost feeling homesick seeing some of my friends on a German TV, I called it a night, on my custom modified cushion bed on the floor. The next morning I headed on back to Horst, making it within 2.5 hours, returning home to my bewilderment at 12:58, exactly to the minute, 24 hours after I left. Check out the 1 minute quicktime video of me and Dietsches skating his bowl:

Dietsches Bowl

or come and test it out for yourself! – Jonny Haywire

Gerd Rieger - sweeper - Dietsches Bowl

Dietsches over the stairs

Week 9-12: France, England & Holland – the Journey Continues

2005-11-21T12:38:00.000+01:00

I left off about to board the TGV from Paris, back to my beloved Anglet/Biarritz. I have now returned there 3 times, although not the smartest voyage path financially, I am now more set and determined on my quest of exploration across Europe. I spent another 6 days in the Anglet youth hostel, before it shut for the winter, and then transferred with the other stragglers (mostly people from around Europe who have relocated for one reason or another to the South West coast of France). I randomly met up with two guys from Santa Cruz, Niall and Reed. They arrived in the youth hostile in Anglet one night, Niall wearing a Riff Raff tshirt, a greaser punk rockabilly type band from Santa Cruz who have since disbanded. “Are you guys from Santa Cruz?” Sure enough they were, and we slightly recognized each other from surfing The Lane over the last decade or so. They had rented a car because they were on a mission to get some good waves while in France, before continuing on their trip to the Canary Islands. The next 5 days we would check all the spots around the area, up to Hossegor and all around French Basque country, with the dirty Czech bastard, Bre who is the most enthusiastic surfer I have ever met. I was so impressed with the Czech’s motivation to surf, I left him my surfboard to use while I am traveling around the interior, non-coastal parts of Europe.

Anglet with Rain over the Pyrenees (Basque Country)

We didn’t totally score any super-sick waves, but we had a good time, finding some quite large beach breaks in Seignosse, north of Hossegor, and a big semi-powerful wave at the dirty river mouth in Anglet. That day we suited up in the parking lot, determined to charge whatever Neptune had to offer us. When we had a visual of the spot, I was a little intimidated, going out on my 5’10” in 10-12 foot stormy surf exploding against the pier, with about 75 gauking French onlookers watching the powerful nature of a big swell. Niall and Reed paddled out and I walked down the pier for a sketchy descent down the rocks, dodging the bashing waves, and jumped in and paddled like a madman to the outside. The session was the most memorable I have had so far, not for the quality of the waves, but for the size. There were no other surfers out, only two boogie boarders getting bounced in the air, with their little sponges not being able to withstand the size of the waves. It looked really funny, but probably not half as funny as when I paddled with 100% commitment into a wave that I finally thought was makeable. I began to take the drop and got caught in the lip, described by Reed as a “Jay Moriarty” (RIP) Mavericks drop. Off course the wave wasn’t nearly half as big, but it was quite large on my little board, meant more for small-medium sized waves. So I was caught in the lip, about 12 feet up, and the lip pitched me out, my board went flipping off to the right and I plummeted through their air about 12 feet down, hit the water feet straight as an arrow, and plunged another 15 feet down to the depths of the ocean, my ears popping, and then my brain, for the first time ever, feeling the pressure of the deep water (the bends), building up in my skull to the point of near explosion. I started coming back up, and then the wave sucked me down again in a turbine of high tide mayhem. I lay lifeless like a baby in the washing machine, until I finally resurfaced, but the pressure in my brain remained. I caught another wave all the way to the shore pound and jumped off in the sand, my head going underneath the sand consisting of small pebbles like an ostrich in the desert, and then beached like a little whale on the sand. I was met with applause from the onlookers, and chuckling to myself at how funny the whole thing must have looked. I dizzily stumbled across the beach, thinking I might need to go to the hospital and get a whole drilled in my brain to let out the pressure. I was actually quite worried. About half an hour later the pressure diminished, as I videoed the rest of Reed and Niall’s session, happy that I had not drowned or had a brain aneurism. It felt really good to be sitting on the sand videoing the pounding outside waves thrash my Santa Cruz buddies, while I sat safely on the shore. (see video footage coming soon).

Waves crashing over the Jetty - Anglet

The rest of the week we surfed some fairly decent waves in Anglet and a reef break south towards the Spanish boarder. The hostel closed and we moved on to the Biarritz hostel, which is open for an extra 6 weeks. The hostel was really nice and new, but a bit far from the beach. I figured out how to hack into the internet connection on my laptop, requiring a little rewiring in the back storage room where the server was located, rather than paying 1 euro for 30 minutes. I stayed there for 3 days and headed off to London to meet up with Cornel, my Dutch friend I had met on my first stay in Anglet. He sells pottery in his van in Holland, Belgium and England. He in the London vicinity for a week and agreed to pick me up from the airport and take me back to the Netherlands with him, where I could work in peace at his house, with an internet connection, away from the many distractions beach life always provides. We stayed in London for several days and went out to a hip hop club in Brixton, watched Manchester United (my favorite English team since a wee lad) defeat Chelsea at a little local pub, went to a ‘strange’ party (don’t ask – but let’s just say Annie Lennox greeted us at the door) on the penthouse suite of fancy London apartment watching the Guy Fawkes day fireworks, dressed as Beatles Paul and Ringo (with a mullet), and then headed off on the road (again), working on my computer in Cornel’s van as he made some stops selling his pot(s) from Holland. The next night we boarded the ferry with all the burly truckers from Holland, Germany and Italy, and spent the night traveling across the sea to Holland. We arrived at sunset, and drove to Cornel’s work in Rotterdam where I worked in the break room all day, and then headed to the beautiful and historic Brugge in Belgium where we would spend another night in a fancy bed & breakfast in the ancient town center.

The historic canal city of Brugge, Belgium
After walking around Brugge for hours, and finally finding the worst skatepark in the world, I walked into a cool bar/café/hostel where I was able to log on wirelessly for a few hours for free, thanks to the gracias bartenderess who gave me free scratch off wireless cards. That night we went to some bustling little bar a block from our B&B where I listened to horrible music and chilled out soaking in the Beligian night life until it was time to leave. Morning arrived and Cornel and I headed off in his Pottery van back to his work headquarters, for a little mid day football action with his co-workers and eventually to his home in the South East corner of Holland close to the German border. The minute we arrived Cornel's friends pulled up to take us to a local concert of this band from a small town next to their village (called America), who are famous all over Europe, but especially all over Holland. They are called Rowwen Heze (www.rowwenheze.nl) and they sound like a mix between Flogging Molly and the Pogues, but in Dutch. Apparently their lyrics are really good, but I missed out on that part of the experience. However, I did witness roudy dutch boys ripping each others shirts off in the pit (everyone came out with no shirt on), a huge posse of "Lord of the Flys" extras who are the hardcore Rowwen Heze fans. They are 13-25 year old boys, no shirts, and ink all over their faces, arms and chest written with pig ink (remember Piggy from L.O.T.F.), the same pen they use to draw on pigs that doesn't come off for weeks. So after the show, these kids have to go to school and whatever with ink all over their faces for the next several weeks as it gradually fades. The other 'thing to do' at Rowwen Heze concerts is to throw your beer all over everyone. The beers were relatively cheap, but I wasn't quite seeing the point of repeatedly throwing my beer over everyone. But...when in Holland, do like the Dutch. Anyway, check out their website and maybe order a cd, because the music is really quite good and different.

Cows at Sunset - Rotterdam, Holland

So currently, I work at Cornel's house all week long with nothing but a bike to get me out and about outside of the compound, so I am finally getting a lot of website work completed, and making some money so I can continue on my quest. This next week I have been invited to skate this sick wooden bowl in Dusseldorf, Germany, with our Concussion German subscribers. I suppose membership does have it’s privileges, as I have been keeping in contact with subscribers from all over Europe to hook up some good skate missions in the next several months. As usual, photos coming as soon as I can get the black and white negatives scanned. – Jonny Haywire

“…crossing and recrossing the country…south in the winter and north in the summer, and only because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars…” – Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Interesting observations about Holland/Netherlands:

Nobody locks up their bikes, even outside of bars, an easy target for thiefs.
The sun never gets high in the sky
The drinking age is 16.
On the radio they play eighties American rock.
Amsterdam is a city in Holland. It is not the whole country.
Just because pot is legal in Holland, does not mean that everyone smokes it. I haven’t seen one person smoking it. A good argument for the legalization of marijuana in the United States. If a drug is legalized, it doesn’t mean everyone turns into an abuser of the drug, in fact, I have witnessed the contrary.
If you are from California, you are automatically a "surfer dude".

Rainy Day in Biarritz - Eric and Reed jamming out some tunes

Week 6: Skateboard Fever Art Show / 4 days in Barcelona

2005-10-31T14:37:00.000+01:00

After another week in Hossegor, Biarritz and Anglet, with a few fun surf sessions, meeting more people from all over Europe, and hanging out, driving around in the trunk and speaking French with my friend Bertrand who lives in Anglet, it was time to venture to Spain, down to Barcelona where my friends from Germany were putting on a Skateboard art show. I took the bus to the border town of Irun, and then hopped on a 7 hour train ride to Barcelona. Making the train with only minutes to remain, I sat down and recollected my scattered thoughts from my strange life I now live. The train was a non-smoking train, but that didn’t seem to stop any of the passengers from going between cars and smoking it up. I kept thinking I smelled cloves, and finally when I smelt another guy smoking something I got up and went to investigate. The younger Spanish guy who spoke no English seemed a bit nervous at first and was trying to explain that it wasn’t a cigarette he was smoking. No problema! 20 minutes into Spain and I smoked a joint with this guy with whom I struggled to communicate. I asked him if smoking weed was allowed in Spain, and he said, “Espagne… ‘living the vida loca!’” Welcome to Spain I thought! Let’s get crazy. I then returned to my seat, in total confusion, wondering what I was doing, and realizing I did not know how to communicate in Spanish, after finally being able to hang on to a conversation in French.

7 hours passed quickly and I arrived in Barcelona at the train station, and immediately went and picked up a Spanish-English phrase book. I made my way to the correct estacion where the hostel that had been recommended to me was situated, and within an hour found it and checked in. A 6 bed hostel room to my self with free internet access. Not bad. Then came the fun activity of trying to find a place to eat and ordering food with my all but forgotten Spanish, which was never good to begin with. I eventually found a little restaurant and ordered the first thing on the menu. Biztec and some other stuff I’d never heard of. Well, to my chagrin, it was a thin grey steak and eggs over easy, too things I do not like to eat, but I wolfed them down readily, with a beer, and I was good for the night. The following morning I struggled for the words to get 100 negatives scanned which I lucked out on because the guy in FNAC (the European mega electronics/photography/music/bookstore) was cool and scanned them all in 90 minutes for 8 euros.

After taking care of some ‘business’ I headed out to Skateboard Fever: A History of Skateboard Art, featuring Jeremy Fish, and Andy Howell, among others. I arrived at the art show right about on time for free Budweisers and to meet a lot of cool people. I re-met Silly Pink Bunny artist Jeremy Fish, whom I chilled out with off and on for the rest of my stay, and my German friends who were putting on the art show, Daniel and Juergen , who proved to be excellent people who allowed me to not feel lost in a very foreign land. My Spanish at that point did not improve too much with all the German and Suisse people speaking English very well, and Jeremy Fish and Andy Howell and other Americans and Brits speaking English. The art show was awesome with a history of skateboarding and an amazing collection of skateboards from the early days of cement and clay wheels to modern day skateboard art.

Randomly, across the street was a Red Bull video editing contest where teams from all over the world (US, Spain, Suisse, Austria, and Germany) had already won the contest in their country and were competing for the Red Bull prize of filming and editing a skate video in a city in 2 days, this time, the city being street skateboarding Mecca: Barcelona. The night ended in the Mau Mau underground club, and then ended again at some club called the Apollo where I saw Andy Howell and posse waiting in a line to get in. The club was a bit silly (not being much of a clubber myself), but crazy loud music, and a bunch of random Barcelonans partying on the dance floor until 5 in the morning. At some point I fell asleep on the stage lying back with my camera bag on. I knew it was time to try and walk or take a taxi home, but luckily the metro had started up again at 5:30, and I followed the punks in the metro’s example of hopping the line and riding for free. I got back to my hostel at 6:30 and slept for a few hours and then headed out to find a hostel in the center of town, away from the skyscrapers, banks and mega-corporations.

Daniel (Fauxami) in the Barcelona beachside park

Without going into detail of being lost in Barcelona for hours, I found the hostel and met up with the German’s and a Spanish artist/skater called Carlos Canillas who took us to the little skatepark next to the beach, where I did not skate but took photos of the Daniel and Juergen and watched some completely gnarly BMXers. The fact that I didn’t skate reminds me that I skipped a day. The previous night after attending the Red Bull contest for the video winner and going to some other underground club when I should have just gone back to my hostel and slept, I learned a new trick. The shoulder plant. Here’s a little how to ‘pull’ the shoulder plant:
1) Skate to a club and watch the Red Bull video contest
2) Cash in your 4 "free" drink tickets (all vodka drinks)
3) Take a pee in the bushes in the back and get kicked out by big bouncer guy
4) Try and get back in to get your skateboard in the coat check and get your skateboard back but not yourself back in
5) Go with the late night German stragglers to another ‘underground’ somewhat sketchy club for free
6) "Buy" your first (and last) drink of the night
7) Skate home
8) The next step is a bit hazy, due to a possible Concussion, but it involves flying through the air and landing on your shoulder and smacking your eye on the sidewalk
9) Wipe blood from eye and ride away like you can pull this maneuver any time any place
10) Finally, ask people in Drunk-Spanglish how to get back to your hostel

Easy. Anyone can do it if you follow my ‘how-to’ closely, or even somewhat closely. So, the next day I was worried I had broken my shoulder and made sure I hadn’t forgotten to get stitches, but all was ok, except my damn shoulder was screwed up for about 10 days. I gladly watched others eat shit skating the shody cement spin ramp with hammered down almost non-existent coping and made it back early to sleep by 12:30.

The following day was my last day in Barcelona, I mulled around the streets photographing some street performers, went to Gaudi park (oh wait, that was the day before when I went solo but same difference for you the reader), and then went with Daniel, Juergen and their girlfriends and a few other Germans to the unfinished Gaudi church which he supposedly designed on Mushrooms. He died 100 years ago or something ,and they are still building the church, and it is a trip. Very psychedelic. We climbed the spiraled turrets to the top and had a view of all of Barcelona. We returned to the art gallery and then I headed off out of Barcelona on the night train to Paris, which came complete with beds to sleep in and cost way way more money than I had intended (wished, dreamed) it to cost. I spent the next week working my ass off in Christine’s apartment (oh yeah we broke up a while ago), and then met my mom and step dad at the airport in Paris (who had just returned from visiting my relatives in England), and drove with them up to Bretagne, in the North of France for a relaxing 3 days where I would work on websites in the car while driving around to beautiful scenic spots and eating good food (the most famous spot in the world to eat Oysters) and staying in a nice farmhouse with a bed without a bunch of drunk snoring farting guys keeping me up all night. I finally obtained some serious rest and lack of spending money which I seriously needed. After I return to Paris for a few days, hang out with Luidgi and possee from the skate shop, and showing my parents around some tourist spots (The Louvre/Sacre Coeur), I am heading back to Anglet to pick up my surfboard and wetsuit I left there, and to surf Anglet and Hossegor and hopefully find some quiet place to work on some websites. The hostel in Anglet is the cheapest place I have found to stay in France, as well as being one block from some damn good waves. Photos coming as soon as I get somewhere where I stay longer than 5 days so I can get my film developed. - Jonny ‘homeless’ Haywire

Or check out: www.concussion.org/new_site/art/skateboardfever/index.html for photos from the artshow in Barcelona.

Week4: Beach Lurker Escapes the City

2005-10-01T16:34:00.000+02:00

It’s been ten days and maybe more since I have recollected my thoughts. I have been living day to day not knowing exactly what the next day holds, the complete opposite to my prior life in Santa Cruz. I have been to Biarritz, back to Paris, and back to Hossegor for the Quiksilver World Championship Surf Contest. Over the last three weeks many crazy things have gone down, and it’s a rare occasion such as this that I share my tales, albeit in brief, as I am on the bus back to Hossegor to pick up my photos and hopefully surf.

Biarritz Lighthouse - Chambre d'Amour, Anglet

I’ll start from where I left off. I arrived in Biarritz not knowing much about anything except where I would be staying for the night. I took the bus to a small town adjacent to Biarritz called Anglet. Anglet has excellent waves, and is less known than the ritzy Biarritz(y). The hostel is a 5 minute walk to the beach, which is like 5 kilometers of beach break, similar to Waddel Creek north of Santa Cruz. I surfed without a wetsuit for the first time since I was in Fiji 10 years ago. The water isn’t very cold, but most French surfers wear spring suits or full suits, and the temperature is dropping so I will join the masses and wear my wetsuit soon and bake for a few weeks until the water is cold enough to warrant a full suit (or steamer as the aussies say). The hostel I stay at is very diverse with people from all over Europe (England, Ireland, Netherlands, Sweden, Germany, Italy, Spain, Belgium, etc) as well as your usual slew of Aussie traveling surfers (and Kiwis) and a few South Africans. Most people are cool and friendly and I have met plenty of contacts for places to visit all over Europe which is good because I struggle to work near the ocean with lots of surfing, photographing, and partying with live music at times. The last band that played at the hostel were a Spanish Ska-punk band which attracted many people from all over Biarrtiz and Anglet, a really good time unlike any party I have been to, due to the international diversity and different languages.

Where would you be? Chambre D'Amour, Anglet

Speaking of languages, I have become friends with quite a few French people that hardly speak any English, so we struggle to communicate in depth, but my French is improving rapidly and I can now hold a conversation, although the French language is tres difficle pour moi, but most people I meet tell me my French is not bad and they appreciate the fact that I speak in French, as most travelers (even some people who have lived here for two years) still do not speak any French except Oui and Non. Actually, my English is getting worse, as I now speak in broken English as it is easier to communicate with French people when you get rid of the confusing English words.

I returned to Paris and stayed with Christine in her apartment for a week and finished a lot of work, making money, so I could return to the beach. I took the night train from Paris to Biarritz, sleeping on two chairs with my surfboard and skateboard clanking around, always getting lots of strange looks walking the streets in Paris with a surf board (“Ou est la Plage?) I joke sometimes. (Where’s the beach?)… I arrived in Biarritz and took the bus (the same one I am currently one) arriving in Hossegor, the Capital of Surfing in Europe. I walked towards the beach with a suitcase in tow, my camera bag, and a suitcase Christine persuaded me was better than my duffel bag. I luckily arrived at the beach, and the contest had just started, the light was perfect, and the waves were even more perfect. I drug my suitcase through the sand for 100 meters, plopped it down 20 meters from the beach, set up my mini tripod on my suitcase, set down my skateboard and box of Concussions, and started “working”, taking (hopefully) some of the best surf photos of my life. The waves were SICK and I traded off shooting the contest and the free surfers, which were among the worlds best surfers. I stayed the next two nights in a hotel for 43 euros a night ($55 dollars), the cheapest place to stay in Hossegor. Each morning I’d awake as soon as I could get out of bed, and go down and shoot the contest. Now I know the rough life Patrick Trefz and Jason Murray have to ‘endure’ when they go on these photo shoots. French girls, drooling pro surfer admirers and hundreds of photographers with bigger lenses than mine line the beach, they sell Fosters out of a tent and I sit there from 8-2 in the sun, without eating anything because food costs money, then I go for a surf.

Hossegor Quiksilver Pro - Danny Wills

I was shooting the sunset at the Hossegor lighthouse and met this cool French guy called Fabian who allowed me to spend the following night in his apartment, which helped to counter paying too much for the hotel. The contest continued all week, and I watched/photographed/videoed most of it. Kelly Slater lost to Damian Hobgood in the quarter finals by the largest margin of defeat in the whole contest, failing to get any of the really good waves. The French absolutely adore Kelly Slater, way more than in the US. When he comes out to his heat he is swarmed by 10 year old girls who he writes I LOVE KELLY all over their faces. Very amusing indeed. Some of the days the waves were 15-20 feet. They were doing tow ins behind the contest and before it started. The competition had wave runners to drag the surfers out through the waves… it was that big. And whoever says that they wouldn’t come to France for a surf trip, think again. The waves are way better than you would ever imagine and they are advanced, fast, and very, very hollow. I probably witnessed 200 in and out tube rides in one week, maybe more. I will post the photos soon, as a photo is worth a thousand words. So anyone who was thinking about coming out to see me, and NOT bringing their board, think again. You’d be blowing it! So the competition ended (Andy Irons won for the 3rd year in a row and if he had lost Kelly Slater would be the World Champion for the 7th time). Check out the see Concussion Website for video footage and photographs from the contest.

I returned to Anglet for the cheap hostel and am attempting to get some work done before I go to Bilbao (further into Basque across the Spanish border), and then to Barcelona to meet up with my friends Daniel and Juergen whom I met through Lee at Derby Skatepark in Santa Cruz. They are putting on an artshow of the history of Skateboard art in Barcelona, with American artists Andy Howell (see concussion.org) and Jeremy Fish (see any issue of Concussion). So I think that will be a great time and then I plan to return to Paris and figure out my next move from there. I’m also searching for my friend Bailey (excellent pool skater/Consolidated rider) who often returns to Basque and last I heard he was in Bilbao where they have a sick skate pool. I have hit up a few skateparks here that are quite good, indoor wooden bowls, and other cement oddities in tiny little towns. Before I left for the beach again, I took 4 rolls of street skating in Paris, a little different than the photos I usually have of skating, with lots of cool brick banks and other Parisian oddities one could imagine finding in an old European city. I am now arriving in Hossegor again (to pick up my black and white photos), and the journey continues. Until next time…a bientot. - Jonny Haywire

Nollie Heel Flip - Paris suburb

Jonny Haywire Arrives in France Week 1

2005-09-16T17:39:00.000+02:00

Rue de Rennes / Paris
September 1st – September 9th

Heading backwards through the countryside on the TGV, France’s high-speed train, the sun rises through the clouds, the person next to me speaks an unintelligible language, and I have just finished working on a website on my trusty laptop, my new source of income and connection to the outside world via Wi-Fi hotspots you can poach from many locations. I am on my way to Biarritz, more specifically Anglet, a small town north of Biarrtiz, France’s surfing capital. A new swell is on the way and I am heading to stay in a hostel for 14 euros a night. I know nothing about Biarritz except for the fact that there are waves there, sometimes very good waves. But that story is for my next posting, for now, as I pass over a river, my skateboard overhead, and my brand new Xanadu surfboard safely (?) in the train car behind me, I will tell of how I made it thus far.

Escaping Santa Cruz was gnarly. I lived in Santa Cruz for 15 years straight, except for a short sojourn around 1996 in New Zealand. In this decade and a half, I had accumulated a lot of commodities, and responsibilities, so storing and re-allocating and quitting jobs and giving away animals became the greater part of my last 3-4 weeks in Santa Cruz. I made it out just in the nick of time, with the last morning consuming an hour (and $176) in the Post Office, sending out some boxes of Concussion Magazines, and other items I figured I just couldn’t do with out, but I can’t remember what those are at this point.

We drove to LA and the following morning hopped on the plane at LAX, and luckily I was only taxed $80 for my horrendously overweight, awkward, bulky surfboard bag which held my new never ridden surfboard (which my Friend Jason Miller so generously traded me for some web work on Gromz.com), 2 skateboard decks, and 2 snowboards (mine and Christine’s) as well as a wetsuit, booties, hood, and other clothes that wouldn’t fit in my small suitcase. LAX to Houston to Paris and the toiling of the board continued. I was dropped off in Jardin de Luxembourg as Christine went to meet the landlord, since I was not legitimaly allowed to be staying in the apartment. In 2 hours she returned to the park, and we walked, or more like dragged my belongings about 1 mile through Paris, in lots of pain and struggle, with Parisian’s looking at me with the strangest look (Qu’est-ce que ce?) as I sweated my way through the side streets ultimately collapsing next to a metro stop on Rue de Rennes, where our apartment would soon be found. It was a struggle, but it could have been much worse, and at least the board arrived in one piece, and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they say.

Ye ol' Tour D'Eiffel

After climbing 143 stairs, an activity I perform at least three times a day, we cleaned the apartment and marveled at where we were now living, 7 floors up, above the fashion district, with a view of the Eiffel Tower and a few other magnificent landmarks like Sacre Couer on the horizon. As I just mentioned, we live on Rue de Rennes which is one of the biggest fashion streets in Paris filled with all your favorite euro and global shops: Zara, United Colors or Beneton, H&M, lingerie shops, and smaller boutique type shops that have very expensive clothing. I don’t go in the shops, (except the wine store, the cheese store and the bread store), and of course the café’s to get zooped out on a cup or two of the espresso coffee they serve for 1 Euro if you drink it at the bar, and up to 2 to 3 euros if you want to be hip and ‘people watch’ on the sidewalk

And then there is Luidgi and Camilio and Alexis who I met as the Nozebone skateshop. Luidgi was introduced via email by photographer Patrick Trefz, who met him in New York at an art/film show. Luidgi had an art opening at his shop and Christine and I barged out last minute, via the metro, across the Seine to the other side of Paris. It was there that we met Luidgi, a super chillin’ cool guy, who thankfully speaks good English, who we saw spinning at a bar/club the following night. We also met Camilio, who is a well-known old school skater from the 80s in France, and also a famous DJ in Paris who gets flowed all kinds of good records. We listened to him play records until the early morning in his pad, like OG versions of songs by French guys in the 40s or 50s that are sped up from 33-45 and are used by Dr. Dre. We also met Alexis who is the Vans Skate Team Manager for France, another super cool French dude, and we met a bunch of other skaters who I am planning on hanging out with and shooting photos of in the near future. The night ended at a club at 3:30am, and then walking home for 1 1/2 hours until the metro opened and then another 1/2 after that. The sun rose as we clambered up the 143 stairs to sleep.

Luidgi and Jonny - Paris Metro

The next day was similar to the last, and we went to a Vans/Cliché Magazine party (across the Seine) and there was an open bar until about 1:30. The beers were flowing but it was an absolute madhouse sweat fest. I’m not sure if you all know this, but Paris in the summer is HOT and sweaty, and without air conditioning, and very smoky. And of course, my new saying, “When In Paris”… so the spliffs were rolling and the bifters were smoking and Luidgi was spinning for some time, but not techno style, more like Sugar Hill Gang on one turn table and Franz Ferdinand/Modest Mouse/White Stripes on the other, bringing the crowd to a veritable chaotic spurt of ecstasy. That night, we returned home in rush hour traffic as everyone was going to work, and since then have taken a break from going big.

Typical street cafe/flower shop - Paris

What else? We walked to the Eiffel tower and drank some wine and had some cheese and a baguette; we met this guy Josef from Czech under the Eiffel tower who plays the Violin and lives on a low budget (hitch hiking/playing his Violin for money/etc.) and has gone to London to live for a while to make some Pounds, the most valuable currency in the world; I spoke some French and people don’t understand me very well but I’m trying, I’ve even managed a few jokes in French which gave me some hope that I can be understood; I walked up and down 143 steps about 32 times already (4576) stairs; I’ve been working on Concussion business via the internet and keeping contact with people and doing freelance work at a café, or the Laundromat (Laverie), or McDonalds (where they have free internet if you pretend to eat) or even on my balcony, where I can hack into other peoples’ wireless networks while gazing on the Eiffel tower at sunset and the hustle and bustle of Rue de Rennes below me. Until next time, when you get to hear about how I managed to surf with a broken thumb…. a bientot et salut;. Mon prochaine poste serrait a Biarritz.

- Jonny Haywire

Palais De Luxembourg

Oliver from Nozebone - bank ollie at night

Paris Headquarters

Beach Days

2005-03-29T01:04:00.000+02:00

This is me and my brother at the beach when i was 6 or something. I haven't changed much. Neither has he. You don't change. You are the way you are. You think that when you "grow up" that you will be different. Nope! You are the way you were 10 years ago, 20 years ago... You don't change inside. Grow up, sure, but you don't change. Embrace yourself. Love yourself. Or live with the anguish and pain. Life is truly like a fine wine... sure, it gets more sophisticated as you grow up, but a Merlot never becomes a Pinot, (or for you beer lovers: Life is truly like a good beer... a Pabst never becomes a Guiness)

Drink up........drink up.
[Savor yourselves.]

(Note: lt is I on the left, my brother on the right.)

Dreams

2005-02-23T22:14:00.000+01:00

Last night I dreamt I was underwater checking out the fish and reefs. Today I bought a waterproof camera for $40 that you can use while surfing to take photos of your friends getting shacked in the green room. Last night I encountered the bands "the plot to blow up the eiffel tower" and "the locust" at the Jupiter/Teen Center in Santa Cruz. What chaotic performance-indy-hardcore-rock thrashings did I soak in. Plot had a horn and thrashed around blowing on the ground while thrashing guitars and drums all around. Locust wore costums like giant bugs and played the Moog and all screamed like torture victims with poudings and guitarings all around. Something very sadomasochistic about their sound.

I bummed a clove at half time and shared it with my girlfriend in the cold, watching the young indy punkers. I hadn't sucked the sweet numbing bliss since the Modest Mouse 5 clove decantathalon; maybe there is something about the soothing sound of music and soothing smoke of the spice that connect together in my cerebral cortex. The pigs dragged away one youngster, cuffed and stuffed, but not without hitting him first several times whith his billy stick. He, ironically, had been fighting (or reportedly was getting beat up). Fight fire with fire. Tit for tat. Wic wic for a wack wack.

Last night, before aforementioned mayhem, I surfed at Sunset at Mitchell's cove in Santa Cruz. The clouds, an atomic bomb explosion from a girly carebear cartoon to the south, and an Aladdin's Lamp purple pink Arabian genie encounter to the North...and there was I, Jonny Haywire, staring into the bowels of the sewer, the most sewerphobic post-staf infected guy the world has ever met... and I sit there exposed, save for my neoprene suit, waiting for these dirty Emeralds that would crank across the inside reef 20 feet from the rock boulder jagged jetty, aligned perfectly with the vomiting sewer....Don't dump in Drain: Flows to the Bay. Fecal coliforum, staffliococus, eboli, or is it ecoli... whatever. I didn't get tainted, this time. Tonight, I return for more. Cleaner water, as the ocean has had 24 hours since to cleanse itself. 4 hours, and I return... - haywire