The next 5 days go by fast in a swirl of activity.
We visit Delft, a quaint old-worldy Dutch town, kept in the traditions of the 1500’s when, going by the dates on the bridges over the canals, it was built. Cobblestones, twisted, leaning renaissance houses and towers and magnificent church architecture; all on a day when the sun shines brightly enough to make you believe that Holland will have a summer this year!
Eddy takes me back to Sheveningen Beach to meet his friends, Lenny and Ramon, at Ramon’s house.
Lenny is a trainee pilot, who hopes to get a job with an airline in the next year. He and Eddy grew up together, and they recall nostalgically some of their adolescent exploits.
Ramon has studied in Australia, works in film production and editing, and relates his surfing experience at idyllic Byron Bay on Australia’s east coast. New to the sport, and not feeling well the morning after an Aussie drinking session, he paddles out not realising that the surf is huge, and soon is swept dangerously close to rocks and a bleak end. So, with great determination he uses the last of his strength to paddle out to sea, and sits there in peace, trying to pull himself back together again before another paddling attempt to shore and safety. Pretty soon though, the coastline begins to fade into the distance as the currents push him further and further out into the Pacific Ocean; next stop South America if you miss Fiji! Luckily, someone had raised the alarm, and a Coast Watch light plane sights him, buzzes him and guides a rescue boat to him, where he is gratefully taken on board.
The afternoon is dying quickly and, with a clear sky, the temperature drops to freezing. That is, for me, the other guys are sitting around in t-shirts. They are talking of going to Woosers, a nightclub on the beach. I can only think of a snow party, it’s that cold. So we walk to the beach; it’s deserted and it’s colder with another of those North Sea breezes that turns a man’s genitals blue, if you can still find them! But no, the boys insist we need to march on, and we do, down onto the beach and a concrete walkway; we go past the bars and restaurants that are hastily put up along the beach to take advantage of the brief summer. It is dark and if it’s possible, it gets colder. The beach is deserted and I’m beginning to wonder if Lenny and Ramon are planning to murder Eddy and I, it’s the perfect setting. But Lenny is a funny guy, he jokes and fools around and unbelievably, after 20 minutes of walking we come to Woosers; it’s packed and pumping, the drum and bass reverberating the timber and glass structure. It’s warmer inside but even the Dutch feel this cold and keep their coats on till they heat up with the energy the bodies in this place release. So we drink beer, jig around, take turns in silly dancing competitions, try flirting with the Dutch ice queens and have a bloody good time. All things come to an end, however, and we find ourselves, at 2am, ordering patats (french fries) with curry sauce and mayonnaise from a man who looks like a brown Sumo wrestler. Work the next day is not looking so good for our beach party hosts.
Most days I travel by bus to the library in the city centre to write, do some day trading, and get internet access. The library is large and extensive, with books and resources on many subjects in several languages. Almost everyone in Holland is multi-lingual, and they speak English well. The edges of the library rooms have single desks, for private study, and this is where mainly Muslim students, young men and women, come to interact with those of the opposite sex. It is a place away from prying eyes, no parents or brothers to enforce the strict protocol that these girls are forced to live with. They wear minimal habibs or none at all. At almost every desk there is a boy and a girl of the same culture furtively holding hands and lovelornly staring into each other’s eyes. It is very cute to witness this, but I realise the how little freedom these young women have when I overhear one say to her boy, “careful, do not leave any marks on my wrists, my mother will check them”. I am filled with a kind of hope, that this generation is taking the first steps towards a freer, more accepting version of their belief system; one that may benefit their children and others. Holland has had some trouble with extremists; a politician and a film director were both murdered for speaking out against certain religious practices. Unfortunately, it is one of the most pressing issues of this time in Europe, and France has recently moved to ban the burqa entirely in public.
Den Haag has the feel of a place I could easily slip into and lose myself in. The people are friendly but reserved, and they are extremely tolerant with a laid-back nature. Most days I run in the beech forest that surrounds the Queens residence. It is the oldest forest in Holland, but it still has the feel of something created by man, such is the Dutch penchant for remaking the landscape. The soft trails wind past small lakes, and bridges cross canals as locals walk their dogs and themselves through this enchanting forest.
I am invited to a going away party held for Eddy at his sister’s house. There I meet the Filipino side of his family, his mother and sister, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins. It is an amusing and raucous occasion, with Uncle Lito playing the clown and an amazing array of traditional Filipino food on offer. Eddy’s sister is heavily pregnant, and trades ribald jokes with the best of the men. I am touched by the hospitality that these people show to me; their offers to stay with them should I return here, which after 8 days I am already feeling nostalgic about. I thank them all, and we take our leave and go into Den Haag again, it is my last night and Eddy feels we should finish with a couple of quiet drinks and then home, as I have an early flight to catch. At around 4.30am we stagger into the flat at Mariahoven. Eddy’s insistence that I chat to the group of women from the small village near Utrecht that have come for a weekend to “celebrate life” has dragged on far too long. They and the Dutch beer take their toll, and, 2 hours later I am up and ready to take the train back to Amsterdam and the flight back to London.
I have really enjoyed Den Haag, thanks to Eddy and Thor, Lenny, Ramon, Eddy’s family, the girls at the Arts Centre cafe and so many others. I will return here; but I feel 8 days doesn’t qualify this laid-back city as a “home” in my scheme of things. So, it’s back to London to finish off my experience there.
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