I wake up early to the light and the sound of a mess of
animal noises; bellowing cattle, sheep, the rasp of geese, the repetitive song
of blackbirds developing a singular audio seed into expanding, Bach like
variations, rippling ever outwards in complexity, the playful squabble of
sparrows, who fight to gain purchase on the outer metal frame of the tent,
depositing sticky globules of shit on the outer covering. It is a nice sound, but
much too early! Off to Delft, which I arrive at in about 2 hours. Camp-site closed. Hmmm, that’s what comes of having a campsite book published 15 years
ago. Hey Ho! Off to Amsterdam then. It was sort of inevitable!
After getting hopelessly lost on the Amsterdam ring-road, I think,
Sod This! I know the city pretty well and I can get my bearings from the
inside, so I head to the centre and manage to find a parking space on Rokin.
Perfect. I scout around and find a cheap hotel. Sorted. They have an
arrangement where someone picks up your car and delivers it back the following
day. Dubiously I agree. Ahmed from Iraq turns up. Giving someone 31 Euros to steal your car sounds like a good idea, so that’s what I do.
Amsterdam at any time is just great. At night it is pure
street theatre! The bars, the coffee shops (a few less than there used to be,
but still 180, so I’m told), the fantastic architecture and the Red Light District,
with prostitutes of all shapes and sizes in windows, framed by red lights,
gesturing provocatively to Le Flaneur, in a mechanical, enticing, somehow
compulsive and well-practiced theatrical performance. Everything is
choreographed, from the clothing, to the glances, to the increased movement of hips and
legs as someone becomes interested. In truth, the most attractive women are the
ones on the street side of the glass who openly ogle with friends or as part of
a couple. Their male companions pretend not to look really, although they do,
furtively and with a pretence of not being that interested at all. It is all a
performance, of course, onlooker and looker upon (and the observational roles become
interchangeable, after a time) and it is not clear who is performing the most. I
wander the streets, meandering from one bar to another and chatting with
various people in each, constantly losing my bearings and then suddenly finding
them again, although not always quite from the direction I was expecting, which is always a pleasant surprise! Cosmopolitan, sometimes raucous, easy going, friendly,
picturesque, seedy, open and honest, pungent, humane, quirky, full of vitality and
energy! I really like this country and this city!
After a couple of days on the north coast in the rain, at
Sint Marteenszee (I realise I have to choose a type of rain to like, because if I don't like any types at all, I'm going to be in trouble), I pluck up courage. I’m both nervous and excited. I used to
look at maps and atlases and wistfully imagine myself in those far off places.
One of those places was the thin ribbon of land, that windswept road, the A7, battered
by the elements, that runs from Den Helder, across the Ijsselmeer to Harlingen.
It is a straight road that looks no thicker than a hair pulled tight and
perhaps about to break. Just the sheer audacity of it! I used to imagine what
it was made of: pontoons lapped by water, a great dyke, a bridge, a thin strip
of concrete at sea level, barely wide enough to allow two cars to pass each
other by and which, when the weather is rough, occasionally get washed off the
road completely by the towering grey waves, never to be seen again, oak barrels tied to planks by thick ropes? It has
mythical status in my mind. I can see the start of the road in the distance and
the hairs on my arms and neck rise in anticipation. I don’t care if I’m
washed away! Suddenly I’m on it, a perfectly straight road, a dual carriageway,
with a raised dyke wall, seawards to the left and the vast Ijsselmeer to my
right, just a stone’s throw away, in cool, hazy March sunshine. How fantastic
is this, although a little tamer than my wildest imaginings! There is a coffee
shop half way along, so I stop and drink strong Dutch coffee whilst looking at
this inland sea, the point that all Dutch sailing ships from Amsterdam would
have passed on their way to travel around the world. I press onwards, stopping at the other parking places along the way to savour the experience and then suddenly it is over; the inland sea gives way to flat, green fields. I have
a strange sense of elation, like I have achieved something very special. A
lifelong ambition has been realised? Well, yes it has and, as if on cue, the CD
begins playing ‘Lucky Man’ by The Verve. I certainly am! With fire in my hand. I am expecting the world to have changed, but
it still looks the same: large, wide grey skies (with many different shades of
grey), the occasional church spire on the distant horizon, willows at the side
of the road, with all their branches removed, looking like defiant forearms and
fists resisting the sky. Nothing much has changed, but also something has
changed. That’s dual-carriageways for you. Some have mythical and mystical properties.
You have impeccable musical taste Mike! And that road under the spring sunshine is just beautiful! never thought I'd get excited about tarmac... :-) x
ReplyDeleteYes, funnily enough, I have a couple of CDs put together by a mad women. Do you know her at all? :-) x
ReplyDelete