Hiep-hiep-hiep hoera
Koninginnedag, as the Dutch call it, is celebrated on April 30th and is unlike anything you've ever imagined. The streets turn into a sea of chaos. All are raising a glass for the birthday of Queen Juliana. Before continuing on, let's clarify a few thing first. Juliana is not the current queen. Her daughter, Beatrix, is the Queen of the Netherlands. Now the problem with Lady Beatrix is that her birthday falls is the dead of winter and let me just say, Dutch winters are NOT pretty. Certainly not the opportune time to hold a massive street party. So rather, let us wish a happy birthday to Juliana and thank her for giving the Netherlands one more excuse to celebrate.
Picture this: Everyone decked out in all shades of orange imaginable. Shirts. Shorts. Shoes. Socks. Paint. Balloon hats. Feathers... galore. The streets are packed, crawling with critters of inebriation. Everyone is pressed up against each other. The canals are crammed with boats unable to float further.
Shall I recount my day?
I wake to small cleans, rushed polishing for the celebration of the Queen. I shun my cup of coffee and trade it in for prosecco. The Cocomama crew clinks glasses and together we dive amongst massive bean bags, or 'fat boys', as my camera clicks capturing our sober smiles mid air.
The vodka-soaked watermelon is sliced and the laughter roars within the lounge. And so the party begins...
With Bogdan, our eccentric Romanian cleaner, I prepare to lead a group of guests out amongst the crowds of the straats. My cola bottle is clean and within I've concocted a mixture of rum and juices from our honesty bar- take a drink, put a euro in our piggy bank. With that and one final pee I am ready to go.
Outside Cocomama's door the city is alive. The feathers already flood the streets. Only the bravest of the Dutch dare attempt cycling through the orange cloud. Snack stands set up shop as five year olds charge you a euro to predict which direction a beetle will travel in. Guess right? You win a Heineken. At the other side of the table they pick their nose and sell you cupcakes...
Together we shuffle, stopping only for a photo shoot consisting of positions taken five minutes prior. Bathroom breaks are long and lacking coordination for everyone's bladders are bursting at different moments and all are trying to hold out from paying a euro for porter potty use. It's okay though, it makes for opportune time to bombard a Dutch boat for... as I'm sure you've guessed... more pictures.
We wander until we are stopped by music from above. Saxophone notes pour atop our heads, showering us with a beat that pulses through our veins. Above us, a bridge is built housing the music we boogie to. To our right, a bar is set up, taps flowing into plastic cups requiring a € 1 deposit that most will never see again. Instantaneously, we are all smiles, in agreement that we have found our spot. Glasses are raised, cheering to the baby stroller surfing above the crowd. The American militants twirl the Aussies as the Canadian flight attendant makes Dutch connections. The Tahitian and Frenchman link arms, sharing their language as the quiet Portuguese girl takes the moment in. Bogdan lassos his shirt above the Burger King crown he dons atop his head and the Russian's smile melts my heart. The German captures it all through his camera lens as our countries blend together in honor of the late Queen Juliana.
Hip hip hooray and hartelijik gefeliciteerd. All hail the madness of Queensday 2011.
Outside Cocomama's door the city is alive. The feathers already flood the streets. Only the bravest of the Dutch dare attempt cycling through the orange cloud. Snack stands set up shop as five year olds charge you a euro to predict which direction a beetle will travel in. Guess right? You win a Heineken. At the other side of the table they pick their nose and sell you cupcakes...
...anything goes today.
We lead our line to Leidseplein, the street so packed no one is really moving. I grab hold of an Aussie. The pushing is endless though, and my grip is lost. I find myself drifting towards the other side of the street. It brings me back to almost drowning in Australia, as a force beyond my control takes hold of my body. I can see my friends and yet I am powerless. This time, however, it feels as though I may be taken down by a stampede of orange intoxication. Channeling my inner New Yorker, I begin to dodge through the mass, weaving and weaseling myself back to the head of the Coco pack.
Together we shuffle, stopping only for a photo shoot consisting of positions taken five minutes prior. Bathroom breaks are long and lacking coordination for everyone's bladders are bursting at different moments and all are trying to hold out from paying a euro for porter potty use. It's okay though, it makes for opportune time to bombard a Dutch boat for... as I'm sure you've guessed... more pictures.
Hip hip hooray and hartelijik gefeliciteerd. All hail the madness of Queensday 2011.
the english language bows down to you, my dear...your blogs are always wonderful.
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