Queen's eve

The moon was almost completely out, but still shy, sheltering behind a thin veil of clouds. It was awfully quiet, almost unnaturally so, as I slowly cycled home. The wind was chilly, just like the weatherman had predicted, and a far, far world away from what the temperature had been during the day. Slowly I cycled home, head spinning still from the slight tipsiness induced by the loud music and alcohol. I was getting away from the the noise and choas in the city.

Queen's Eve (Koninginnenach) is perhaps the biggest national celebration in the Netherlands. It's the night before the Queen's (unofficial) Birthday, which falls on the last day of April. Since the weather is so much better than the drab dreariness and gray, and like any celebration in this country, it's always a good excuse for a big p-a-r-t-y.



For a few days in a row, people go wild in the country. The streets dye orange, as flags and banners bearing the colour of the royal family appear in a sudden frenzy. Temporarily orange-fever takes over the shelves in shops, the fashion and even the foods on offer at the supermarket. Unusually, and for the first time ever in my life, I too donned on an orange jumper to fit in.

Agreed with some friends to meet at the city centre, as traditionally The Hague has always been the place to be on Queen's Eve. Indeed, like every year, huge podiums were erected in and around the centre of town, and by the time we arrived the sea of people had already swamped what normally would be wide open squares. As expected, many were in orange, many wearing the official T-shirt of the Dutch football team, others just any odd orange shirt or pants or hats after a good dig in their closets. Lights flashed all around, as loud music drummed into ours ears.

The music was alright, but a little too random, and ended much too soon. One moment you could be swaying to something latin, and the next to a hit from the eighties, to be followed up by techno. Perhaps when you're drunk, you don't notice. And Like any open-air party, the ground was sticky, filthily littered with cups of plastic and beer bottles and coke cans. The air smelt of that smell of beer, one that I personally find nauseating, worsened as other revelers spill it onto you in their half-drunked swagger with two, three cups of beer in their hands. Walking around you had to pry your feet up in order to take the next step, of course, always mindful not to step on the delicious-looking remains of someone else's dinner (and/or lunch). At least the company of my friends was pleasant enough to make the rest seem bearable.



My favourite moment was the 'afterparty', when two girls and I ventured through the crowd and managed to end up in front of the building where we usually have classes. Right next door was a club, playing a (random) mixture of songs. Perhaps it was the alcohol acting up, or the ridiculousness of the way many fellow Dutchies were dancing around us, but we seemed to have suddenly cast off our conscious selves and indulged in what seemed like endless frolicking and fun. We did the pogo-dance and seeing each other's laughters and claps we were encouraged to go on dancing. Right there, in the middle of the street, in front of the very building we have our tedious law lectures, we probably made a fool of ourselves in front of dozens of people, but we didn't mind. We were having too much fun to mind, and kept on pogo-dancing, jumping up and down, spinning and turning around, getting higher and delirous from every single step. Up and down, we lost ourselves, seemingly forgetting all about the worries of the world, and life that goes with it, just enjoying the moment and treasuring it, and every moment of it.

Fun...