Holland in hindsight or fat joint and a funky beat

Grafitti in Amsterdam

Marcel!  My favourite Dutchman (sorry Ben!) was there with open arms to greet me at the train station.  I must say I did shed a tear, I’m not quite sure why perhaps a mix of excitement and sheer exhaustion.  All that travel, all that sign language, all the attitude you cop as a traveller really wears you down, so a friendly face and a cuddle did the trick. 

Marcel & I

Marcel lives in what I can only describe as “Little Africa Town”, I’m not kidding he lives on Pretoria Lane and is probably one of the only whites on the street.  Like a culturally diverse episode of Postman Pat.

Marcel had some friends come over for dessert and tea the first night and I ate something I can only describe as heaven.  I cannot remember the name of it but it’s like thin-soft-almost-pastry-but-not-hollow ball filled to the point of explosion when you bite into it with whipped cream and then, as if that wasn’t enough, covered in a soft buttery chocolate. I love The Netherlands.  Rotterdam was one of the rare places in the world where I could actually see myself living.  Although the amount of Dutch people I have met since then have told me that Rotterdam in not the bees knees...I’m inclined to disagree.  Maybe it’s because I was in a post-Uganda haze but I thought it was fabulous, walking along the waterfront, dodging tram-ish looking transport things, going to the awesome supermarket down the street.  I think food is one of those things that amazes me the most about anywhere in the world. 

Andrea Stultiens & some funky street art

But I did venture outside of Rotterdam.  The fabulous and super famous Andrea Stultiens was having a photography exhibition near Maastricht so Marcel and I tripped out to Maastricht, a quaint villagey-style town filled with bakeries and second hand markets.  That’s really about all I have to say about Maaaaaaastricht.  

The exhibition was interesting and I managed to get myself in a Dutch newspaper thanks to the fact that I wore my kitenge.  Oh and they served free sushes...(starts drooling) sushes...like the first cream filled pastry but smaller and without the chocolate on top.  People were staring I ate that many.  Like all of them, I was like a hunger strike patron who just won the fight, stuffing them in my mouth, grabbing them out of people’s hands so I could have them all to myself.  Sharing clearly not a concept I was partaking in.

It's just like riding a bike...stupid saying

The next day I went to Njemejin (or something like that) to spend the night with Andrea at her super lovely house.  We rode push bikes to the after-party of the World Music Festival and watched Colombian band Choc Quib Town perform.  They were incredible!  Latino Hip-Hop at it’s finest.  I forgot how white people dance though, it was hilarious...all that dancing out of tune.  There is a great beat there, Hollandish people just can’t follow it.

Next on my list of adventures was Amsterdam.  Amsterdam.  Oh wow.  First stop was the Rasta Baby Cafe!  It went like this;

I just looked at it...that's all...

Me: “Excuse me, do you have coffee here?”

Rasta: “Nah man”

Me: “Do you have any food here?”

Rasta: “Nah man”

Me: “ooookkkk.....so then I’ll just have a fat ass joint and a bottle of water.”

Rasta: “good choice”

Just then the one and only Neville Valentine (reggae Artiste) came in and chatted with me for a bit, gave me a signed album of his and his card and just like that he was gone...I was in awe, I was inspired, I was damn hungry!  

So copious amounts of food later I headed to the penis shaped monument in the centre of town to meet Dave Thom and Ali, old volunteers of Edirisa who are now all loved up together in Amsterdam.  We visited the World Press Photography Exhibit which was mind blowing then I managed to haul my light headed arse down the hooker filled alleys to the train station back to Rotterdam.  Where I ate more food, of course.