Queen’s Day, Ouch

April 30

From what I could see of it, Queen's Day is an event to be missed in the Netherlands. It seems to consist of everything being overpriced, orange, or both.

The beers were smaller and more expensive. The street food was OK, but overpriced. There was no hope of riding a bike yesterday, so we had to pick our way through crowds of drunks. See? There’s Larry. He’s the sober one.

The streets were empty around the hotel because the police had put up fences to keep everyone on the sidewalks. There were designated crossing points. The only traffic was a convoy of buses taking Marine Band members to the Dam, where the coronation was to take place.

We tried to take the bikes to an outer ring to move around the city. The intention was to reach the east side, Utrechtsestraat and Frederiksplein, where we were told the festivities are not as intense. Alas, we found we couldn’t get there from here. We couldn’t find a way to take a bicycle outside the warren of fences.

So we locked the bikes back up and hoofed it. As it turns out, we would have had to walk the bikes farther than we would have gotten to ride them. There were a few mounted bikers over by the Amstel and the Hermitage.

I know how to get there, but today we had to take small detours because of the crowds. It’s a good thing Larry was leading. We passed through the Old City and somewhere along there, I lost all sense of bearing. It just fell out of my pocket, and don’t know why. I hadn’t touched anything stronger than English breakfast tea. 

Part of the reason is that I am used to taking the long way around by following one of the Golden Age canals, usually the Herengracht or Keizersgracht, in a loop back to the neighborhood of the hotel, so I think of Utrechtsestraat as being east of my hotel. When I look at the map, the head of the street, which begins at Rembrandtplein, is almost due south.

All the streets are crowded not only with people wearing orange clothes, but also with stalls set up by restaurants, stores, bars, and people selling stuff from their closets. Apparently this is the only time of year that the Dutch can hold garage sales.

There is booming canned music everywhere: from boats, on street corners, inside bars. 

When we got to Utrechtsestraat it was pretty jammed. The uncanny thing was that we could turn into a side street, or even onto one of the canals, and suddenly the noise died. Except for a Dutch flag with an orange streamer, you couldn’t tell the city was under siege.

We stopped at a shop and bought something medicinal for Sir Michael to smoke, because we were heading to his house for a while. We had a snack of little pancakes called poffertjes.

We bought a four-ounce beer on the street for three euros. One euro was a deposit on the cup to discourage people from dropping them everywhere. The streets are already littered with trash and broken glass from the Queens Night celebrations.

This photo was taken not far from Bush Docter, where we stopped on the way to Sir Michael's.

This is bizarre, too, because this is generally a clean city. Except for occasional deposits of dog shit on the sidewalks, usually to be avoided early in the day.

We stopped in at the Cafe Krom for Pilsner Urquell, which was served in a half-size glass for 3.5 euros. They were charging people off the street and customers at the bar a euro to use the toilet.

Other observations: Airhorns are very popular here for raising senseless noise. Frat boys and jocks are identical the world over.

One boat on the Keizers(or maybe the Herren)gracht had a reveler holding an orange flare.

When we got to Sir Michael’s, he was entertaining four women. Sir Michael is a charming, well-informed man of my generation who surrounds himself with young women. Nothing wrong with that, right?

One of the women there was a friend who looks after him. Two others may have been a couple. I'm not sure. 

The fourth was dressed for the holiday, in an orange vest and an orange derby, suggesting a Bob Fosse production in which the colors had gone strangely awry.  

We sat in front of the TV and watched the end of the coronation ceremony. This was a rite where everybody from parliament had to stand one after the other and individually affirm or swear loyalty to the constitution. Maybe to the king, too. I don't speak Dutch. 

The king and everyone else had to file out of the Nieuwe Kerk and perform very slow and dignified stroll back to the palace, maybe 50 yards. There was a carpet and canopy defining the way so none of them would get lost. 

The king was probably best off. It is a cold spring here. He got to wear an ermine cape against the breeze.

Sir Michael’s apartment overlooks the Prinsengracht, and although there were boats in the Herrengracht and Keizersgracht, the Prinsengracht was clearly the canal of choice for Queen’s Day.

After we left Sir Michael’s we headed back in the general direction of Haarlemmerstraat. We crossed the Skinny Bridge over the Amstel, and came through the Nieuw Markt.

I only saw one fight between drunks, and that was on the way back through the old city. One guy was so drunk he could hardly stand straight. He wound up staggering backwards into me as I went by.

When Larry and I got to Barney’s Uptown on Haarlemmerstraat, I was fairly bushed. We had some Hartog Jan beers and I finished the last of the spacecake I had started the day before.

I wasn’t overly hungry, but we were able to polish off some nachos and hummus, along with a couple of beers more.

The street vendors were clearing up as we sat in the window. One family had been selling sunglasses and belts and began to break downs their display tables.

Another family had pulled up in a car (don’t know how they got it there) and started to cover it with tablecloths. No, not tablecloths. They were scarves, and they had ball fringe. 

A lady was helped from a wheel chair by another couple. She sat on a bench on the sidewalk. She is clearly a familiar and well-liked figure in this neighborhood. People young and old, including Barney’s bartender Woody, went up to speak to her and to sit with her for a while.

One of the men selling scarves came over to her. At first, I thought he was taking advantage of her and trying to intimidate her into buying one. But no, he gave it to her.

The family hawked their scarves for the best part of an hour and then packed it in.

The wine store across the street was overrun by a crowd of kids. Every once in a while one would open a bottle of sparkling wine and the jet of spray would rise over all their heads. Sort of like New Year’s Eve in Barcelona.

But eventually the crowd thinned out. Slow processions of sore and injured people were trooping home or somewhere. By this time, I wasn’t in much better shape, so I headed back to the room for some rest.

As Sinterklaas says on Queen's Day, happy birthday to all and to all a good night.