If I had to write a post about The Hague, barely five lines would be enough. One line to warn you that The Hague is the political capital of Holland where the Parliament and the Queen's little house are; other line to mention that the famous International Court - that resolves conflicts such as the ocean dispute between Peru and Chile- is placed there; a third one to recommend you that there is a fascinating museum dedicated to the brilliant Escher; a fourth one to invite you to walk through the Scheveningen’s dunes and artificial beaches, and finally, one to suggest a fleeting visit to Delft. I was in Holland for 18 months but never lived there. I lived in a bubble, package away and oblivious to what was happening in that orange country. Can you imagine it? To live in a bubble during eighteen months.

In my bubble, I never needed to work but there was money available in all the ATMs. Studying was a good excuse to live barefoot and without an umbrella. The beers grew wild in the corners. I smelled, heard, licked, touched, flew (or tried) everything that I could reach. I was happy shaking soft black, pale yellow, raw white, toasted cinnamon and rough blue hands. I comprehended that beauty comes in many colors; that we were so exactly alike in a laugh. I discovered richness in every curve of the world, in many different shapes and diverse scents. I sowed friends across continents. I thank for the confidence. I was a collector of secrets. Soon I realize that all hearts beat more or less the same. I was happy waking up at 115. But if you ask me what my home address was, I would not know what to say.

I used to leave my bubble once a week to stock up on food at a place called Albert Heijn (if I’m writing it well) and came back soon after “putting” among my buying, a good piece of steak. Thinking twice I would have done more master’s studies. When I recall The Hague, I think I should have embraced more colors, tasted more flavors, worn more disguises, climbed not one but two trees or swam more in the chilly ocean. I found that when it rains, everybody gets wet without difference; that the warmth of a hug is warmer when it comes from four arms. I was happy waking up at 115 at noon. However, if you ask me how to say "hello" or "friend" in Dutch, I would not know what to say. So, about Holland I could not tell much more than cheese, tulips, sex and marijuana. What a tourist can tell you after visiting Amsterdam in a weekend.

In this bubble, my skills woke or increased exponentially. I baked yummy dishes; played better the ball; synchronized better my dancing. I was even more attractive or less repulsive - as you want to see it. How many times I woke up at 115 at noon and went back to sleep till very late at night. In my bubble, there was no timetable. I would have liked there was no time at all. When I think about The Hague, I think I should have eaten less wheat and drunk more barley.

In my bubble I lived a brotherhood. Many of us felt (more) socialist. Of course, sometimes it sounded foolish and pretended. Nevertheless, from the bubble, we thought we could change the world. Maybe it was true: we played at being “bearded”; romantic left-wing followers, but I discovered that there is no much difference between your dreams and mine. I would have liked to believe in revolutions, those that start from the bottom and from the left. But if you ask me what model of development we must follow to alleviate poverty, I must confess, I would hesitate what to say.

Of course, there were dark moments; gloomy and swampy things that flooded my bubble, but I can not complain and just accept the consequences. I knew the pain and bitterness. I also realized then I could cause much pain and understood how heavy the guilt may be. I found no difference between your tears and mine; that we are all so helpless when naked. However, if you ask me if we behave in this way by nature, I confess, I would not know what to say. I believe if I put all on the scale, those good moments would outweigh those bad ones. But bubbles are neither eternal nor rooted on the ground. One day I woke up and it was not the 115. I was in India.

*The international Court pic was taken from Dorus, my flat. **Text is influenced by "Instants" (whose urban legend says that it was written by Borgues) and "We are all water" (Yoko's lyrics but never ever you should listen the song).

Posted by Cerdas Travesías on
categories: , , edit post


Post a Comment

Travesias Pasadas

El cerdo

My photo
Blog donde se ofrece una mirada sobre temas politicos y sociales del Peru y Latinoamerica. Además Se relatan costumbres y aventuras vividas por el mundo, incluido un registro fotográfico del mismo.

Cerdo recomienda

Abrir en una nueva ventana


free counters