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Queensday
Get your orange accessories here!11:30pm. I am walking into a club followed by two imposing bodyguards. Dressed in baggy jeans, flat shoes and a loose long-sleeved v-neck t-shirt, I garner no attention from the good-looking men around me, who stare instead at the tall men behind me. It's Queensday and my great friend, Koert, his brother, Menno, and I have outlasted our other party pals in the national celebrations of the Dutch Queen's birthday.
We've been dancing in the chaotic streets of Amsterdam for 10 hours already, hopping from open-air clubs to small streets with students blasting beats from their apartment windows. We could go home and pass out now, but as we walk into the hip Odeon Club, our night is just getting started. After spending a beautiful sunny day sharing cold Heinekens and dancing to house music with our pack of party animals (including a very cuddly tiger and lioness) at Westermarkt, we have ended up in the gay district where revelers continue to groove into the wee hours of the morning. Now, having skipped the last train back to Koert's town, we're walking into the gay-for-the-night club for one of the best after-hours parties in the city.
Though our bodies
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Prime location for watching festivities in the street ache from our tired necks to our flattened feet, the DJ's upbeat set keeps us moving through the night, as does the sight (well, maybe not for Koert and Menno) of good-looking shirtless men milling around us, their toned muscles glistening under the flashing lights. None of them will come near me, preferring to save their flirtatious energy for each other; but the resulting electric atmosphere and my freedom from sticky dance partners confining me to their own unchanging rhythm eases the sting of my sudden unpopularity.
By 3am we are admittedly counting down until we can leave the club to rest our tired selves, but an impromptu drag queen show and increasingly bizarre projections on the giant screens hanging over the dance floor help pass the time. Finally 4:30 comes and we limp our way back onto the streets - quiet and empty at last except for a few swaggering stragglers - into a cab and over to Amsterdam Central station to catch the first train back to Venendaal. With the train to ourselves and my protectors ensuring we don't miss our stop, I surrender to fatigue, my body still vibrating imperceptibly to the great beats of the
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Sailing dance parties on the canals last 15 hours. We don't fall into bed until 8am, our eyelids heavy, our legs in indescribable pain, but within minutes I'm reliving a party even better than what I'd expected upon my arrival in the Netherlands. In fact, I'll probably be dreaming about this party until I can come back and do it again someday.
Proost to Koert, the Queen and these wonderful Dutch parties!
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Dana
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Can't wait to read about your next adventures ;-) Glad you are having a great time in Amsterdam!!!