Orange Noise

My noise-cancelling headphones are on the charger. Groceries will be delivered tomorrow afternoon. I am still deciding between a month sub on HBO or Netflix to keep me distracted. Because around 5 pm tomorrow afternoon, six (!) live music stages within spitting distance of my front door will simultaneously decide to find out who can be loudest. This is King’s Night. It runs until 2am, followed by groups of people continuing the party on their doorsteps.

Then on Monday, King’s Day itself arrives: the entire population of the Netherlands, plus several neighbouring countries, pours into my street dressed head to toe in orange. They are transported by extra-long trains specifically commissioned to ensure maximum crowd density in my neighbourhood. The municipality of Amsterdam then kindly asks residents to stay in their own neighbourhood, which is a bit like setting someone’s house on fire and suggesting they stay indoors.

By Monday evening, every doorway and portico in the city has been repurposed as a toilet. The streets now are one huge pile of garbage. The canals smell. The streets smell. Everything smells. It is, technically, a party.

Saturnessa