Friday, December 09, 2011


Sometimes you wonder at your own conviction. Why was NOT doing something important? You should have done it anyway! And how come achieving certain goals really gives you a deep warm feeling of satisfaction?

Explanations often don't make sense.
We do things that represent our imagination, and consequently they are not always logical. What we desire is not the same as what others want. And freedom of choice comes into play.
Our actions define us.

Hindsight makes us consider what we could have done.


I rushed, having wasted too much time at a restaurant on the Looiers Gracht.
It isn't that far to Centraal Station on the Prins Hendrik Kade - a quick trot up the Run Straat and the Huiden Straat, and moments later you're on the Singel.
From there on, no sweat. It's cool, baby.
Except that when it's the middle of a heat wave you cannot help it.
Sweating, that is.
It wasn't cool.
Moisture trickled down my face and torso when I entered the carriage in the nick of time.
Last train from Amsterdam that evening.

It was also too hot inside. A breeze blew through the compartments from windows open at the top, soothing, but still warm.
Once you're used to the heat you just go with it; I was moist when I disembarked after midnight in Eindhoven, but at that point it didn't bother me. After all, who the heck is going to object? Chances are that they are just as deliciously wet.
There was no one else in the bus to Valkenswaard except the driver. And there was no hurry anymore either.
Alone, just the two of us, we rolled through the Brabant countryside, windows wide open. It was incredibly thick on the bus -- If I could have gotten away with it, I would've stripped completely, but the driver might have resented that liberty.
Envious types, bus drivers.

After Aalst we picked up speed. There is nothing except dark road through the forest for several miles, and we roared down the narrow corridor. There were blazes of light at intervals as other vehicles passed us, but other than that, hot black night and exhilaration.
Soaked from our own sweat, we made smacky noises as we rushed along, with each bounce from the uneven road lifting us from our sopping seats.
Imagine the sound of a happy frog here, plunging into a pond.


When we arrived in Valkenswaard the bars and restaurants in the centre of town were closed. Late at night the market square has a desolate charm. Our church tower glowed in the streetlights, but the steeple disappeared upwards, invisible beyond the dense canopy of trees.
The darkness above seemed soft, no stars visible.
Moist air keeps in much of the heat.

Sleep wasn't possible. Brick walls absorb heat during the day, radiate it in inwards at night.
Even lying on my bed entirely naked, it felt like being covered with velvet warmth.
I merely dozed in the time between the hourly ringing of the church bells.
Could've remained in Amsterdam instead of heading home that night.
A quiet hotel room, shower, sheets crisp against the skin.
The train in the morning would have been cooler.
Why hadn't I stayed in the delicious city?
It would've been a new experience.
Alluring, tempting exciting.
A slow golden evening.

Wet and very nice.

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1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Interesting read.

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