I arrived yesterday to a grey Amsterdam and what a day it was - I met some talkative stoners, ate some amazing Thai food, walked around the Waterlooplein market and bought a few knickknacks, and then headed to the appartment I've rented for a dinner with the couple I'm renting from and a friend of theirs who they hadn't seen for 17 years (!!!) who was in Europe for La Biennale di Venezia (the Venice Biennale), which is a major contemporary art show that takes place on odd (numbered) years.
The couple I'm renting from are really interesting people. She's Dutch - grew up in South Africa and used to run a squat where Nirvana once came and hung out for a couple of nights. He's French Canadian and has lived in a cave in India and worked at a coffeeshop in A'dam for years. Even their friend who lives Santa Cruz has an interesting story about living in India and backpacking the world once upon a time. Now she's a mother of a teenage daughter and owns a boutique in Santa Cruz, California.
To say I am damn lucky to have met these people is an understatement.
The couple I'm renting from are really interesting people. She's Dutch - grew up in South Africa and used to run a squat where Nirvana once came and hung out for a couple of nights. He's French Canadian and has lived in a cave in India and worked at a coffeeshop in A'dam for years. Even their friend who lives Santa Cruz has an interesting story about living in India and backpacking the world once upon a time. Now she's a mother of a teenage daughter and owns a boutique in Santa Cruz, California.
To say I am damn lucky to have met these people is an understatement.
This is what makes life worth living.
I love strangers. Every stranger is the possessor of a story that is only unique to them. Every person is a Russian novel. There are hundreds of characters and dozens of life circumstances and decisions and love gone wrong. When you meet a certain type of "special person" let's say - a person who is in some way extraordinary and has even the slightest gift to recount those moments in their life that they think is worth mentioning - it means your life won't be the same. These types of people will inspire you; enrich you; and perhaps that joie de vivre for marching to the beat of a different drummer will infect you. It is like ambrosia to a non-Olympian like me.
And what I regret most about French culture is this: French people are very close-fisted with their stories. Friendship is not easily given; talking to strangers not encouraged; and stories are slowly revealed because afterall our blood is Latin too - we French do love us some drama.
We stay up late even though they all have an early morning flight. We go through three bottles of wine (He's also a manager of a wine shop here in Holland.), a few Dutch cigarettes, and swap stories. We talk about moral dilemmas - how would you tell a co-worker that they have bad body ordour and why it shouldn't be a social stigma to not want children. I found out He used to live in a cave in India near where the Dali Lama lives and that he received mail and visitors like it was just like any other address. Their friend told me about the Santa Cruz surf culture and what's going on with the weed culture in California. She smiled and laughed constantly and worried about the packing.
I wrote and wrote and wrote yesterday and it seems like I'm going to write a lot today too!
Verdict:
Life is lovely pour cette femme flâneuse, thank you very much.
I hope you have something equally lovely you're enjoying right now too.
In case you need a little inspiration this morning.
