Orange, Orange, Orange

Queens Day, by all means EPIC.

April 30th commemorates the birthday of the former Queen of the Netherlands, Beatrix, and for some reason it also provides justification for a national holiday with: minimal governmental regulation (thereby allowing anybody to sell virtually anything anywhere--minus drugs and things of the like), endless boats streaming through the canals, unprompted dancing in the streets (no exaggeration), and every shade of orange you can imagine to be worn, held, and shown.

The day technically starts the night before under the heading of Queen's Night. That night actually happened to be a (Dutch) friend's birthday, so we headed over to his place (quite late, even for my standards) where the festivities began. Afterward we took to the streets which were bombarded with people drinking and generally gallivanting, all in the name of the Queen of course.
I ran into the Spanish who had conveniently positioned themselves along a major canal so that they were easy to spot (though they generally are, being that the girls are all 5 feet, tiny, and in the state of constant dance and the men always happen to be laughing for no particular reason). Meeting them was the highlight of the night (they're such fun people, I highly recommend a Spanish posse--though one that you only see occasionally, they'll run you down with their stamina for dance, alcohol, and general merriment).

The next day we headed to the boat, at 11 in the morning! It may not seem like much of a task but after the night before, it wasn't exactly easy. Also, drinking early isn't all that appealing. However, the boat was the best idea! Again, it was a boat usurped by the Spanish for which all the non-Spanish were grateful. We were easily one of the loudest boats to pass through the canals but b/c of the theme of the day, it only seemed fitting.

After the boat we ended up at Angela's (another friend, actually a coach) apartment where a dance party spontaneously occurred and news of the current Queen's assassination attempt hit. The information caused a few waves (and shivers) but not serious or long enough to prevent us from continuing. We left Angela's in the direction of Museumplein (where some of the biggest festivities were occurring) only to be distracted by another impromptu dance party, this time in the street. That was probably the highlight of that day--the unfiltered excitement in the streets was amazing! Once we headed towards Museumplein we got caught in the worst human traffic I've ever been a part of (sardines, literally sardines). Once we made it out of there we ended up in Vondelpark (again, still not at Museumplein), crashing onto the grass to regain some semblance of energy.

By the time we got to Museumplein, the day's activities had come to a close. Apparently the Queen's assassination attempt had put a hold on the rest of the planned events (Tiesto finished much earlier than expected). It was not a big deal though, the day had been long enough.

Schiermonnikoog

Like most places in the world, the Netherlands is home to several booming cities (in addition to neighboring towns and sleepy distant provinces) and a few vacation islands. Schiermonnikoog is one of them and to many natives it's considered the less interesting one, but to everyone else it's the overabundant mud haven which is impossible to pronounce. The trip was arranged through CIEE and intended to be a sort of a camp/country outing. To get to Schiermonnikoog you must first get to Groningen (the other Dutch city we went to about a month ago) and then take a ferry--it's a schelp is what I'm trying to say.

Once we got off the boat, we got our bikes and we literally rode off into the sunset along the greenest fields I have ever seen. Along one side were whitewashed stones and sea and on the other were hills of green. Our destination was a cabin situated on one of the quiet streets of the town. There was a kitchen and eating area and several rooms stocked with bunk beds--camp like every cliche. In true camp fashion we stayed up late playing some silly game until we trudged our bodies to bed, setting our alarms for 5:00 AM to wake up to do some mud-walking (pictures on facebook). I had bought cheap boots for the occasion for which I praised myself, only to find that the mud was stronger than my intution. There were moments I couldn't move without falling deeper into my semi-soft, but always threatening, dirt surroundings (at which point the early morning "breeze" was a hell of a bonus). When I finally un-submerged my feet from the treacherous, all-consuming mud, I took a look around where we were: miles of uncovered, low tide--with the sun just slightly hovering above. I never thought mud could be so picturesque.

After the mud walking we rode around Schiermonnikoog, through the trails in the forest, along the various green fields, and by the beach. It epitomized "scenic." That same night we had a bonfire on the beach where many of the boys showed off their boyscouting abilities in building a fire. Like I said, camp.

And by that I mean Wonderful!