Roughly two hours and exactly 30 Euros later I stepped off the NS train to meet a perfect sunshiny Sunday afternoon in the vibrant city of Rotterdam. Slap bang in the city centre I made my usual inquest excursion to the railway's information desk to find out 'where to' and 'how'. Greeted by a middle-aged information clerk - and like many of the Dutch – she was terribly abrasive and quite curt (read unfriendly) but highly skilled at the art of informing. She let me in on where to go and how exactly to get there - all in passable English.
I finally met up with Lisa – a fellow South African, who also happens to be an au pair – and like clockwork we rushed out into our first time adventure through the city’s maize and straight down the rabbit hole.
Before I continue recapping, I’ll share the fact that before embarking on the spontaneous escapade, both Lisa and I were warned about how terribly uncharming and philistinic the recently refurbished (post-1940's bombing) Rotterdam looks and how we should expect nothing more than a run-of-the-mill town. Not much of a contemporary cookie myself - I'd rather refer to me as an old soul trapped in the body of nubility - my sceptical self took the criticism with a mere pinch of salt.
Before I continue recapping, I’ll share the fact that before embarking on the spontaneous escapade, both Lisa and I were warned about how terribly uncharming and philistinic the recently refurbished (post-1940's bombing) Rotterdam looks and how we should expect nothing more than a run-of-the-mill town. Not much of a contemporary cookie myself - I'd rather refer to me as an old soul trapped in the body of nubility - my sceptical self took the criticism with a mere pinch of salt.
Unlike what I've been exposed to in the last month, this northern Dutch area is flooded with all kinds of people who break the monotony of monoculture. Black, white, yellow and red people of all shapes, sexual orientation and sizes sashay past me and Lisa without a second glance. We were one of them. It was such a comforting feeling knowing that I could relate to what I saw – coming from the metropolis of Johannesburg.
Past the tram, through the mall, alongside the McDonald’s, straight past the Armani store and onto the open road lined with tramlines, bars and quaint coffee shops (not to be mistaken for head shops). We ambled straight into the direction of a dainty little eatery called Stalles to have lunch. I ordered the goat cheese salad which I enjoyed over a beer and good conversation while paying astute attention to the good-looking, well dressed, outrageous and even plain people passing me by.
Past the tram, through the mall, alongside the McDonald’s, straight past the Armani store and onto the open road lined with tramlines, bars and quaint coffee shops (not to be mistaken for head shops). We ambled straight into the direction of a dainty little eatery called Stalles to have lunch. I ordered the goat cheese salad which I enjoyed over a beer and good conversation while paying astute attention to the good-looking, well dressed, outrageous and even plain people passing me by.
Post-lunch, our bloated bellies waddled down and around all the ugliness of the contemporary facade – courtesy of the buildings – and perambulated into the abyss of the unknown. Our poor necks, stretched and pulled and strained from stealing gazes and blatantly perving over men (and sometimes women).
We stopped in amazement at the sight of Piet Blom’s dull yellow Kubuswoningen (cubed houses). I was enthralled by the fact that even though it doesn’t quite compliment the ancient cobblestoned archway just below it, this structure happens to be the perfect metaphor for the chaos and mismatched mesh of culture and people of Rotterdam.
Through the dark archway, finally, we saw a light at the end of the rabbit hole which happened to be a grand canal, home to a vast array of pretty boat houses. On the boat decks people relaxed enjoying the sun. Old met new on an aged boat on which a line hung children’s clothing while sun rays swept through the cracks of the skyscrapers.. my kind of city.
Back in the affluent suburb of Waalre, Eindhoven – with its many Stepford-like housewives, corporate husbands and picture perfect families – where I stick out like a sore thumb, I realise that there’s something welcoming about a chaotic modern city. The immigration stats agree. The people too. Finding solace in a place that doesn’t force you to feel like an invader or look like an outsider makes it easier for immigrants, city slickers and anti-traditionalists to be at ease.
The vibrant atmosphere, the farrago of cultures, the sleepy boats on the picturesque canal and everything in between made up for the lack of century-old architecture and the conventionalism that comes with a traditional space.
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