Let's Get Naked and See if We Can Sort Things Out

The attorneys I work for invited me to a birthday celebration for our client, Vlade (not his real name but I’m tired of calling him, our client). I went to the bar and waited for almost an hour. No one ever showed up. While futilely waiting for my team I noticed a girl wearing a Seattle University sweatshirt, speaking in an American accent. I asked if she knew my buddy, Ghalib, who had transferred from Florida Coastal. She didn’t but we talked for a while and her English friend took down my email address. They are both interns at the ICTY. I invited them to the ironically named, Summertime Music Festival, that was to take place today. They seemed interested.

Kirsten (the English girl) sent me an email this morning saying they were going to try to make the festival. I got to the festival at about 1:30 and didn’t recognize anyone. It was set up under a couple of tents in the middle of the park behind my house. The park is called, Haagse Bos (The Hague Forest). It isn’t really a forest; it is more like the Central Park of The Hague. There were two stages, a main stage that housed the bigger acts and a satellite stage that showcased one man folk acts. The performances ranged from Caribbean dancing to indie rock.

When I first got there it was almost empty. I’d say there were about twenty people. The crowd was young and everyone was wearing, for lack of a better word, alternative clothing. I packed light for the trip to Europe so my wardrobe is limited. The rain forced me to wear my navy blue and white Florida Coastal rain jacket, navy blue and white Adidas sweatpants, my blue and white New Balance sneakers, and my Mets hat. I looked like a track coach. I felt like a high school quarterback crashing a Dungeons and Dragons convention.

The satellite stage featured a girl with a keyboard singing some folk songs. It seemed like a lost scene from Napoleon Dynamite. She had a glamour shot 8 ½ x 11 poster of herself and CD’s for sale. Maybe five people were watching and three of them, including me, clapped after every song. I didn’t see my new intern friends and considered leaving. Something made me stay. I don’t know whether it was the family, who seemed to be constantly fighting, setting up to sell Dutch food or the guy who stopped me and asked if I would mind filling out a survey that kept me from leaving. I’m glad I stayed. A British pop band came on the main stage. Three boys aged 17 or 18, singing lyrics they ripped off of a Dashboard Confessional album. I know it sounds like torture but it really wasn’t. They were not that bad. In between songs the keyboardist/vocalist would speak in Dutch and then the guitarist/vocalist would speak in English. It was crazy. They weren’t saying the same thing. It wasn’t like the English speaking guy was translating. In fact, at times they were communicating with each other but in different languages. About that time I noticed that there were dogs everywhere. Wet dogs. I guess you get used to wet dogs when live in a country that suffers from a perpetual downpour. Dog owners just take their dogs outside as if nothing is different. What else can you do? You can’t wait out the rain. It is not going to stop. I wonder if Dutch dogs are bilingual. I know dogs don’t actually understand the language but I wonder if they respond to English in the same way as Dutch. I should have experimented.

After the emo/Britpop/indie band I watched a singer songwriter on the satellite. That is where I got the title for this entry. I think he was Dutch but his lyrics were in English. Most of his songs said something about, “sorting things out.” This was a particularly creative way to work in his theme. During his set I got up the mettle to purchase some food from the angry family. My apprehension was due to the fact that, 1) they were angry and 2) the sign was in Dutch. I think the mother/wife was Indonesian. There is a large Indonesian population in Holland as a result of colonization. The lady was making some kind of fried ball of something and it looked delicious. I watched a brave soul go over and order one. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing either so he is my hero. The guy on stage was still sorting things out so I could not tell whether they were speaking English but I decided to jump in anyway. The lady did speak English albeit with a very think accent. I pretty much nodded my way through the transaction and at the end I had a fried ball of something split in two and stuffed with hot sauce and sweet chicken. I ordered a water to which she replied, “why o re?” I asked her to repeat herself, which she did bringing us back to square one. She finally walked over to the beverage display and pointed to the white bottle of wine, “why o re?” We eventually got it straight and the meal was awesome. I stayed for a couple more shows including a Caribbean dance show. The girls were sisters (twins I reckon). They were wearing some sort of traditional garb; I’m not exactly sure what I saw because they were speaking in Dutch but I’m pretty sure they said something about Suriname, a place I cannot locate on a map. You may not be able to tell in the picture but they are wearing Dolce and Gabana t-shirts. Strange afternoon.