Don’t let dull Delft and its ten dudes for every gal get you down. Leiden and the next wild Erasmus party are just a train ride away.
Delen
What’d I know about Leiden? They say there are lots of chicks down there, the Eurodusney anarchistic headquarters is there, and the city’s got the second biggest medieval downtown in Holland. Been there once or twice, yeah, but what’d I know about Leiden? Why don’t you write about Leiden, an editor says, go there, have some fun and write all about it.
So there I was, in the Friday night train with the usual Friday night train public . chubby Hollanders, negrita’s chatting Surinaams, frat chicks in gala dresses, the inevitable Maroc’s playing loud tunes on their fancy mobile phones, while desperately trying to look like badassmothafucka’s, and all with Leiden, the city of angels a-la Zuid-Holland, rushing towards me at 100mph!
I meet P. at the Einstein bar, him already started on the booze, and, right there at the bar we’re assaulted by the Leiden Xmas commandoes – big-bottomed Minerva broads in silly Santa hats, loaded as hell and it’s not even midnight! “Hoi schat, hoe is ’t?” one of them says. P. only stares and blinks, the poor guy doesn’t dig the lingo. The chick, seemingly disappointed, flees to the safety of her gang. The next moment the whole squad is surrounding us: she was just ashamed of her poor English, they say. A bit of small talk follows, but it’s not simple talking to drunk ladies when you’re not.
It’s midnight now, the broads that didn’t already look like pumpkins turn into pumpkins, and we move out to battle the Dutch winter on our way to the LVC nightclub for the main event of the evening . the Erasmus Party. The damage is acceptable . only 5 euro entry, and it’s for a good cause, you know, the profits go to disabled kids in Africa or something.
The place ain’t crowded yet, but there are chiquitas alright, lookin’ very international indeed. Everyone gets a sticker to wear; you got to write where you come from on it. I bravely state I’m from Trinidad & Tobago, and some time later I see I’m not the only liar . I know for sure there are not that many Martians in Leiden.
The LVC is heavy with the Mary J. flava and the chiquitas get up on the dance floor . this night keeps getting better. Some time later H. comes in from the cold, wasting no time to get straight down to business at the bar. I spot some broad with ‘DDR’ on her sticker . an obvious Oostalgie case. A chat with her reveals she’s an Ossie alright, but the DDR is just a joke, man, just a joke. Her girlfriend goes to Israel tomorrow, so I play the travel agent, giving inside info. She’s being very German about it, making me give her a list of places to go . actually, I proposed to write it myself, so it’s me being very German. Hell, life in Holland must be getting to me.
The club is full by now, and oh my god all those cute little Italian chiquita’s. Man, I’m in the wrong bloody country. Hey baby, I say, did I die and go to heaven? Are all the girls in Italy as beautiful as you or they just send the best to export? They’re all giggling and very friendly, try to teach me Italian . I forget it on the spot, so that the next compact Italian wonder can be my teacher again. A while later we get on the dance floor too, the giggling chiquita’s form a circle and clap hands and dance in it and drag everyone passing by into it to dance, too.
Unfortunately, before the moves get real hot, it’s already 3 a.m. and the DJ shuts down the music. Shame, shame, shame. I go to the bar complaining to the bar lady that the Dutch don’t know how to party. Yeah, it’s the first time we do this Erasmus gig, she says, we didn’t know what to expect, we’re not allowed to make noise after 3 in the morning. They expected 200 guests and there were 500. Big success. But not for me. I was just getting started back there when the music died.
So when’s the next Erasmus party, amiga? Be back in a month, she says, will be huge, live music upstairs and more. I promise to be back with my gang next time, but be ready for a thousand guests and keep the damned music playin’, I say. H. is still on the dance floor, seems he’s actually getting somewhere with some broad. P. is wasted. I say we should go home now, the music’s dead anyway. I drag P. outside into the mean blizzard. At Leiden Centraal the wind chill is .20. I’m still in the wrong country. What the hell, I’ll move to Milano I think, but before I do, Leiden is the place to be this Friday. I’ll be there again, for sure.
‘Erasmus Party in Leiden: Second Edition’. Friday January 13. Doors open at 23:00. Entrance 5 euro. LVC, 66 Breestraat, Leiden
www.lvc.nl/read/concert/id/1799
What’d I know about Leiden? They say there are lots of chicks down there, the Eurodusney anarchistic headquarters is there, and the city’s got the second biggest medieval downtown in Holland. Been there once or twice, yeah, but what’d I know about Leiden? Why don’t you write about Leiden, an editor says, go there, have some fun and write all about it.
So there I was, in the Friday night train with the usual Friday night train public . chubby Hollanders, negrita’s chatting Surinaams, frat chicks in gala dresses, the inevitable Maroc’s playing loud tunes on their fancy mobile phones, while desperately trying to look like badassmothafucka’s, and all with Leiden, the city of angels a-la Zuid-Holland, rushing towards me at 100mph!
I meet P. at the Einstein bar, him already started on the booze, and, right there at the bar we’re assaulted by the Leiden Xmas commandoes – big-bottomed Minerva broads in silly Santa hats, loaded as hell and it’s not even midnight! “Hoi schat, hoe is ’t?” one of them says. P. only stares and blinks, the poor guy doesn’t dig the lingo. The chick, seemingly disappointed, flees to the safety of her gang. The next moment the whole squad is surrounding us: she was just ashamed of her poor English, they say. A bit of small talk follows, but it’s not simple talking to drunk ladies when you’re not.
It’s midnight now, the broads that didn’t already look like pumpkins turn into pumpkins, and we move out to battle the Dutch winter on our way to the LVC nightclub for the main event of the evening . the Erasmus Party. The damage is acceptable . only 5 euro entry, and it’s for a good cause, you know, the profits go to disabled kids in Africa or something.
The place ain’t crowded yet, but there are chiquitas alright, lookin’ very international indeed. Everyone gets a sticker to wear; you got to write where you come from on it. I bravely state I’m from Trinidad & Tobago, and some time later I see I’m not the only liar . I know for sure there are not that many Martians in Leiden.
The LVC is heavy with the Mary J. flava and the chiquitas get up on the dance floor . this night keeps getting better. Some time later H. comes in from the cold, wasting no time to get straight down to business at the bar. I spot some broad with ‘DDR’ on her sticker . an obvious Oostalgie case. A chat with her reveals she’s an Ossie alright, but the DDR is just a joke, man, just a joke. Her girlfriend goes to Israel tomorrow, so I play the travel agent, giving inside info. She’s being very German about it, making me give her a list of places to go . actually, I proposed to write it myself, so it’s me being very German. Hell, life in Holland must be getting to me.
The club is full by now, and oh my god all those cute little Italian chiquita’s. Man, I’m in the wrong bloody country. Hey baby, I say, did I die and go to heaven? Are all the girls in Italy as beautiful as you or they just send the best to export? They’re all giggling and very friendly, try to teach me Italian . I forget it on the spot, so that the next compact Italian wonder can be my teacher again. A while later we get on the dance floor too, the giggling chiquita’s form a circle and clap hands and dance in it and drag everyone passing by into it to dance, too.
Unfortunately, before the moves get real hot, it’s already 3 a.m. and the DJ shuts down the music. Shame, shame, shame. I go to the bar complaining to the bar lady that the Dutch don’t know how to party. Yeah, it’s the first time we do this Erasmus gig, she says, we didn’t know what to expect, we’re not allowed to make noise after 3 in the morning. They expected 200 guests and there were 500. Big success. But not for me. I was just getting started back there when the music died.
So when’s the next Erasmus party, amiga? Be back in a month, she says, will be huge, live music upstairs and more. I promise to be back with my gang next time, but be ready for a thousand guests and keep the damned music playin’, I say. H. is still on the dance floor, seems he’s actually getting somewhere with some broad. P. is wasted. I say we should go home now, the music’s dead anyway. I drag P. outside into the mean blizzard. At Leiden Centraal the wind chill is .20. I’m still in the wrong country. What the hell, I’ll move to Milano I think, but before I do, Leiden is the place to be this Friday. I’ll be there again, for sure.
‘Erasmus Party in Leiden: Second Edition’. Friday January 13. Doors open at 23:00. Entrance 5 euro. LVC, 66 Breestraat, Leiden
www.lvc.nl/read/concert/id/1799
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