The Hague: Dancing With the Ocean

I'm on the home stretch of my journey: Holland, a country I know almost nothing about beyond what Hollywood, stereotypes and a Wikipedia article have told me. I've resolved to visit many museums and improve my knowledge. Not in The Hague though.

No, Den Haag was my I've-been-living-out-of-a-bag-for-five-weeks-and-wandering-from-bed-to-bed-like-a-ratty-mischievous-vagabond-that-can't-really-speak-beyond-smiles-and-nods city. I gave the city centre a cursory once-over and was in bed before most local toddlers. The fruits of my labour are as follows.

So that was Den Haag. Lovely, Dutch, and, I hate to say, not particularly anything I hadn't seen in the other three and one eighth (don't forget poor Malmo!) countries. Oh wait, I did come across a sweet gaming store (which still can be found in any major city, mind you) that made Meg-from-ten-years-ago drool all over her ill-fitting tshirt.

Thirteen-year-old Meg dragged present-day Meg in far enough to make present-day Meg feel more than a little silly, but then she found a TV showing a really cool trailer for a ps3 game and let thirteen-year-old Meg gambol about and gawk at all of the characters that basically defined her as a person in plush form. They had Yoshi, they had Link, they had all the important Pokémon... Present-day Meg sighed and coaxed the poor barely teenaged nerd out of the store, assuring her that neither of them had the money necessary to be purchasing these ridiculous little bobbles. But even present-day Meg glanced wistfully behind her on the way out.

Anyway, my hostel was actually located about a 15 minute bus-ride outside of the city centre, in a neighborhood called Scheveningen. This was by design, because Scheveningen is a beach town. My hostel looked like a surfer shack, a hippy commune and a children's summer camp all started having a party, but then the Man showed up and threw out all their weed and slapped rules all over the walls. It served its purpose, though, of being so close to the North Sea that I could roll out of bed into a swimsuit and onto the beach in ten minutes flat.

Paradise, my friends.

I got up "early' (in Europe, no one gets up before 11, it seems) and settled on the beach. And since no one was around, and I was feeling silly and happy, I took my iPod out, waded about thigh-deep into the salty seas, and danced. Danced like I was crazy. Some scattered people passing by probably thought I was, a little. A couple ladies actually stopped to watch for a moment, likely debating whether they should call the authorities. But it was just too good, the waves were too skilled a dance partner. At one point, a song by the Scottish band Keane sang to me the line, "For a lonely soul, you're having such a nice time" and my face broke into such a radiant smile that there is no way I didn't scare a few people.

Seriously, next time you're by the ocean, take out your iPod and let the waves sway you around. It's kind of like magic.

The sun sets.

And then, fireworks! There was some kind of international festival going on, and last night's slot were Belgium and Germany (how fitting). I did take some pictures before I realized taking pictures of fireworks is ridiculous, not only for its futility but for its completely ignoring the point of fireworks and trying to make a flat copy of a highly temporal, physical experience.

Belgium's display was all about variety and technical flair. Germany was all about the finish. Take your pick, ladies.