Nacht van Oranje

[bitchy_merlin]

Last night was het Nacht van Oranje, aka the Night of Orange, the night leading up to today, April 30th, possibly the most famous day in the Netherlands. Today is Koninginnedag, Queen's Day, the country-wide celebration of Queen Beatrix's birthday. (Beatrix was actually born in January, but her mother, Juliana, was born today and the weather is nicer in April. The Dutch are nothing if not practical.)

Basically, today people will paint themselves orange and get totally smashed. #businessasusual (Actually, it's already started; at 9, I was woken up by Groningen's most gigantic brass band trumpeting through the neighbourhood streets.)

Anyway, last night there were live bands all over the city. We (Albertine) went to the Vismarkt to see some performances. The music consisted mostly of covers; there was one set of Coldplay covers that was really good. The marktplatz was more crowded than I'd ever seen it before, with tons (and tons and tons and tons) of drunk, orange Dutch people. Wat gezellig. (There were some rude people there, though. One girl tried to steal my hat, so I punched her in the boob.)

I opened the evening with Hanna, as is our wont. People were standing around near the stage, doing that awkward half-hearted dance thing they do when there's music playing but no one has the balls to do anything about it. Well, fuck that shit. We know how to use the music. I was sweaty and gross but we were moving and it was gorgeous. Got a lot of admiring screams too, thanks ladies.

After that first set, we met up with Esra, Ayse, Gokchen and Luyao and coalesced into one big Albertine swath in the crowd. I was dancing, I was dancing, and then - hey, yeah - Pavol was behind me and then his hands were on me and we were grinding slightly. Me, smiling. Interlacing our fingers. Moving aimlessly, my back pressed to his chest. I felt content.

But I was too scared to turn around. Please, God, give me the strength to be brave enough tonight.
ETA: Not enough. I hate myself.