To an ex-pat like me, it's a confusing day. Apparently, it is a celebration of the Queen's birthday on the 30th of April, which is not actually her birthday at all. It's actually in the fall, or something, but it's celebrated in April because the weather is supposed to be better...
So what happens on Queens Day? Queen Beatrix and all her entourage parades through one lucky town somewhere in Holland, shaking hands with boyscouts and showing off her hat. It's also the day where the 'Vrije markt' or Free market takes place, meaning anyone and everyone can empty their garages and attics onto the street and sell their junk without a permit. (This is a huge exception in a country where you need a permit to breathe the air.) But what it has to do with the Queen's birthday has me stumped. Maybe it represents some kind of benevolent gesture by the monarchy, that the common peasant can also earn a bit of cash on her Majesty's birthday.
But aside from selling your crap in honor of the Queen and the celebration of it not being her birthday, there are all sorts of activities for young and old to participate in throughout the country. It seems to me that the main requirement for the adult activities is a colossal amount of beer. For the kids, it's a lot more complicated. There need to be pony rides and dressing up and fire-engines and making noise and toddler discos, to name but a few essential ingredients. This year, Mia and Bram were invited to attend, and compete in, the local 'decorate-your-bicycle-and-make-as-much-noise-as-you-possibly-can' parade.
Seeing as they are both crazy about their tricycles and ride them around incessantly, I couldn't imagine a better way for all of us to enjoy the day and have a memorable, positive experience. I was wrong. And I was right too. I'll explain...
In the days leading up to the parade, the entire Stolk family was involved in decorating the aforementioned tricycles. I went to the store and bought thirteen euro worth of plastic bicycle ornaments, which my husband and I painstakingly attached to the trikes under the uncompromising instruction of our children. Mia shoved some peacock feathers in the back of her trike, threw some flowers in the basket on her handlebars. Bram and I wrapped some old Christmas decorations around his handlebars and hung some flags along the back. Both kids adorned their trikes not only with sparkle, but with a huge amount of love. I was convinced: the parade was going to be a hit.
The day before the exciting event was about to take place, it reached temperatures of up to 80 degrees. Pretty exceptional for the end of April, and a promising prospect for the outdoor festivities planned for the next day. My wonderful mother-in-law, 'Oma' Rik, showed her unconditional love and support by accompanying us. I was blindly confident, it was to be a lovely day for all.
Mia pedaled her way to the group of kids gathered at the starting line, who were mounted upon the most extravagantly embellished bicycles I had ever seen. I was convinced, as I gawked at the constructions most of the children were riding around in, that if those bikes were decorated by the kids, well then my name is Martha Stewart. After all the effort Mia put into decorating her tricycle, I knew she could kiss a prize goodbye. But, I told myself, we weren't here to win, we were there to participate and have a good time.
Outside in the cold. And the rain.
Without an umbrella.
And, I had to pee.
Bram had wriggled his way out of the seat-belt on his trike and made a break for it. He scurried through the crowd, dodging this way and that, protesting loudly as he ran. He tried to escape down someone's driveway, then attempted to mount an elderly man's lap. When he realized his efforts were futile, he promptly threw himself down on the wet pavement and began to wail. My husband and I looked at each other and knew, it was literally raining on Bram's parade. He needed to go home.
Thank goodness for 'Oma' Rik! While trying to retain the kicking-and-screaming Bram, I explained to her and Mia that we were taking him home, and that I would come back a.s.a.p. She agreed to escort Mia, who didn't even seem to notice Bram's screams and the persitent rain. Amidst the impatient bicycle horns and bells, I hurried through the sheets of rain to the car as my husband cleared the path like a police escort, barely managing to hold the flailing and fussing Bram in my arms.
It only took about fifteen minutes to get Bram home and get back to the parade, by which time it had ended. Utterly disappointed, I turned into the street where the finish line was to find it completely abandoned. I had missed the entire thing. Bram didn't get to participate, thirteen euros of plastic crap was down the drain. We all got wet, and, I managed to take only two measely photos (which is a record for me)! A memorable and pleasant day for all? Hardly.
That's when I heard a familiar voice call, 'Mamaaaaaa!' It was Mia, drenched to the bone and wearing a smile broader than the Grand Canyon. She had reached the finish line, all by herself, and was carrying a bag of sweets that she had rightfully earned by doing so. 'Oma' Rik was also wearing a smile, which warmed me to my very core. I felt raindrops mix with the tears on my face, and gave my mia a Grand Canyon-size smile back, plus an even bigger hug.
Photo of Queen Beatrix courtesy of the Reformatorisch Dagblad
