…I’m sitting on the back of a bike in front of a supermarket. Albert Heijn – written above the entrance. I just arrived a good day ago in a foreign city, a foreign country but still fill as I’m home. An Indonesian girl passes me with two bags. A Moroccan teen opens his bicycle lock. In the distance at the end of the straat the Sun sets his last glance on the red bricked road. An increasingly cold wind flows threw the walls of the city… Silence… In the distance a silent tune. A familiar tune, a song that I know, a piece of home. The Hungarian Rhapsody’s notes slowly tare the street’s silence. A Bulgarian musician. His brown skin told me that he’s not from here. Where are you from? – I ask him. He answers me with a shaky English – From Bulgaria… Not so far away from home. The Hungarian tunes continue flowing from the Bulgarian musician’s accordion. It touches the walls of the narrow houses and for a second jumps on the bicycle lane. It looks around. A Dutch business man wearing a tie almost runs over him. Once again he touches the walls and goes on. Its notes wave threw the walls of old buildings. It stops again. The old dome’s grey tower captures its glance. The huge stone blocks guard the center criss-crossed by canals. It goes up. Starts climbing, holding on to it. The climb is increasingly harder. It stops and rests, but goes one… It reaches the top. The red tops of the houses below follow its every step. In the distance the North Sea’s winds fight wit the clouds. Silence. The Sun gives his way to the chilly Dutch night. The Indonesian girl rides away in the distance…

Utrecht 1st and 6th of September 2007



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