I took a short, spontaneous trip to Holland, which seems like one big blur of colors, lights and people in retrospect. There was the sea, pancakes and Belgian beer, there were old friends, new friends and unexpected encounters. We would go swimming in the morning and I got to ride around on my old, dilapidated bike that I thought the Gemeente had long squeezed into a 4 inch cube. I would sleep on Gert’s living room floor and on a ridiculously comfortable mattress my old house’s attic, amidst the belongings of a former tenant, who had apparently fled the country in a hurry to evade the police. It is strange how a new constellation of people has seemingly changed the place so much in the year that I have been gone, while the feel of the city has stayed exactly the same, with its orange lights a night, the sea of identical bicycles, a total absence of neon signs and stores that could not possibly be profitable. The difference since having moved away? Being there feels like merely passing through, even if there’s a credible illusion that things have stayed exactly the same as they once were. More photos below – or here.