Paul Scott

The penultimate morning of my adventure in The Netherlands began in yet another bizarre manner. So frequent is the occurrence of these unusual events that it is starting to make normality the exception.

Within a few moments of opening a conversion with the two Malaysian gents I found myself in a position where I had agreed to participate in a global water monitoring programme. Malaysia is apparently the world leader in water monitoring, and a water monitoring kit was bestowed upon me with such great enthusiasm that I found it impossible to refuse.

The water monitoring story could of course provide perfect cover for an international drug smuggling cartel, a fact I may find out all too late on my arrival at Harwich; sweating nervously as I clutch my cocaine-laced monitoring equipment.

Today was to be a day of great adventure, and following breakfast myself and Alessandro headed off into the Dutch countryside. An unspectacular train journey of around 30 minutes took us from the rain of Den Haag to the rain of the market town of Gouda.

A large crowd had been drawn to the town by the weekly arts and crafts market, featuring items from the incredibly delicate to the ugly and unusual. The town itself was pretty, with cobbled streets constantly vying for space with narrow waterways. Aside from a couple of exceptionally old churches, and the Gothic Staduis, Gouda is included on most visitor’s itinerary for the chance to sample the town’s famed cheese.

Alessandro and I were not the exception, and before long we found ourselves in a crowded, overpriced cheese shop, dithering as to what cheese would be best for a lovingly bought gift. Eventually I opted for a young Gouda infused with red peppers and peppercorns, a cheese that resembled more of a deadly improvised explosive device than an edible delicacy.

With the batteries of our digital cameras exhausted, and our nostrils stained with the suffocating scent of strong cheese, Alessandro and I set out on our return journey to Den Haag.

To celebrate the fact that I had almost survived Room 307 the final evening on Dutch soil was spent in the hostel bar with Alessandro and Anthony. Ever the eager journalist [sic], I approached Anthony for an interview for the expatriate profile section of ACCESS magazine. The story of a male ballet dancer with a broad Mancunian accent, performing in Den Haag, was too good an opportunity to miss. Anthony agreed, providing a successful outcome of his audition.

A few beers later, and with the calling of time at the bar, it was over.

Tomorrow is yet another public holiday here in The Netherlands, so today is to be my last with ACCESS magazine.

Breakfast was taken with Alessandro and Anthony, a Mancunian ballet dancer who was in Den Haag auditioning for a show. Far too long was spent enjoying multiple slices of ham, which left me rushing to get to Den Hagg Centraal.

Centraal is an impressive transport interchange, where buses, trams, trains, and the city’s limited metro service convene; a public transport network that shames anything that I have witnessed back home. I hopped on an immaculate number 24 bus and headed to the east of the city where I was to meet Kate at her home.

Kate asked me to sit in on her meeting with Eric, who is the account manager for the publication side of things for the magazine. ACCESS used to be designed and published in-house, something that is now taken care of by the print company, by whom Eric is employed.

Eric arrived a few moments later, tall, blond and fully-fitting of his name; he greeted me with a handshake the strength of which could have snapped a swan’s neck in an instant.

Kate and Eric spoke for around an hour, with Kate pointing out any changes from the previous edition of the magazine. Eric’s professionalism impressed me, as ACCESS must be the smallest account the he manages. Never rushed, Eric listened intently, suggested ideas and brought me into the conversion when he really did not have a obligation to do so. I tried not to grimace as he took my hand to give it a solid shake goodbye.

Eric took with him the disc containing all of the data for the forthcoming issue of the magazine. Within a week Kate would have a PDF version of the issue, which she has an opportunity to proof-read and edit before the first printed copy is completed. Any changes needed after the PDF version has been passed and sent back to Eric must then be paid for. An exercise that Kate is willing to avoid.

With Eric and the magazine departed, the only other thing left to do was for me to interview Kate. It was surprisingly how nervous we both appeared at the prospect, and I felt a touch uncomfortable as Kate has shown great generosity and patience during my time with ACCESS.

After a couple of minutes we both settled down and the interview went well. Having recorded our conversation it will be interesting to see if there is anything revelatory that I may have missed when I come to transcribe the discussion.

Kate then took me for another fantastic Tosti lunch, where we spoke at length about careers, futures, and the past. I took the opportunity to thank Kate for accepting on placement in the first place, and for providing me with such an incredible, and beneficial experience.

Kate in return thanked me for my efforts and offered to provide me with a reference for any future employment applications. A kind act, which I feel is an indicator that I did a reasonable job during my time with ACCESS.

The evening was spent with my future life-long friend Alessandro in one of the city’s bars, celebrating the completion of my placement.

Today began slowly, having spent much of last night listening to two Malaysian fellows communicate via the medium of snoring. Judging by the decibels reached I would guess that they were having a severe argument.

Fried eggs, bacon, hash browns, mushrooms, beans, and sausages had failed yet again to make an appearance at breakfast, so I settled for ham and cheese. The continental style breakfast is beginning to win me over, albeit gradually.

I spent much of the morning deciding whether to start work or not. The latter won, meaning that it was well into the afternoon before I began planning for my interview with Kate.

A couple of hours of researching, writing, and then rewriting questions and I was done. That left the evening to sample a few more local beers while reading through back-issues of ACCESS, in an attempt to come up with some ideas for improving the publication.

This proved a difficult task. I had to remain aware that the magazine was produced on a small budget by an even smaller number of dedicated volunteers.

I did conclude that the magazine could attempt better interaction with its audience. Encourage readers to write in, with letters being published, offer competitions, and utilise social networking sites like Facebook.

I also felt that the use of images could be improved, but again with small resources I had to allow for the fact that the magazine only had a part-time professional photographer.

It was late evening by the time I had finished, and the highlight of a difficult day came when the clocked showed midnight. Tuesday was over before it had ever really begun.

Jonny had disappeared by the time I awoke, maybe the Chinese Government had been tracking him all along. Robert also departed this morning after several days of being a welcome, permanent fixture of 307. He was a fascinating guy and a true gentleman, the instigator of much laughter. Micah left too, heading onwards to the city of Utrecht before returning home to Canada.

I again met Kate at Den Haag Centraal, from where we hopped on a bus to the ACCESS office, a journey of no more than ten minutes.

There I was introduced to Carol Wooley, a director of the organisation and one of the few permanent, paid members of staff. Carol had to approve the front cover that Kate had designed for the forthcoming summer issue.

ACCESS had just won a prestigious award for services to the expatriate community, and Kate felt strongly that this should feature on the cover as an enticement for possible, future advertisers.

The magazine has a large readership from English speaking countries; United Kingdom, Canada, United States, South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand. It also attracts an audience from people living in The Hague to whom English is a second or third language.

The city is also home to some enormous private organisations as well as government and consulate offices, this makes the magazine an attractive proposition for advertisers with the audience that it reaches and the affluence within that community.

Carol approved the cover without any concerns, and agreed with Kate and the principles behind her decision to feature the award.

Delft

Kate then treated me to a sensational lunch at a small Italian cafe before giving me a new set of tasks. She asked if I would go through several back issues of the ACCESS magazine and come up with any ideas for improvements. A task I am sure to find challenging; being asked to analyse and dissect a publication that has accepted me so generously. Kate asked me not to hold back.“Go to town on it,” her exact words. Having mentioned the case study to Kate she also agreed to be interviewed, for which I have to prepare.

With a couple of free hours in the afternoon I headed off to the nearby town of Delft. Small, pretty and quintessentially Dutch, Delft was pleasant to explore. Narrow, lazy waterways and cobbled-streets provided many an opportunity for photographs; images to which people will feign interest on viewing, when I get home.

The evening was spent watching Alessandro get exceptionally drunk on exceptionally strong Dutch beer, which was exceptionally amusing.

Possibly the most bizarre Sunday of my life. The day began slowly, as I guess all Sundays do throughout the world, unless you are a vicar of course.

Cigar man departed early, with all his bags in hand, meaning he would never return. A stroll around a deserted city centre was refreshing, and having fortunately missed the hostel breakfast I grabbed a coffee and a croissant at one of the few open stalls.

For the next few hours nothing much really happened, that was until the arrival of Jonny. I will continue to refer to this unique character as Jonny, simply because that is what he said his name was. He was blatantly stretching the truth as he was born, lived and worked in the Szechwan area of China.

Enthusiastically optimistic and with a laugh that was inappropriately infectious, Jonny is the type of guy that you would want in the audience if you were about to perform your first stand-up comedy act.

Jonny was an unfortunate addition to 307 for me, everything about him made me laugh. Yet the more I attempted to suppress the laughter the worse it became. Alessandro caught onto the fact that I was experiencing a few difficulties, escalating the problem with laughter of his own, while the longstanding Robert and the newly arrived Micah, from Canada, could barely contain themselves. Jonny then delivered the immortal line that had us all laughing uncontrollably. “Yes, there are many Chinatowns in China,” he answered, to one mischievous question posed by Robert.

Order was eventually restored and the topic of conversation returned to the vast nation that is China. After spending many an hour surfing a censor free Internet in the West Jonny had discovered that the Dalai Lama was actually: “one of the good guys”. He also felt that great change, possibly revolution, in China was not too far away.

Robert & 'Jonny'

His attack on the communist Government was far from cautious, citing the suppression of information for the fact that the regime had remained in place for so long. Google had revealed to Jonny that there were uprisings occurring across China on an almost daily basis, yet wide-spread protest had been quelled by the state control of information. Effectively, each demonstration was unaware of the other, dispersing their power.

Jonny relished the attention that he was receiving, as question after question was raised by the Anglo-Hungarian-Italian-Canadian interrogators. The communist system had not been a total failure and Jonny spoke of the high standard of education, with all university students entitled to three meals a day, free of charge (take note UCF).

The session was revelatory, Jonny thought that the continued killing of tigers for use in Chinese medicine had to stop. He also went onto blame the Government for shielding its citizens from the world, creating an insecurity and shyness that is a hindrance to global integration.

The afternoon, rolled into evening and Jonny talked, and talked, and talked. Then, without warning he fell asleep; in similar fashion to a spent machine gun.

Meeting Jonny has left me wondering if I may have just encountered the most unlikely revolutionary ever.

‘Better the devil you know,’ I had never really understood that saying until today. The shaver man departed with one last astonishing 04:00 shaving spectacular, only to be replaced some hours later by a fellow that enjoys the occasional cigar. Nothing wrong with that, some may say. This particular gent likes to smoke his morning cigar in the shower.

In need of a change a scenery on a beautiful, clear Saturday morning I resorted to consulting my already battered looking Rough Guide to The Netherlands. I’m not a huge fan of guidebooks as I prefer to discover things by exploration as opposed to guidance. However, the book provided me with the interesting view of Den Haag, written by Matthew Arnold in 1859. “I never saw a city where the well-to-do classes seemed to have given the whole place so much of their own air of wealth, finished cleanliness, and comfort; but I never saw one, either, in which my heart would so have sunk at the thought of living.”

So, with that in mind I boarded a train and headed north to the town of Alkmaar, famed for its cheese. An hour or so later and I found myself in need change of trains at Amsterdam Central. This presented the opportunity for some brief exploration of the capital of The Netherlands. Amsterdam is a unique capital city, one which draws travellers, explorers, liberals, and perverts for return visits time and again.

Alkmaar: say cheese

A further 45 minutes north and I arrived at the busy Alkmaar. I had missed the extravagant cheese market, to which tourists flock, by a whole day. On a Saturday it is the turn of local produce to show what it can do. An incredible amount of fish stalls were present, offering an abundance of choice for a Dutch favourite, Herring. A fish that the Dutch love to consume, and to which festivals are dedicated.

It appeared as if the entire population of the town was out for a spot of Saturday shopping. The maze-like, ankle-breaking, cobbled streets confused me, prolonging my stay far longer than I had envisaged. Eventually freeing myself from the city’s clutches, I arrived back in Den Haag after nightfall. When, if you are staying in the rough part of the city like I, is an adventure in itself.

After a long day all I wanted was a relaxing, hot, cigar-free shower.

This morning the ‘shaver man’ relented in his quest to wake up the whole of Den Haag with his implausibly loud electric shaver. Instead, he used his hairdryer. As one of my fellow roommates put it, “I wouldn’t want to be alone with that guy”.

Breakfast was again mundane but at least the Italian man accompanied me. There we sat, nodding and smiling, pretending to understand what the other was saying. It was either that of bury my face in another slice of ham.

Due to the uncalled for, early morning alarm call, I began writing my articles for the magazine at just after eight.

By midday I was finished, hungry and growing increasingly surprised that my concentration had lasted for such an incredible duration.

I ate with an American guy called Ronald, his surname rhymed, but I can’t quite remember it. I then nearly, inadvertently (honest) stumbled into another district that favoured the colour red. An abundance of shifty looking men warned me of my potential mistake.

Back at the hostel I became engaged in a fascinating conversation with a Hungarian fellow called Robert.  We spoke love, life, and love life for over an hour using a mixture of English and gesticulations.

Room 307 is looking a touch bare tonight, with only five of the eight beds occupied, unfortunately the crazy appliance man has not managed to electrocute himself by tampering further with his modified electrical aids, and has returned.

The debt collector has however left, which is a step in the right direction.

Today’s breakfast involved the normal cheese, ham and bread but added to it was a rather bizarre and elongated conversation with my Italian roommate, Alessandro, regarding the difference between ‘teeth’ and ‘tooth’. At least it made breakfast a touch more interesting.

I met Kate again at Den Haag Centraal, which was surprisingly less hectic . From Centraal we took a bus out to the east of the city to Kate’s home. It was wonderful to witness real life in Den Haag, away from the city centre, which is normally all a visitor would see.

The suburbs were clean, green and pleasant, a ideal location for a young family, which Kate has. The house was what I imagined it to be; a stereotypical Dutch property, a town house split over three floors, with numerous bicycles parked outside.

Kate looked through the articles that I had edited and appeared to be happy with what I had done. She then showed me the design for the front cover of the next edition and gave me the remainder of the articles to proofread. Kate also asked me to write a piece on the numerous upcoming festivals in and around Den Haag and Amsterdam. The festival feature is centre spread, which gives me excellent exposure as well as an opportunity to show that I can write to a professional stranded [sic!].

Kate then took me for lunch at a small, local cafe to sample the infamous Dutch tosti, which is basically a toasted sandwich but somehow a million times better. It was over lunch that Kate talked me through her fascinating, and varied, global career. An insightful conversation that certainly opened my eyes to the possibilities that lay ahead for me, if of course I successfully obtain my degree.

Kate revealed that for a period she had been Rick Steves editor. Most Europeans will not be familiar with the name, but Rick Steves is America’s Mr Travel. If Steves says do not visit then Americans will not visit. Steves is now travelling guru extraordinaire, and millionaire. He is on television, on the cover of his guidebooks, on the internet, and in most travelling American’s luggage.

During the conversation Kate also cleared up a massive misconception that most of us in the United Kingdom have regarding Americans and travel. We, and I do mean the majority, believe that Americans have no desire to travel. However, Kate feels that because Americans only get an incredible ten day’s holiday a year, it is more a case of they cannot travel. Gee whizz.

A solid siesta was followed by an evening stroll around a Den Haag basking in warm sunshine. A light dinner of Mexican Panini was taken by the lake adjoining the Parliament building.  A few good, strong Bavaria beers followed, preparing me for, what was sure to be, another bizarre night in hostel room 307.

Today is a public holiday here in The Netherlands, which means no work for me! May 5 is the date on which the country was liberated by Allied forces at the end of World War II. To mark the occasion there are services of remembrance as well large, nationwide celebrations.

The largest remembrance service took place last night in Amsterdam.  Broadcast live on Dutch television the event featured the laying of a wreath my members of the Dutch Royal Family as well as a two minutes silence, which was impeccably observed. Even the normally busy road and tramways outside of the hostel came to a stop.

I was surprised at how large a crowd the service drew and by how much the day still means to the Dutch people. Moments later the scene turned to horror as people began screaming and running in all directions. The scene was terrifying to watch and those with me in the hostel bar were open-mouthed as the chaos unfolded on screen. After a few minutes of pandemonium it was revealed that a man had suffered a stroke, causing the person next to him to scream, which then panicked the crowd.

The Dutch have evidently yet to recover from the horrific events of Queen’s Day last year, and the fear etched on peoples’ faces was painful to observe.

I decided that having been freed from employment for the day that I would explore the city and make my way to the coast, two miles away. Den Hague is a beautifully modest city, with even normal palatial extravagance tempered by a considerate restraint. It is also an easy city to explore on foot.

The coastal town of Scheveningen is difficult to spell and impossible to pronounce. It is the summer escape for the citizens of Den Haag. The route to the coast begins with the Peace Palace, again a modest construction of simple beauty, and ends with the beach. The road is incredibly long, straight, and tormenting for those travelling by foot, with the end constantly in sight.

An hour or so later and I finally reached Scheveningen. The town is famous for its herring festival, where people go crazy and throw raw herring down their throats to celebrate the first catch of the season. Sadly, I had arrived a month or so too early, so I opted for a cheeseburger.

The beach at Scheveningen is long, wide and sandy, with a collection of open-air eateries that would no doubt prove popular on a more favourable day. Although dry, a cruel wind was blasting in off the uninviting North Sea.

That evening I ventured back into Den Haag for the 5 May Festival, a free open air event for the citizens of the city. The city centre plays host to a range of live music spread over a small stage and three of The Hague’s theatres. I stayed for a couple of Heinekens, leaving moments before Bad Manners took to the stage. Bad manners maybe, but good timing definitely.

I was awoken this morning by a gent with the loudest electric shaver on the planet. The noise was so deafening that I had to double check that it wasn’t my face that he was shaving. I guess that hostel accommodation is cheap for a reason.

Having made safe passage across a bathroom in which dysentery would thrive I went downstairs for my usual Dutch breakfast of ham, bread and cheese. A short while later I bid my roommates goodbye, having eaten all the cheese I could manage at eight in the morning, and started out on my first walk to work.

I had arranged to meet Kate, the editor of ACCESS magazine, at Den Haag’s Centraal Station. The walk was uneventful and took less than fifteen minutes. One street I passed had replaced the normal street lighting with neon red signs, I’m not sure what this means though.

Den Haag Centraal was a hive of activity, luckily I had prearranged to meet Kate at the Information Desk, where she duly arrived a few minutes early.

A short bus ride later and we had arrived at the ACCESS office. The organisation is staffed entirely by volunteers, with the aim of providing information, courses and support to the English speaking international community of Den Haag.

Kate’s first task was to meet with the magazine’s advertising manager, the fascinatingly named, Wiggert Sackman. Kate needed to know which adverts were confirmed, and if any had pulled out. This was critical to the development of the summer issue, with the size of the magazine depending on how much advertising revenue had been generated.

Following a quick calculation Kate revealed that the advertising revenue had hit a new low, however, with a large convention for the expatriate community looming, a print run of 9000 copies was a necessity. With Kate unwilling to reduce the number of pages from 48 to 32, a move that she felt would alarm remaining advertisers, it was decided that the summer issue would consist of 40 pages. Amazingly, Kate said that the magazine would still make a small profit.

Wiggert has volunteered for ACCESS for nearly two years, after retiring from a career of global travel as a salesman. At 73 years-of-age he appeared unbelievably fit and healthy, a factor which he attributed to the active lifestyle of the Dutch. The country is of course famous for its huge number of cyclists, which have priority over any other vehicle on the road. Kate explained that even if a drunk cyclist, incapable of riding in the normal manner, gets hit by a car, it would be the driver of the vehicle who would be responsible.

The morning had demonstrated just how restrained Kate is by the magazine’s small production budget. She is understanding of the situation and feels that because of the voluntary nature of the organisation there is only so much that the publication can achieve.

Coffee was followed by Kate entrusting me to proof-read and edit some articles for the forthcoming edition. All articles are submitted by unpaid volunteers from across the international community. It was interesting to be asked to edit work written by Brazilian, Russian, South African, and Dutch writers living in Den Haag.

Today has been excellent, and it has allowed me to witness the normally hidden side of the infrastructure of the magazine. How advertising does drive the content and even the size of a publication, and to what extent that can restrict an editor.

The editor has to have as good a business mind as they do a creative one, and the responsibility of the editor is a role that demands a great deal of hard work and a broad range of skills.