So I did find the flat. A flat was found. Flattery under the factors that conspire against a universe of many minds. I often find the mind that challenges. But what I have found here, in the land of the Dutch, is a keep it simple errand of the soul. Not overthinking everything is the key that unlocks the lock to a canal sitting flat built in the oldest part of the oldest city of the Netherlands.
Which puts me, theoretically, back on top of the ancients and their tunnels and their burial mounds and their designs on the spirit. The flat is three rooms and a kitchen and a smaller bathroom (I am already after myself as to why I didn’t spend more time checking on the water pressure). But unlike Irish bathrooms, it comes without the all holy Immersion Switch. And what is that? That is the Irish ticket to guilt. You turn it on 15 mins, but ideally, an hour before a shower or bath. And gawd help you if you forget to turn it off after you are done. Because you can watch the gas bill escalate each forgotten hour after. The Immersion Switch is to heat the water. By gas. And gas is quid, money. There is nothing like going on a two day trip, only to realize on the train, you didn’t turn the Immersion Switch off.
So the Dutch flat is on a canal. You look out the window and there is the water. The bedroom is large and downstairs, down a tiny spiral staircase that reminds me of a seashell in its shape and closeness. And the upstairs is glorious. Wide rooms with tall ceilings and long tall windows allowing the furtive light in.
It is across the narrow medieval street from the Humanities Bldg. of Utrecht University and a block and a half from Domplein (where the 13th century tower is that marks the heart of Utrecht) and a block from the larger boating canal that runs through the greenery and parks of the city.
I got lucky. The woman renting it out was looking for a woman, working professional, who was living alone. I qualified. I also have a small backyard and the entrance is over a small bridge from the quiet street. The woman lives above me, is a retired doctor (of what, I am not sure) and her husband seems to be departed.
So here is where my original dream picks up again. Having a place to myself, within budget to sink into a new branch of life. A writing space, a place to continue painting, to allow for friends to stay in their own room. A gas stove kitchen where I can finally cook again. It’s been 3 years since circumstances dictated living with others. From the large Janis Joplin house in the Haight Ashbury of San Francisco (loud front facing window, great house mates who all moonlighted as DJs, and the history of my spirit woman who lived there).
I move in two weeks. So I will enjoy the last of Lombok, the neighborhood where I am now, while I can. I am at the KanaalZicht Cafe near the studio. The weather has been dark and cold all day, but for the time I have been here typing, the sun rolled out for twenty minutes. The people all relaxing and speaking in Dutch. I have been reading some poetry, writing some towards the novel, and keeping my mind and soul firmly in the moment. Moving overseas can unleash many dragons of anxiety and I am learning the key. Living in the moments.
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I was in London last weekend with S. and we saw a baseball game. Mets vs Phillies. In London! For a few hours, we were both transported back to the America of innocence. The America of summertime and memory. Chili dogs. London is not my favorite city. But we walked and walked on Monday, up at 6am and made good time from King’s Cross to the Borough Market. The to Whitechapel. Exhaustion nipped at me for the next days after that, but the memories were there. Life is more normalized. We saw baseball in London.
