// Ballad of a Thin Man and a camera //: The Flying Dutchman

I woke as the bright sun filled the room from the opened windows, unfamiliar with my whereabouts and location: I then powered my brain off sleep in a bid to kick-start my short-term memory. From that moment, I realized that I was sleeping in a dorm room in a hostel in which I hoped was Amsterdam. My memory pulling my sleeve as too tell me that I was needed elsewhere; somewhere with a significant importance, and I was late. Slowly but surely my memory piecing together my day plans, today was the day that I take a short train ride outside of Amsterdam, to the small town of Bergen op Zoom. This town, placed South of Rotterdam, Netherlands, will soon have my occupancy as it once did all those years ago for my Father and Family. It was 8am, I was late. I knew that my plans of leaving Amsterdam around 7o’clock were more closer to impossible than probable. So I strangled my brain out of bed, placing my sore, battered feet on the cool, dry wooden flooring of the hostel. The pain of the many kilometers of adventure and being lost taking its toll, never the less, I prepared myself for departure and for breakfast.

Arriving at Amsterdam Centraal, I knew nothing of what was ahead of me, why was I going? Maybe to accomplish the feat of visiting my Father’s hometown, or maybe just to place a flag and claim I was there. There was more unknown to me than many things in my life, I knew I had to go, but I did not know why. The train ride was a swift two-hour trip from Amsterdam, double decker train, leather seats, and great countryside views. Passengers fluctuated on and off, coming and going before soon it was just myself, awaiting to reach a town in which I had no map, no internet access, only one address; 12 Dubbel Straat, Bergen op Zoom. I must admit though, by this stage; I have not seen a familiar face for over a week, and I have now traveled through many countries and cities without a clue of how the streets work. My skills are deffinitly improving, or, I just know I’ll have no clue either way.

Arriving in Bergen op Zoom, first thing I noticed, there was absolutely nobody hanging around the train station. It is Sunday; I stand at the train platform, experiencing grey cloud cover over the town. From the stories that I have heard throughout my life about this town, cloudy, cold, country village; all fit the description and I knew that I had arrived. From my experience, the train station is always one of your best landmarks; everyone knows where the central train station is, so from here, I head towards what feels like the city center, having confidence that I could make it back to the station if I got lost.

Cloudy, cold and seemingly abandoned, I begin to walk through numerous streets in a bid to find a wireless hotspot so I can at least see where I am, and prepare a plan of attack to find this one street. I knew it was not far from what looked like the city square on the map I searched the night before. Walking down the road, I notice barricades placed everywhere, red tape sectioning off areas, empty streets. A crowd of a few stood on the corner, then I notice a pair of officials, then behind me; emerges a mecades SLR with what looked like a race clock. Motorbikes soon followed, as well as a young cross-country runner. It seemed that today, Sunday, everything was closed and everybody had retired his or her weekend to support a cross-country event. Reaching the town square, I stopped in for a coffee; with a complimentary signal of wireless Internet. The girl sitting at the bar; rather complexed by my appearance, or maybe my accent, sat and examined me while I consumed my coffee. This moment is just before I realized I must be the only tourist in town. With a plan of attack structured, I now venture towards the seven-minute walk to the street I was in search for.

Just like a magnitude of mass, I knew where I was heading, if not for the gravitational pull from this street, I would surely still be walking around Bergen op Zoom. Now this is the moment when I reached Dubbel Straat, I knew that a few more steps and I would be walking on unfamiliar grounds in which I was searching for, unsure of what I would find. The street narrowly bricked with a refurbished road that split right from left. Each house, similar in structure, different in appearance. A great rush filled my bones, every step I felt lighter, my feet hurting less, my mind clearer. My whole life I have identified myself as an Australian born; half Dutch half Filipino. As I walked this street in Bergen op Zoom, one thing occurred more clear that anything else; these streets that I walk, have filled my blood since the day I was born. These streets, in this small town, have created the foundations of me today. That my blood comes directly from this part of the world. The house that I had been searching for stood, most bright and proud; built of brick, narrow in stature and tall in length, squeezed side by side with the other houses in this little Dutch street. A small front door accompanied by a four-paneled window. I sat there for the remainder of the afternoon, experiencing the feel, the sounds of the marching band playing for me or maybe it was for the cross-country runners; and I happily experienced the atmosphere of Began op Zoom.

I was ready to leave this tiny town with great liberation, comfort and accomplishment as I joined the locals to enjoy the festivities of the road race. I hope to revisit this town in the future, maybe to learn more about the family, or maybe to run the cross-country; who knows. Until next time Bergen op Zoom. Safe travels.