It was, by no means, the first Easter I’ve ever spent away from home. Last year, I chose to attend the Nuart Aberdeen Street Art Festival as opposed to flying back to Italy, and on several other Easter weekends before that, I just stayed where I was. This year I still wasn’t planning on buying an overpriced ticket to Rome, yet I couldn’t help but feel a bit homesick about spending Easter apart from my family.
“Wait, keep the door open!”
“Sorry?” he says, holding the industrial sliding door with his skate.
“Keep the door open, please, I have to get in.”
“Ah,” he sighs “so you do belong here.”
I can tell he just received the ‘keep off’ warning from my colleagues inside the warehouse. His expression clearly shows the aftereffects of the proverbial Dutch directness.
“Well, yes, I do” I look over at him, as if coming out of a dream “I work here.”
Once upon a time, or –actually- just one year ago, a crazy German guy wrote me an even crazier email. He identified himself as the curator of Urban Art Festival Amsterdam. He also stated that he was producing a mural in Amsterdam Southeast and wanted me to write about it. I was already planning to head to Northern Europe to attend the Belgian street art festival The Crystal Ship, and I had to fly to Nuart Aberdeen festival one week after that. So I figured it would have been at the very least convenient to spend the days in between in Amsterdam.
What could possibly go wrong?