Government Recommended Binge Drinking

When it comes to drinking, there is purely only one difference between the Europeans and the Americans: the Europeans see no problem. Café Brandon, a quant traditional café (read: bar) on the corner of Herengracht is overflowing by 6 pm on Friday. Expatica.com likes to call this the “European Friday Night Binge;” Lenore’s term conveys it even better: “the 5 O’Clock Free Crack Giveaway.” It’s so packed, they must be serving up something pretty special.

But alas, the Dutch just love their beer. A lot. Throughout the day. While biking, even ( - at 9 AM). Thus, in honor of their love of their Queen Beatrix and beer, April 30th is designated Konninginnedag – or Queen’s Day.

With street wide tag sales, party boats, and a free-for-all attitude (more than usual), Queen’s Day is an experience. As the weekend neared – starting say, on the Wednesday lunch hour – the parties, decorations, and sound stages ramped up around the Prinsengracht. As we were decidedly in the best location, everyone moved in – to my room – for the weekend. Our adventure that included Koninginnedag began at Scheveningen, the sister city of Den Haag, peacefully nestled on the ocean shore. Peaceful is a lie though – it was packed, with a lovely crosswind that quickly coated us and our belongings in sand. After only a few hours in the sun, we all were exhibiting tan lines and decided to make the trek home to get ready for that night.

Splitting into two groups, we departed Centraal with our goals: Lenore and I were buying food. Molly and Kristen were in charge of booze. Off to Albert Heijn! Apparently, 5 PM on Queen’s Night is not a good time to go to the supermarket. The check out lines are backed up half way down the length of the store, while people in the bread line are hostile. Yes, bread line. It was like the Great Depression (or so we imagined), waiting in line for bread – and we just barely got any. The floor of the booze area was several inches deep from overzealous Dutch grabbing after that last Heineken (yeah, that was low). We make it back to our home over an hour after we got back to Amsterdam. Preparations continue: mattresses are moved, fridges are stocked, drinks are poured. We planned in a way that the four of us could have safely remained living in my room for at least a week with the provisions we amassed. We finally head out sometime around 10 or 11, to find that the Dutch are already in full-on party mode.

The music started blasting Thursday night and there was no sign of it stopping now. The Homo monument is awash in a wave of beer and an incredibly vast number of drag queens. Overwhelming is an understatement – but we did not realize it could get worse – or better, depending on how many drinks you’ve had.

The next day, we cautiously venture out and are confronted with a sea of tall, mostly blond, drunk people. The side walks are covered with tag sales, people selling the use of their WC, and even food vendors for a day stands (don’t you people have health codes?!) We are lucky enough to witness a girl get pulled out of the Prinsengracht, though we unfortunately missed her tumble into it. I was nominated to flash a boat in hopes of getting us on to one, but I politely denied my friends’ request (why am I the one always nominated for such tasks?) We end up returning to our haven after a few hours out – Lenore and Kristen immediately set to napping, Molly sits on my window sill, peer pressuring me, while I finish off the two wit biers in my fridge. After two beers, I too, think napping is a wonderful idea (Dear Europe, Please give me back my tolerance, Love Maria), and proceed to do so for a while.

By around 5 PM, we head out to find food and stumble upon the mass exodus that is streaming down the Damrak toward Centraal Station. We make it back to my abode literally 3 hours later and spend the rest of Koninginnedag in a very chill manner.

It was one of those things that it’s cool to be able to say you experienced it, but it was mildly ridiculous – but of course, I wasn’t drinking heavily, that might have altered my perception. It took the city 3 days to clean up the streets – that was horrible, especially riding your bike amongst the glass shards in the street. Over a week later, there are still jager logos spray painted on the cobblestones.

And so you have the tale of our Queen’s Day – arguably not as wild as we could have made it, but I’m just saving the best for you in the States, obviously.