Houd Je Nog Een Beetje Van Mij?

Cafe De Kat in De Wijngaert, Amsterdam

    Some people have a snout for sniffing out the best bar around. I'm not one of these people but luckily, I was traveling alongside one of these special few. As God would have it, we visited the best bar in the universe last night. At least that’s what Niels, our newfound Dutch friend, said. It started with Jake and I “minding our business”. We ordered a drink each. He played chess and I wrote in my journal about the wonderful day that it had been. When going up to order another drink at the bar, I heard a man yell something across the room, to another man in Spanish. I turned myself and said, “Oh! Hablas Español?” He said, “Y tú, amiga??” That was invitation enough for him to join us at our table.

    It went from there. This perfect night. We talked there for maybe an hour. About America and vulgarity. About how men only want to talk about sports or politics. This theory was proven after I left the table to use the restroom and when I returned, the men had found their way back to the playful violence that both sports and politics contain. I was the only woman in the bar. I did not feel threatened or intimidated. I like to listen to what men have to say. Sometimes they’re begging to be heard, and I’ve always been a very curious cat anyway. I should add that I really only enjoy these kinds of dynamics if the men at hand are reciprocal in their attention. If they are also wondering what my thoughts are on the subject. What I can sniff out, if not the best bar in the universe, is a man pretending to care. 

    Every once in a while, an older man with a gorgeous ponytail, would walk by, looking over Jake’s chess board. He’d sneakily smile and move a piece or keep an opinion about the game to himself. He had humorous, mischievous eyes. We kept asking him to sit and play but I think he was enjoying the other patrons of the bar and the ongoing fútbol game. Niels wrote down the bar-specific cuss words that him and his friends like to use while enjoying their drinks. “Hepatitis B” was my favorite. In hindsight, I think he was the only one using this vocabulary. I say this because he seemed to me one of those people who take part in the world, eagerly, beautifully- and yet spending such a large amount of time dowsed in a world of their own. Sort of like me. 

    I should mention that this entire night began with Jake and I eating Chinese food (really outstanding Chinese food) and arguing over whether or not I have the ability to get drunk. I’ve been convinced that no matter how much I drink lately, I can’t seem to get drunk-even buzzed! He bet me that if we got two drinks in me, I’d be giggling and stumbling over myself. Stumbling over outer space. Cafe De Kat in De Wijngaert is where we arrived to test the theory. My really dumb theory. 

    Drink one went alright. Drink two introduced us to all of our new Dutch friends and it also became my new outfit. As I sat down at the table, with two very fancy glasses of gin and tonic, the one closest to me dumped halfway in my lap. Niels kept saying, “It’s okay, darling. It’s more than okay.” I told him that Jake had officially won our bet. He had also won a skull achingly close chess game earlier that day. I had had enough of Jake winning and told Niels all about how aggravating it is to have lost every single game of chess against him for the last two years that we have been dating. All Niels said was, “Forget that. Dissolve your ego. There’s no winning anyway.” Yea, of course I know that. It still sucks. 

    New characters slowly started trickling into the bar. Xander (ponytail guy) finally stopped and played chess with Jake, promising me to play as brutal as possible. I needed to be avenged and was grateful. Niels talked to me about his mother who passed last August. I asked what she was like. He said, “beautiful”. I could see the grief in his face. I could see him as a young Dutch boy in Amsterdam in a beautiful grocery store walking around with his beautiful mother. Going home to their narrow, brick home. He told me she had died in her sleep. We both smiled. Not everyone gets that lucky.

    Niels kept saying this cute Dutch phrase to patrons as they trinkled into the bar. "Houd Je Nog Een Beetje Van Mij?" I noticed this and asked what it meant. 

"Do you still love me a little?" 

    We all ventured outside for a smoke. Some cigarettes and a joint, provided by Xander (though at this point I was referring to him as Sensei because this is what Niels had been calling him). I can’t remember who brought it up but Pass the Dutchie was the song everyone was singing as we smoked and laughed. I asked Sensei what he laughs like and he got another sneaky look on his face. He kept saying that he didn’t care anymore. That he loved Americans. We won the bar over, it seemed.

    Everyone really hates Trump here. How well informed they are. We shared in our grief and shame for our country. When we praised our new friends for being so up to date with American politics. Niels laughed and said, “We’re bored!” More laughing. More beautiful laughing. Finally, Niels brought out his rosary and started talking about God. He told us that he does not believe in coincidences. My heart must have been running through my ribs. I touched his arm and said, “I don’t believe in God. I know God.” We shared a smile and blabbed about love and life and the movie Amèlie. What a perfect stranger. Though he no longer felt far away in that way. As the night crawled forward, Niels began to feel more like a long-lost friend or a crazy uncle. We took a selfie in the cold. I didn't want to forget his little smile. I didn't want to forget anything. 

    By the end of the night, the bar bill found itself to be almost as high as all of us standing outside and the bar was closing down. We stood around while they locked up the place and we talked some more with this guy from Guatemala and his friend from Morocco. They told us stories about how they met Niels and by this point, everyone was so high and giggly that anything would’ve had us bent over ourselves. They asked if we wanted to join them in finding a different bar, but it was the end of our road. I had laughed enough for the week. 

    We all hugged and said our goodbyes. Xander pulled me in and whispered a very gentle “thank you.” I won over Sensei multiple times over. I'll say one more thing: I'm not a greedy woman with my experiences. I know when I've had enough to drink, enough laughter, enough inspiration to write my next page. We could have followed them to the subsequent bar but what for? With a cup so full, I'm bound to spill.