End Of An Era

How do you get to realize you're not as young as you used to be? Because you suddenly come to notice the world has somehow changed and you didn't even see it till it's a fact!

Yesterday I used up my last Strippenkaart. Admitted, we've been using chip cards in Dutch public transport for a while now. But I hadn't worn my black leather coat for some years and found one in its pocket. And since I'm Dutch after all, I wanted to use it up.
Rotterdam was first at abandoning the Strippenkaart. In 2008 it was impossible to use the subway without a chip card, the then new system. At the time, I still lived in Egypt and was flabbergasted. How am I to use the metro? Do I want to purchase a piece of plastic I am not going to use for another year? What, I HAVE to? I was literally a stranger in my "own" country!
That hurt more than the fact that those introductions of a new system also impose a price increase on the consumer. I did the math! The last Strippencards (the ones with 15 strips) are 7,70 euro, which brings me to a fee of a bit over a euro traveling within one zone. The price system for the tram is not as transparent, but the ride from my home to the train station usually costs me 1,20 euro. Provided I get in and do not change on my way. Whereas I could use my Strippenkaart for a ride within a zone for a specific amount of time(1 hour), with the chip card I have to check out before leaving the vehicle and checking in again after changing. All over, that means a considerable price difference.
Also, and that is what is the killer for most people, you have to REMEMBER to check out. A friendly mechanic voice will kindly remember you to do so but we all know what we're like after a long day of hard labour: absent minded. Unfortunately absent mindedness is expensive. If you forget to check out your card, the automatical fee for a trip is four euro. Ouch! Talk about hurt.

But let's go back a while. When I was a little toddler going shopping with my gran, she bought tickets from the bus driver. She payed him with cash and no one thought anything of it! She didn't even have to pay a special price (strippenkaarten bought from the driver are considerably more expensive). I was barely allowed to travel by myself, when my mom gave me my first strippenkaart. She always grumbled when I forgot to empty my pockets before chucking my trousers in the laundry. No more of that either. Plastic cards are kept in wallets these days. Bye bye strippenkaart!

The Day After.

It's all over now. I feel like having a bad hangover without the alcohol. We're a nation of desillusioned football fans. Any fellow football fan with a heart will understand. Ofcourse we'll be back in a couple of years. Whatever people say about us right now, we're resilient folks. We'll rear our orange heads again, without a shadow of a doubt. Whether they like it or not!
But not right now... Still too busy licking our wounds, so cut us some slack.
Fair or unfair, deserved or undeserved... We're crushed! And what does one do at such an occassion? Time out! Out with the orange! Have a break. And see you in two years or so...

I'm so excited!

"I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it, I'm about to loose control and I think I like it!"
Orange Fever first caught me back in '78 at a veeeeeeery tender age when "we" "nearly" became Champions of the World. If only Robbie Rensenbrink hadn't shot on the post in the very first minute of the match... In the years following, I didn't loose that fever in spite of the men in orange not getting very lucky. In fact, from time to time they were kind of... crap.
So what does a girl do when she finds herself in Paris in '88, where she's working as a "jeune fille au pair" and disappointingly watches her favourite team getting beaten one-nil by the Soviet Union at the very first game? I can answer that! It'll make her think: you're young, you're in Paris... why bother going through the hassle watching a bunch of overrated w****** getting whipped once again?
So she doesn't bother. And lives to regret it! Weeks later, still in Paris, she runs in to this French Prince Charming who compliments her on being Dutch: "Aaaah!! Vous-etes les champions hein!" She wants to start: "Waddaya mean champions, we're always crap".
But then she bows her head in shame. And it still is there. Cause so many years down the line, it seems as if all that glory has never occured. As far as she's concerned anyhow. She promises herself never to miss another championship again. But finds herself being disappointed time and time again. Never mind: it's always enjoyable as long as it lasts. Also, she feels she should support her team no matter what. The Dutch will only do the Polonaise when they're winning, but the Brazilians will still dance the Samba after they've lost. Now who needs that kind of supporters!? The Dutch can't dance, but that shouldn't stop them from trying to learn!
So... we're writing the year 2010. And the Men in Orange made it further into the tournament than they have done for years and years. Finally I feel it: I've caught that good old Orange Fever again. In spite of.. everything! The past, orange not really being my color, the team not being as sympathetic as they used be to and their play not as gracious as it was in the good old days.. But after watching them win five games in a row, singing our national anthem together with kids from all sorts of backgrounds and deciding I don't look as bad in orange as long as I have a tan I finally succomb.
I reckon there's only one group of people back here that will hope from the bottom of their hearts it won't happen again: houseboat owners in Amsterdam... And who can blame them!