Groningen / Assen TT

Groningen / Assen TT

As I sit here and think what to write about my last 3 days in Groningen and Assen there’s really only one thing that springs to mind. It has been a struggle.
I know I’m not supposed to say that about a holiday, while all you people are busy at work, or worse, not busy at work. But I’ve come to believe that holidays are a certain amount of fun compared to a certain amount of pretending to have fun. We all know that holidays are supposed to be to most fun ever but I think that holidays can never be 100% fun all of the time, so we go through the motions. We take the photos. We smile. We pretend, until the next actual fun thing happens. So the cycle continues, obviously with varying levels in the fun/pretend fun ratio depending on the person, the company, and of course, the holiday.

This is not to say for a minute that I regret any of my decisions. I am glad I left London so quick. I am glad I went to the MotoGP and I am glad that I am here alone. These decisions were the best decisions to make, they were not, however, the funnest choices.

We should probably start at the beginning. I got into Groningen at about 10pm on Wednesday night. I had not map and no idea where my hostel was. I had the address on my email but had not thought to print it out ahead of time. There are two things that made this error not such a big deal. Firstly, the visitor information office, complete with internet, is open at the train station until 11pm. Secondly, there are only 2 hostels in Groningen and once I said “simplon”, the visitor information lady told me which bus to catch. So I went and waited for bus 11 at gate D. Bus 11 was already parked there and there were some people waiting around, but no bus driver. So I waited around also. The first thing that struck me about Groningen that night was that I was completely and utterly on my own for the first time in my life. The second thing that struck me is that didn’t bother me too much, in fact, it excited me. The third thing that struck me is the sheer number of bicycles in this place. Everybody is riding a bicycle. They are parked everywhere, near the train station alone there would have been about 3000 of them. And people are still riding them around at 10:30pm on a Wednesday night.

The bus driver walked up the bus, got in and closed the door behind him. No one moved, so I didn’t move. He pottered around inside the bus. He stared the engine. No one moved, so I didn’t move. He drove away. At this point I am thinking “Is is a bad way to start my solo travels by running down the street after a bus crying for it to not leave without me and that I don’t know where I am”. But, no one moved, so I didn’t move. And, to my great pleasure, I had forgotten that in Europe cars drive on the right. It had done a U-turn out of the parking lot to pick us up on the road at the bus stop and facing the correct way. Step 1, complete.

The bus driver had to drop me off at Boterdiep. I had asked him to let me know when it was and had hence sat up near the front of the bus. I knew simplon was on boterdiep, but had no idea of how far along the street it was. Once out of the bus I walked up and down the street twice before I saw the vertical cursive neopn sign that signified the entrance to the hostel.

This hostel is, hmmm. I have no other hostels to compare it to, but I met up with some Irish lads the next night who had hostel’d it all the way through Europe for the last two months, and this was apparently the worst that had stayed in.

So I’m in a shitty hostel, but at least I have a bed. And once I put my earplugs in to block the noise of the dude two bunks over who has apparently shoved a V8 up his nose and it redlines every time he breathes, I get right to sleep.

I wake up very early as I am still running pretty much on Perth time, but that’s okay as it gives me a nice early start to go out and explore the city. Groningen is beautiful. It’s kinda like you would expect the creepy storybook villages of silent hill (it a video game for the non-nerds) to be if nothing creepy ever happened and they just continued in the new millennium. There is definitely modernisation, but the little cobblestoned streets and old churches and other buildings remind you of a time that Perth has never heard of.

I walked around Groningen all morning, taking photos of the typical touristy things and generally just being amazed with all of it. There was a few tones of beach sand in the town square, which had been set up for the national volley ball tournament which was coming to town on the weekend. There were people everywhere riding bicycles to work and I nearly got cleaned up a few times, due to me looking the wrong way, and them being so damn silent. I went back to the hostel at about 11:30am and got my stuff to head out to Assen to go to the first session of the MotoGP.

Getting to the circuit was really easy, however it was quite expensive. A return ticket to Assen was nearly 10 euro, and the return ticket to the track was 5 euro. I guess it’s not too bad. I must stop converting back to AUD. I got a seat in the main straight and sat down to wait for the show. Two things struck me. Firstly, the bikes are freaking loud, even the little ones. When they are at full noise on the main straight if you don’t have ear plugs in you actually get distortion, like when you play drum and bass too loud through crap speakers. Secondly, MotoGP, though it may look classy on tv is just a big piss up for the boys. They usually have a road trip where they ride here from all over Europe, they camp and they get drunk for three days, then they go home. This all sounds like a barrel of fun, but it definitely made me wish that my boys were here with me.

On the way back to Groningen from the track I had a look around Assen. It is also a gorgeous little town, with canals and cute streets filled with old buildings. It’s is also full of middle aged drunk Poms, which has its own sort of amusement. The TT festival is on in Assen over the time the MotoGP races are on, and while I’d heard there was a street party, I did not expect it to be this big. Five stages with different music and about fifteen different bars set up around the town make this the biggest street party I’ve ever seen.

I came back to the hostel and started chatting to two Irish lads who had got in during the day. They had slept the previous night at a train station on their way to Groningen, as they were on the last train somewhere hoping to get a connecting train to Groningen, but had no luck and ended up sleeping on the ground. Not the funnest night of their lives, but a story all the same. We went down to the supermarket to get some cheap food for dinner and then sat outside with these two Polish guys who were trying to get work here. They didn’t speak Dutch, and were quite amazed to find out that even for jobs such as peeling shrimp, their lack of the local language would prevent them from getting work.

The next day I was out to Assen quite early for two sessions of MotoGP action. While walking to the Groningen train station, I was passed by an old dude on a segway, as I was still laughing to myself about this I walked past a street where a young woman was sitting on a strep, she saw me laughing and smiled back. It was a nice way to start the day.

At Assen I chatted with a few old Dutch dudes as I couldn’t understand the announcer and wanted to know who was winning. They were quite friendly and gave me one of their dried meat things to eat, then were on their way. I walked the entire way round the track to check out all the different areas as tomorrow would be restricted seating and I wanted to see all of it while I could. Rossi ened up getting pole position, which made the crowd very happy and I think he would have had close to 100% support here.

Back in Groningen that evening, while walking back from the train station I found myself on the street where the girl who smiled at me was sitting and soon realized it was the red light district as women where seating at the window in their underwear. It’s quite startling when you’re not ready for it. There goes my confidence boost… The only Dutch woman prepared to smile at me is paid to do so. Awesome. It’s such a strange concept though, the women sitting at the window. Some of them are having cups of tea, reading the paper, watching the Simpsons. All the while nearly naked and in full view of the street.

That night both the Irish and Polish boys had moved on and I was now set with the task of making new friends. Here’s where the struggle really comes. I realized that there are two types of people at my hostel. The middle aged English lads whom I have a bit in common with, but am unlikely to go out for a night on the piss with. And the guys that are my age, but are there solely to get stoned the whole time, and do not desire a night on the piss, anymore than I desire to get stoned with people I don’t know in a country I don’t understand. I have lived my whole life with the motto “Fuck ‘em, I’ve got enough friends”. I now realize that this motto needs to change, and change fast. While I lamented this while walking around the city in the fading light of ten pm, I decided that this trip is not a holiday. At least not a holiday in the sense that Japan with Woo was a holiday where we were going out every night and getting written off, but really learning little about the people, the place, our fellow travelers, or more importantly, ourselves. This trip in contrast would not be about the big nights I would have (although I’m sure there will be some) but it will be how I deal with the moments of loneliness that may stretch into days, and the inevitable personal growth that comes with that.

I did however meet two Australian girls who were in Groningen to play in the Volleyball tournament. Alice and Louise are at the institute of sport and checked in at around the same time as the hostel worker was asking me if I was some kind of computer whiz kid and could fix their internet connection even though all the error messages are in Dutch and despite my mega computer skills, I would have little chance of understanding the problem.

He next morning was race day and again I was out at the track early. It was nuts. People were everywhere (mostly wearing yellow, in honour of Rossi, their god). The 125cc and 250cc races were exciting, tight struggles that were great fun to watch. The main race however was a bit of a precession as Rossi won by miles. Stoner got third and I was a little disappointed. I at least wanted it to be close. Oh well, I was there the day Rossi won his 100th race. That’s a little bit of history at least.

I went back to Groningen that night and went out to the town square and had some dinner. A WEINERSCHNITZEL (sorry, I have decided that anything that sounds the slightest bit German must be yelled) was quite cheap at around 10 euro. It was nice to have a good meal and be in the centre of town, even if it was all by myself (cue music from Bridget Jones). I had heard there was an ice bar in the town centre area and was determined to have a drink there before the end of the night. I spent the time waiting for the bar to open by walking around the city that I had not yet explored and at around 10pm made my way back to the town square. The ice bar was awesome. And cold. Duh. After a shot of vodka (I figured it was appropriate) and a shot of Jager for good measure, I made my way back to the hostel and got some sleep.

The next morning I got up and went down to the town square to watch Louise and Alice give some Dutch girls a lesson in Beach Volleyball. I wore my wife-beater to add that classic Aussie touch. Then it was farewell to beautiful Groningen and time to get Amsterdamned.

The train ride there was pleasant enough. Once there I went to the tourist office to get directions to my hostel, and after the tram let me out a stop late, it was only a hop skip and a jump to the Flying Pig Uptown hostel. There are already more people my age (and by that I mean UNDER 30) in this hostel than I came across in all my time in Groningen. And there’s a big party tonight. It’s all looking up. Taylor needs some friends.