Where The Sheep Sleep

Coming home

Every now and then I am walking around the city – wait, who am I kidding?, I never walk – I am cycling, cycling around the city -, and I get struck by this feeling that we are all so disconnected from each other. Which is ironical given the fact that we are also living crammed to each other and yet emotionally so far apart, always busy, never really paying attention to what’s happening around us. Then I can’t avoid my mind to wander to a place where it all was different, where connecting was the rule and not the exception. Where everyone smiled at each other, where people acknowledge each other’s presence, where interactions with other human beings were easy, simple, and free. This description might sound like a mere utopia to most of us. But the cool thing is that there are places like this in the world: not many, that’s true, but they exist.

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I’m still in love with youuu booooy

I came back with no expectations. After one month in London, Oslo, Copenhagen, and last but not the least, Where The Sheep Sleep, my feelings could have changed. Moreover, we went through very difficult times, the last couple of months together. I mean, I’ve always known my feelings but, regarding love, you have to leave some space for things to evolve. It is so easy to get caught up in the routine and stagnate into boredom and nagging, but when you let things breathe and give yourself the chance to look at it from a distance, love might bloom once more. I was pretty cautious when I came back. I didn’t shed a tear of emotion when I landed (but I must admit I smiled from within when I arrived in Central Station). I was home. And my home was as beautiful as I remember it. So I basically started making a mental list of reasons why it is great to be back to this long-lasting case of love in my life, called Amsterdam.

Why is it good to be back in Amsterdam:

(If I was writing for SEO I would have made the sentence above the title for this post, right?)

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Sunday yoga in the park

Wake up to the Sunday morning, hop on your bike, cycle to the park, and feel the smell of the trees around you, listen to the chirping of birds, feel the wind breeze. It’s spring, and we’re at the Oosterpark. It’s 10 a.m. and unlike later on in the afternoon, it is quiet over here, and there’s SPACE. My friend Catarina from All In Yoga is about to start the class. As much as I love dancing the night out, the feeling of starting the day early, and in this fashion, is incomparable.

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The good old language struggle

Yesterday I was thinking of the downs of living “abroad”. I must say I very rarely put myself this question, but I know that this is a very relatable topic to most expats. If you are one, you might immediately have a whole spectrum of ideas on it. Things like the absence of friends and family might automatically pop into your mind, or the missing of certain foods, your hometown, the weather, or a type of human warmth very specific to where you come from. Personally, the following sentence immediately banged in my head:

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Wonder and woe at the house of Rembrandt

The only moment of the day in which you can quietly walk along the city center of an overcrowded Amsterdam is at the crack of dawn: that’s the time when you carelessly go around parts of the city you would otherwise avoid. That is also the moment in which, as a local, you feel that the city is yours again ( was it ever…?) – even if just for a couple of hours, before the sea of tourists awakes. However, and despite the fact that I love this sensation, I somehow really need to have a strong reason in order to wake up early. And the good reason for me is always art-related.

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On being a woman in Amsterdam

In Portugal, where I grew up, there was an un-written code of conduct for “decent women”: whatever you do, never. make. the. first. move with a specimen of the opposite sex. It didn’t matter if that move was nothing other than trying to keep in touch with someone you had found pleasant, interesting, or just worthy of having in your social-circle. Never. make. the. first. move. was not something to be argued against, and by this I mean the reasoning with yourself. The “we live in the 21st century, for god’s sake” argument wouldn’t be of use. The experience of having attempted a first move in the past (or giving the impression you were making one) had been powerful enough to teach any girl that, in such a situation, whatever could go wrong, would.

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Amsterdive is Public

I graduated in theater some years ago. Taking this info into account, you might think it was easy for me to start following what is going on in the city, theater and performance wise. In fact, it took me the longest time to get acquainted with the field, in the low countries. In the beginning it was all very intimidating.

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The wonderful world of Last Minute Tickets

Last week one of my theater mates proposed we went to see the “De Andere Stem”, a theater play which starting point is Jean Cocteau’s classic “La Voix Humaine”( “The Human Voice”). I am an enthusiast of classics, especially in The Netherlands, where they are always staged from a contemporary perspective. I am fond of Toneelgroep Amsterdam as well – the company resident at the Stadsschouwburg, the national theater located at Leidseplein. The stars seemed well aligned for a proper theater evening.

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