Good old Alkmaar

It's amazing how every time I'm going back in my country of birth, the country still feels like unknown territory. Actually, it feels like a strange mixture between the trusted feeling of being in an environment that you know and the excitement of being on vacation.

It starts already in the train. Every kilometer the train trembles further north, people start to talk different. The soft dialect of the Flemish flows over in the loud, singing/nagging voices of the northern Dutch. Amazing how 200 km further things are so different. And how people are so different.

And then I walk up the stairs of the small trainstation of Alkmaar. It's dark and the lanterns light the humid road in front of me. To the right I can see the small Chinese cabin where I used to eat healthy food for a small price. To the left there's the Burger King where people look through the big windows while they're stuffing a Whopper in their mouths. I walk from the station to my parents house and now I've arrived. My parents aren't there this weekend so after I've finished this article, I'll immediately go into the city. Where I'll meet old friends with whom I'll catch up and drink beer until the early closing times of Alkmaar force me to go home.