Tag Archives: culture

The story of the Maltese balcony

I usually get to know a city intimately by doing two things: walking and looking up. By walking, I’m more likely to discover places which haven’t yet been rated on Trip Advisor and by looking up, I can appreciate the architectural features a city offers.

I have a thing for balconies. When travelling in Paris last June, I embraced the art of flânerie to savour the beauty of the wrought iron balconets. Later in Berlin, I witnessed residents’ attempts to recreate a picnic area in their own balconies, complete with plants, colourful striped parasols and a satellite dish to ensure no game of Bundesliga is missed. Meanwhile up north, Stockholmers seem to rarely use curtains in an attempt to invite every photon of light indoors.

Although every manner of balcony adds to the unique personality of a city, no balcony in Europe tells a more fascinating story than that of the Maltese balcony.

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Clipped to Valletta’s golden walls, the traditional gallarija immediately strikes visitors as distinctive and extremely versatile. Its aesthetic, proportion and colour enrich the visual aspects of our streets through bright paint, wood and simplicity.

But where do these balconies come from?

It all started in the late 17th century, when Valletta acquired the first timber enclosed balcony on the island. It is widely held that this was the pine green one in the Grand Master’s Palace, stretching from Old Theatre Street up to St George’s Square. However, we have no record as to whether this was locally designed or imported.

The Maltese balcony is probably a derivative of the Spanish style balcony, which in turn is strongly influenced by the Arabic mashrabiya. However, the ethos of the Maltese balcony is different.

“In Arabic culture, the mashrabiya, literally a ‘peep-hole’, is a lattice screen enclosure generally built as a wooden window frame, which screened the window space completely,” architectural historian Conrad Thake says. “This style of balcony presented the Muslim female with her only direct contact with the outside world.”

Meanwhile, the function of the Maltese balcony is more of a theatre box and serves as an unobtrusive platform whereby one can witness the unfolding events on the streets below, designed to be seen, as well as to look out from.

“Put simply, the mashrabiya was a means of hiding away from life outside, whereas the Maltese balcony provides a platform through which you can participate in the life outside,” Thake says.

Winston Churchill said that the buildings we shape end up shaping us. The spaces we live in and the way we interact with them have had a significant impact on our culture. And the balcony is not only climatically and architecturally an important feature, but also a sociological one too.

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On a practical level, the balcony is used to provide light and to control the climate. It’s also common to see the day’s washing hanging out to dry on balconies.

In the early 1990s, anthropologist Sibyl O’Reilly Mizzi observed this indigenous cultural phenomenon and wrote how:

“Many houses have a closed balcony, an ideal observation post for the street below and the activities of passers-by, without one’s self being observed. Towns and villages [in Malta] are densely populated, so there is almost always someone passing, some activity to interest a watcher. It is a perfect arrangement for neighbours to watch each other surreptitiously. It enables them to become familiar with the daily routine of everyone in the neighbourhood. Any deviation from routine, even a minor one, is immediately noticed.”

Two decades later, the balcony’s function on a practical level still exists, but what about its sociological use? Do people still spend their afternoons sitting in their balconies as they once used to?

While many in Valletta still adorn their balconies with a collection of plants, drapes, lights and effigies of saints during religious feasts, or use it for storing things, very few are those who casually while away their time interacting with life outside.

Wandering through the streets of Valletta on your average Sunday afternoon, most balconies are open to let in the crisp sea breeze, clothes hang outside to dry, while music can be heard having a duet with the pigeons’ clapping wings. But otherwise, I could only see two women peering out of their balcony at the world below.

The balcony is moving on to a new chapter in its history.

Its function of knowing from the inside what is going on outside seems to be declining. But is this a threat to the traditional Maltese balcony?

Not necessarily. Paraphrasing Churchill’s quote, it seems like it’s no longer the architecture that is shaping us, but the opposite.

Featured in The Times of Malta and Il-Bizzilla – Air Malta’s Inflight Magazine.

10 mouth-watering dishes from Malta

Malta’s cuisine relies heavily on locally available produce such as tomatoes, honey, olives and other vegetables, which thrive in the warm but harsh climate. Recipes have been derived from other Mediterranean kitchens, the Sicilian, French and North African all seemed to have left their mark, although there are also traces of British occupation – oddly enough, the Maltese still enjoy their tea served with a splash of milk!

Here are ten Maltese dishes that have come to represent the island and its rich cultural heritage.

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The Savoury

1) Soppa tal-Armla (literally: Widow’s Soup)

It is hard not to notice the irresistible smell of authentic home cooking when walking through the narrow streets of a typical Maltese village before midday. Up until half a century ago, Maltese women would leave their broths to cook slowly on their small paraffin stoves from early or mid-morning.

widow soup recipe

Is-soppa tal-armla is considered to be the most traditional Maltese soup recipe, borrowed from a past where the poorest widows boiled the cheapest greens as a warm and healthy alternative to rich protein meals. Its contents are typically green and white vegetables, potatoes, carrots, beans, peas, cauliflower and others, all mixed together with a tomato paste (locally: kunserva).

In Malta, soups were not always meant to be a starter – very often, they were intended to form a nutritious meal by themselves, and frequently, any leftover soup would be eaten again for supper with a poached egg, or served with a ġbejna (a Maltese cheeselet made from goat’s milk), typically prepared by the widows themselves.

2) Torta tal-Lampuki

The lampuka (or the small dorado, dolphinfish or mahi-mahi) is a shimmering silver and golden fish that swims between Malta and the sister island of Gozo between the end of August until the beginning of November, before making its way towards the Atlantic.

The Maltese are very fond of their lampuki, and when in season, it is very likely that you’ll hear lampuki vendors roaming the streets with their small vans yelling: Lampuki ħajjin! (They’re alive!) to emphasise their freshness. Insider tip: fresh fish tend to have clear eyes and red gills.

This popular fish can be cooked in a variety of ways: either shallow-fried or oven baked. It is generally served with a rich tomato sauce mixed with capers, onions, olives and fresh herbs. However, a local’s favourite way to cook lampuki is in a pie, combined with spinach, olives and any other ingredient that would tickle the Maltese housewife’s imagination. Each family tends to have their own unique way of making lampuki pie, since recipes are usually handed down from mother to daughter.

If you’re visiting Malta in season, make sure you try Busy Bee‘s recipe. For the catch of the day, visit the Ix-Xlukkajr restaurant in the quaint fishermen’s village of Marsaxlokk.

3) Timpana

The timpana is definitely not a good choice for the weight-conscious. The recipe is thought to be adapted from Sicilian cuisine and is – more or less – macaroni enclosed in a pastry. Traditionally, the dish was prepared for a Sunday meal, but this was during a time when women were still taking their large trays of food to the communal ovens in the village bakeries.

The timpana is nowadays prepared as an entrée for Christmas lunch, followed by turkey. It is prepared with penne-shaped pasta, blended in a rich tomato and minced meat sauce and mixed with eggs and cheese. Finally, the whole mixture is wrapped in a short-crust pastry and topped off with a flaky puff-pastry to resemble a pie.

4) Pastizzi

Pastizzi are the most popular savoury snack on the islands. They must have already been much-loved in the days of the Holy Inquisition, since records archiving 18th century lifestyles in Malta highlight that the navy mention cheesecakes and pastries, possibly similar to modern-day pastizzi.

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Pastizzi look almost like croissants, but are rolled in a flaky pastry, stuffed with either salty ricotta or mushy peas. They’re typically bought from little tuckshops or pastizzerias, nestled in almost every corner of every village.

The most famous pastizzeria in Malta goes by the name of Crystal Palace (in Rabat, Malta) – known by the locals as ‘Tas-Serkin’, which is the owner’s nickname. The shop’s popularity isn’t due to the fact that they make the best pastizzi, but because the shop is always open. This is convenient for young clubbers who frequent nearby discos to pop by for a late-night (or early-morning) snack.

Make sure you enjoy your pastizzi with a classic cup of tea or a bottle of Kinnie (Malta’s very own tangy orange-flavoured soft drink).

5) Fenkata (Rabbit Stew)

Rabbit meat was relatively affordable during the Middle Ages and was considered the ‘beef of the lower classes’. In fact, both rabbits and hares were hunted in large quantities until prohibited by the Knights of St John, in order to safeguard the island’s meagre resources. The dish became popular after the lifting of the hunting ban in the late 18th century; today, it is one of those concoctions widely identified as the ‘national dish’.

A fenkata would typically consist of two courses – the first dish would be a huge bowl of spaghetti tossed in a rabbit ragu, wine and herbs; the second dish would be the actual rabbit meat cooked in a similar sauce, served with peas and fries. One of the most authentic places to try fenkata is at the United Bar in the rural village of Mġarr (Malta).

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The Sweet

The Maltese menu does not really contain a lot of sweet dishes and desserts, since main courses were usually followed by fresh fruit or local cheeses, such as ġbejniet. The desserts we now know tend to be borrowed, and the majority is similar to those served in Sicily.

6) Qagħaq tal-Għasel (Treacle or Honey Rings)

The honey ring dates back to the 15th century and is widely associated with Carnival and Christmas periods. It is a ring pastry filled with qastanija – a mixture of marmalade, sugar, lemon, oranges, mixed spices, cinnamon, vanilla and syrup.

Although not very difficult to make, the sweet rings do require time and patience to prepare. It is usually served with a round glass of wine of a warm cup of English tea.

Qagħaq tal-Għasel can be bought from any grocery shop or local confectionery, although Caffe Cordina‘s secret family recipe is acclaimed as the best sample of this gooey treat.

 7) Pudina tal-Ħobż (Bread Pudding)

The 18th century Maltese were very poor and bread was considered the most important food – in fact, some pensions were even paid in bread. Thus, in order to economise on food resources, they would leave their stale bread pieces to soak, and by adding some sultanas, candied peel and chocolate they would transform it into a sweet pudding. Unfortunately this delicacy is becoming far less popular among locals since it is considered time-consuming to make.

8) Christmas Log

In continental European countries, such as Germany, France and Belgium, the traditional Christmas log (or Buche de Nöel) is made out of an Italian sponge cake coated in chocolate. The Maltese version, however, consists of crushed biscuits, dried cherries, nuts and liqueur, mixed together in condensed milk, then rolled in the shape of a log and coated in melted chocolate. It is refrigerated overnight, and served in round slices at the end of Christmas lunch.

9) Kwareżimal

During the period before Easter, most Maltese used to fast by denying themselves meat on Wednesdays and Fridays. They also avoided sweets. The kwareżimal (derived from ‘quaresima’, the forty days of lent) was the only ‘sweet’ that was allowed during the Lenten season.

Although recipes tend to vary, it is traditionally prepared with almonds, honey and spices, containing neither fat nor eggs. As a biscuit, the kwareżimal is quite large, approximately 15cm by 5cm wide and 2cm thick, and has an oblong shape.

Even though Lenten rules are no longer insisted upon, the kwareżimal is still in demand, especially around Lent and Easter periods, as tradition dictates. These days, they are served while hot, and should be enjoyed with unsalted pistachio nuts or chopped roasted almonds on top, or a thread of local honey.

10) Kannoli (Ricotta-filled cornets)

The kannoli are deep-fried pastry tubes filled with sweetened ricotta, sometimes candied peel, and icing on top. They are generally served in the finest cafés on the island. You can enjoy an icing-covered kannol with a view at the Fontanella in Mdina, where they are served only on Sundays and Public Holidays.

Originally published on The Culture Trip.

Why do we take selfies?

Some ten years ago, my childhood best friend and I would head down to our baroque capital each Saturday morning to window shop, gossip and sip strawberry McDonald’s milkshakes while overlooking the spectacular grand harbour views.

Then, we would visit the Savoy shopping mall and as part of our weekly ritual, squeeze ourselves into a photo-booth, insert an Lm1 coin (which would nowadays be roughly the equivalent of €2) and pull funny faces at the automated camera.

In 2003, neither of us had a mobile phone nor a digital camera. The photo-booth was our only means of documenting the outing.

If we were the same teens now, we’d undoubtedly be using our smartphones to capture selfies, and instead of keeping the shameful photos in our wallets (as we did), we’d keep a log of them on instagram for the entire world to admire.

The “selfie” has quickly come to symbolise our culture in 2013.

In fact, the word selfie has recently been included in the Oxford English dictionary as the most influential word of the year.

Here’s the official definition: “(n.) a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically with a smartphone or webcam and uploaded to a social media website.”

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What intrigues me about the selfie is just how an act of vanity is quickly coming to be accepted as a norm by society.

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Moreover, none of these people seem to be taking themselves too seriously. The expressions are mainly sexy, mysterious and playful.

How are selfies different in comparison to posing in front of a ‘traditional’ camera?

I’d like to think of the selfie as being very similar to looking into a mirror.

At least whenever I switch on my front-facing smartphone camera to capture a furtive selfie, first thing I do is check that my face is in order, before eventually pouting or squinting at my reflection on the screen.

You see, whenever we look into a mirror, we go through an internal process of scrutinizing our appearance – we try to cover up the elements we dislike, and enhance the attributes we like.

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However, we tend to do all this in the privacy of our bedrooms or in the bathroom.

We pull faces at ourselves in the mirror, experiment with our hair, try on new make-up, play dress-up – we perform and experiment with different identities within a safe and secure environment.

Now with the selfie, we are placing the behavior considered normal in front of a bedroom or bathroom mirror, into the public sphere.

And this is perhaps one of the reasons why the selfie has sparked up controversy; it is a new phenomenon, one that we love to hate. Purely because the art of selfie taking requires not taking yourself too seriously, acting goofy, and making public what was once carried out in private.

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As a generation, we are the pioneers of the selfie as a means of expression. Meaning: there are those who have already embraced the selfie and harness it (e.g. teens and celebrities). Then there are those who are still testing the waters, and in the process, delaying the selfie from fully becoming a normalised aspect of our culture.

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A selfie shared online is simply a process of bringing to the forefront what was once done in the background.

Basically, what the selfie is doing, is unleashing our obsession with self-portraits; it has made what was once invisible, visible across the entire internet universe.

In fact, selfies have always existed, albeit in a different format.

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Frida Kahlo was a Mexican painter, best known for her self-portraits.

Through a set of brushes and a vibrant palette, Kahlo depicted how she perceives herself to be, on an external level. In today’s vocabulary, she painted her selfie.

Frida Kahlo Self-Portrait

Painting is nowadays often perceived as time-consuming and expensive. In this regard, the smartphone has democratised the art of self-portraiture to the extent that selfies are taken, modified and shared instantaneously at no cost, whatsoever.

But if we could take pictures of anything, why are we so interested in our faces?

Our face is the organ that distinguishes us from other persons and is crucial for our identity. By flipping the lens and entering into the frame, we come to communicate deep ideas about who we are and where we fit into the world.

One of my favourite, and probably Frida Kahlo’s most famous quotes reads: “I paint myself because I am so often alone, and because I am the subject I know best.”

The selfie is a phenomenon in which the photographer is also the subject of the photograph – just like the self-portrait, but through a different medium.

What is perhaps most gauging about the selfie is the fact that we are given control over how we are seen by the world – definitely lacking in the filter-less photo-booth that had my first selfies taken, ten years ago.

Does foodtography ruin our appetite?

Over the past two years, my social media feeds have more or less evolved into a culinary still-life expo. We’ve gone from Facebook to Recipebook. But in truth, why are we meticulously documenting our culinary adventures and sharing them with a virtual public?

A leisurely scroll along what was once a cacophony of people’s concerns and whereabouts has suddenly become more visual – and it’s not merely selfies, but also what people are eating. Because let’s face it, even Nanna’s lampuki pie deserves to have its online moment.

Foodtography is the relatively recent trend of taking pictures of food and sharing them online via social media platforms such as instagram, Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. What I find particularly interesting about this phenomenon is that the photos generally feature food, sans people.

A quick browse through my childhood photo albums shows pictures of people seated at long tables during summer barbecues and anniversary fenkati. But whatever the occasion, the main actor was not food – the focus was on the people and the eating experience as a whole.

On the other hand, with foodtography, the food has become the subject of the photograph, with most photos excluding the diner. Social media does what food does best – it brings people together.

This concept is pertinent in marketing and advertising strategies. Take Foodspotting for instance – this app, integrated with a map of restaurants close to your current location, showcases dishes that people have eaten. The app tagline – find and share great dishes, not just restaurants – encourages diners to shoot, tag and rate dishes under the #foodspotting hashtag. Then restaurants can promote their food while enticing new clients, for free.

Unless, of course, the people you are eating with believe that taking pictures of your food spoil the atmosphere of the meal. Food alone is a basic need for nourishment and survival, but eating together is deeply rooted in human culture. People who gather around a table are present to share more than just a meal, but also a conversation. People come together for special occasions and construct collective memories and experiences over food.

Professor Signe Rousseau from Cape Town University, South Africa, believes that: “Most of us love to eat, and we also love to tell stories through food. We all know that a picture is worth a thousand words, and as communication is becoming increasingly visual, we rely on others to make sense and interpret the food we share.”

Perhaps this is what we are trying to emulate through foodtography – a sense of virtual togetherness.

Self-proclaimed foodie Kim Davidson from Brooklyn, the US, recently ventured into people’s motivations behind foodtography. A former avid foodtographer herself, she explains that: “By combining photography with our storytelling capability, we are able to easily build discourses, especially for those who cannot partake in the meal with us.”

Photos capture special moments, thus providing information to those who aren’t present. Moreover, sharing such moments with an online audience enables people to engage in a discourse where personal memories are cued by photographs. “People’s relationship with food does not only satisfy our biological needs,” she continues. “It is also a profoundly social urge.”

Based on the ethos that sharing is caring, the internet and social media have created a virtual platform for foodie communities to gather and exchange their love and appreciation of good food. “Social media and food have one unique and seemingly genuine commonality, that of integrating people,” Davidson says. Indeed, social media does what food does best – it brings people together.

In this way, foodtography could also be perceived as a means of attracting people to one’s profile, increasing the chances of interaction via likes and comments, and thus satisfying one’s need for recognition. Additionally, the saying “you are what you eat” could also sustain the claim that foodtography could be linked to the online shaping of our identity.

Recently, a group of researchers from Brigham Young University, Utah, the US, found that an obsession with foodtography could be spoiling our appetite. They claim that looking at too many photos of food can make our eating less enjoyable due to sensory boredom.

As far-fetched as this may seem, there might actually be a grain of truth here. After a whole morning shooting irresistible dishes for a restaurant’s new menu, a food photographer friend of mine told me: “I didn’t eat anything for lunch. It felt like my body had already digested the food.”

Pictures are a representation of our environment – they have the ability to evoke emotions and may thus seem to reproduce reality. In this way, when we trawl through foodies’ profiles, our bodies could be fooled into experiencing the food as if it were present in front of us. If you pay close attention, you might realise that you start to salivate as a result of our body’s physiological reaction.

By the end of 2010, 80 billion photos were published on social media platforms – that goes to explain how nowadays, a lot of people don’t just write about what they’re up to – smartphones have facilitated visual communication, such that people also share photos of what they think, do and eat.

Foodtography has also facilitated the exchange of recipe ideas and created a whole new realm for advertisers. Moreover, food diaries may also eliminate the sense of loneliness one may feel when eating alone. However, we must remember to enjoy the company of others during a meal, since taking photos of food can alter the atmosphere when actually eating together.

This article was originally published in The Times of Malta, October 23, 2013.

What’s in a Meme?

“Footballer: Y U no use foot?” Indeed. That is the sound of memes, spreading like wildfire through my Facebook newsfeed. As if the Euro 2012 wasn’t time-consuming enough. Now there’s a meme featuring nearly every player, every goal, and documenting every other minute of every match.

In this context, memes are graphics with large text in front of a related illustration, created for free, using templates from meme-generator websites.

Memes are becoming a central part of our everyday landscape of communication, almost replacing the traditional textual status update.

Their content – generally referring to cultural symbols – entertains and consequently questions aspects of society through their captions. Memes are in fact shared instantly via social networks (namely Facebook, Tumblr and Youtube), and can take the form of hyperlinks, videos or pictures. For the purpose of brevity, I will only refer to graphical memes.

Memes are simply becoming a new way of passing on humour: jokes were once passed on by word of mouth and are today being spread virally as visual genres of expression. In the past, we may have laughed at one-liner jokes. Today we are giving these jokes a face.

Memes show how internet users are developing a particular creative intelligence which couldn’t have existed elsewhere. Meme enthusiasts develop a knack for observing and picking up humoristic cues in photos, film quotes, and pop references, combining them together and immortalising them into a meme related to a certain theme.

Almost every university worldwide, including ours, has its own meme community page, where students create and share a meme to purge their frustration over exams or student life in general.

Locally, the Paceville Malta Meme Page is the largest Facebook community, hosting over 3,000 users who share, like and comment on memes posted by other members.

My relationship with memes is like a double-edged sword. I find them equally comical and pointless – on one hand, they are trivial, ridiculous collages of different media types, yet on the other they are incredibly witty.

Ray Bradbury, the late science-fiction author, was right when he said that ours is a culture and a time that is immensely “rich in trash, as much as it is in treasures.”

Thanks to the copy-and-paste technique, artists and creative professionals now have the luxury of modifying or commenting on each other’s work. Audiences are no longer passive consumers but also creators and innovators of content, which is increasing the amount of online competition.

With everyone fighting to be heard above the cyberspace noise, the service of passing on a message that is equally interesting and meaningful is becoming more and more challenging.

American journalist Matt Labash criticises this idea of what he calls ‘copycatting’, stating that when we are not recycling our own memes, we are still dependent on, “Non-internet-generated material from old-school media dinosaurs”.

But then again, doesn’t the whole world borrow ideas?

“Substantially all ideas are second-hand,” Mark Twain observed, “consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources.”

Lawrence Lessig, American academic and author of The Future of Ideas, believes that copyright laws can be a threat to innovation: “Since the future always builds upon the past.” According to Lessig, all members are producers who continually consume, remix and produce material.

British blogger Andrew Sullivan contends that the remix culture “teaches that making derivative work can be a form of real originality, and not that all derivative works are original.”

So there, copycatting may not necessarily be a threat to creativity.

The culture of remixing allows and encourages the public to add, combine and modify existing material to produce a new product or meme. On the upper hand, the remix and participatory culture reaps significant social benefits. It is cultivated by the philosophy that ‘sharing is caring’, further enhancing the sense of community within a global village. By accepting input from all the participants, culture will become richer in diversity and more inclusive.

In this respect, the internet is so powerful that we can create something and share it directly with our audience. It provides us with a digital platform to share our work and receive immediate feedback. This is something Leonardo da Vinci, Monet and Beethoven didn’t have – an inherent relationship with their audience.

In an economic-crisis where the majority of youth are unemployed, generating memes is an ideal way to be creative. Memes are created at no cost and generate immediate feedback. The fact that the internet allows for so much freedom encourages people to keep trying to create something.

As seen in The Sunday Times of Malta, Sunday, June 24, 2012.

How I spent Queen’s Day in Amsterdam

Yes, I was in Amsterdam for Queen’s Day.

I was right at the heart of the thriving street party, and for the first couple of hours, feeling totally bummed, isolated and drowned in orange.

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Having (unintentionally) left my phone charger in Brussels, I had no way of reaching my friends when my battery went flat. And after spending most of my morning walking to and from the train station hoping I’d be lucky enough to meet someone I knew, I finally decided to take the plunge, and sweep the streets alone.

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Thankfully though, the sun gave us a peep show for the über-special occasion. Painted in a gorgeous celestial blue, the sky was spotless. And replenished with serotonin, I ventured through the bustling streets of Amsterdam until I had no energy left.

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Being alone, I was obliged to throw myself in the crowd and be part of the passion between the community. The whole day brings with it an incredible sense of belonging.

Everyone is Dutch on Queen’s Day.

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Queen’s Day or Koninginnedag is basically the Dutch Queen’s birthday party. The current queen’s actual birthday falls on January, however she decided to keep celebrating it officially on her mother’s birthday in April, because it’s supposedly warmer.

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Everyone from the young, the old, their pets and your average Spanish, Italian, Asian, was parading the streets, participating actively in parties, flea markets and live performances.

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Despite being overcrowded, the atmosphere was very relaxed and joyful. With a sense of admiration, I observed old men wearing orange-afro-wigs, dancing salsa with their women (also clad in orange from head to toe).

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I also witnessed a woman in a  wheelchair wearing an orange boa around her neck and an orange cowboy-hat, families pushing orange prams, boat parties in the canals with topless male DJs wearing orange angel wings providing the entertainment.

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Everywhere in the city was orange: balloons, steamers, banners, foods and drinks. Wearing orange clothing and creative accessories (even a simple wrist watch or a shoelace) was indeed compulsory.

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My map-less route led me into the Jordaan (Jewish quarter), where people sold their second hand items and others performed. There was a talented blind woman who played the flute, accompanied by a precious young girl on the violin. I walked past a band of brothers who sang Drops of Jupiter to the beat of a drum-set and an acoustic guitar outside their garage door, while their mother offered cups of tea and homemade cakes to those who stopped to listen.

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I also stumbled upon a coffee shop by the canal in the corner of Noordermarkt, known for its famous apple pie. It was incredibly busy, but tasting the Mother of Dutch apple pies was definitely the culinary highlight of the trip.

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The next morning, it was headlined that Queen’s Day attracted c. 700, 000 people to the city of Amsterdam alone.

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Oh, and why all the Orange? Well, the colour refers to the name of the Royal Family: The House of Orange.