Lu Cia suggested bringing home something from the Netherlands that would not appear in a photograph. Colombine looked suspicious. “If you mean another mug, I have no room left.” Mea laughed. Lu Cia simply tilted her head towards the street. A moment later, a bell rang. The first piece began without an announcement.
An imagined story inspired by original Travel2City photographs. These stops form a collage of separate journeys and days, not a one-day itinerary. The characters, dialogue, clothing, activities and some lighting are artistic additions.
A bicycle bell rang somewhere behind them beside the Amsterdam canal. The trio stayed on the pedestrian side and turned their heads almost together. “The opening theme,” Colombine observed. Mea caught her scarf, and Lu Cia pointed towards the water, where a soft slap against a boat joined the little ring. An ordinary street suddenly had more layers than one photograph could hold. For a while they said nothing. Then Colombine added, very quietly, that the composer apparently believed in pauses too.
In Middelburg, footsteps on the paving sounded different from those beside the canal. Mea looked up at the roofs, Lu Cia listened to the street and Colombine began tapping one finger against her closed sketchbook. Quietly at first. Then noticeably enough for both friends to hear. “We have a rhythm section,” Mea said. Colombine nodded solemnly and immediately lost the beat. That was the best part of the piece. The street continued, and so did they, a little more slowly in case they missed the next section.
Lu Cia spotted a stone dolphin above a dark doorway. She raised a finger, and all three stopped. “This one will surely sing,” Mea said. With theatrical seriousness, Colombine signalled that they should not disturb the artist. The dolphin remained silent. So far, it was the most reliable performer of the day. Lu Cia smiled at its stone profile, and they gave it a brief, complete silence. Then they moved on without applause, leaving the doorway clear and the dolphin where it belonged.
In Zandvoort, the programme finally stopped pretending to be a city affair. The sea took over the soundtrack, the breeze added the rustle of fabric, and Colombine carried her shoes in one hand to keep the sand from knocking its way inside. They stood on dry sand and listened to waves that arrived slightly differently each time. “One more,” Mea suggested. Lu Cia nodded. Colombine looked at the next approaching wave. “I don’t think an encore will be a problem.” So they stayed.
“One more wave. Then we’ll decide.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
Travel2City journeys continue between the covers of a book. Discover our illustrated travel world.
