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We land at Schipol Airport in Amsterdam, collect our bags and head through Dutch customs, who are nice enough not to stop and interrogate us.

Our friend Fast Mike is waiting at arrivals for us with a handcart.

Fast Mike isn't called Fast Mike for nothing. Originally from California, he first came to The Hague years ago and just never left.
He's a long-time resident of De Illusie squat, and you've never met anyone like him. He speaks a million miles an hour and sometimes it's hard to keep up with him -- but he's also one of the funniest and kindest characters in the world. He's waiting for us with a sign and a handcart and helps carry our things and buy train tickets to the Hague.

Our Dutch friend and five-time tour manager Kelly pulls up in a borrowed vehicle -- an old Dutch army truck full of bicycles and bicycle parts. We won't have our rented van until tomorrow, so this truck will take our bags and equipment ahead of us to the squat where he and Fast Mike reside for the night.

Before getting on the train, a travel ling American teacher stops us and asks for photos and autographs with her students. They have no idea who we are but they can tell we're a band, so they just want to meet and greet us "just in case" we turn out to be someone famous.

We get a compartment almost to ourselves and settle in for the short ride. Fast Mike regales us with more stories than five people would have the energy to tell. Twenty minutes later we exit the train in the Hague, spilling out through what seems like acres of parked bicycles, and walk a few blocks to De Illusie. After a customary brief exploration of the squat (which used to be a large government building and now houses scores of creative folks from all over the world), we collapse for what we always intend to be a brief nap but what always turns into a jet-lag-induced snoozefest. Fast Mike provides us with a case of cold beer (called, simply "Bier") and some of the guys briefly head out to a "Coffee Shop."

Later Kelly rides out on his bike and grabs us a couple of orders of Roti, a kind of Dutch curry.

After it gets dark we stomp out to walk around the city at night. A Dutch police car shadows us as we stroll through the illuminated courtyard of the Binnenhof. We wander through narrow winding alleys of shuttered shops and bars before heading back to the squat to stay up late sorting through merch, rolling up T-shirts and consolidating all the items we packed into our bags. At an indecent hour we even manage to go to sleep for a bit on ma tresses piled up in the cafeteria.
 

About the Author

Phillip Price is the keyboard player for Wilkes-Barre-based band An Albatross.

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