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Eating with the Kunda tribe

The secret life of swans

NETHERLANDS | Thursday, 7 May 2015 | Views [259] | Scholarship Entry

It was not my first trip to this city of canals, cobbles and old world charm. A place with a distinct feel of times gone by; echoes of the glittering wealth of the Golden Age and eerie remembrances of a bitter war. Steeped in history; museums dedicated to Rembrandt, Anne Frank and Van Gogh inter-mingle with its contemporary reputation for legal highs, flower fairs and flea markets.

No, it was in fact my third visit to Amsterdam, a chilly February weekend in 2012, with four close girlfriends. Each trip I had played the typical tourist. Each time finding something new in this most beguiling of cities. But nothing prepared me for this moment of magic.

After an evening indulging in Amsterdam’s restaurant scene, and feeling particularly full from our feasting, we had taken to the streets to walk off the heaviness.

Our aim to avoid the crowds had found us a little lost, until at the far end of the road we now stood on, the colours and buzz of the Rosseburt could be recognised. It is the only city in the world where the medieval centre is not a museum area, the red-fringed windows offering more than just a peep show in a private cabin. The noise of the woman selling their selves and the tourists in shock or counting their coppers, danced along the tree-enshrouded canal, past the 14th century architecture that leant in as if sharing a secret, to where we stood.

As we went to cross the cobblestone bridge the secret was shared. Under the moons light, hundreds of sleek white bodies floated silently on the glassy black waters. We froze, utterly mesmerised by sight of the mute swans, heads bowed, resplendent ghosts, the picture of elegance as they gracefully glided below us. We had travelled back in time. The first saloons and brothels of the 15th century, cleared up by the puritan Protestants after the reformation. The red lanterns, instead signs of widows who had lost their husbands to the seas, coming out of their year of mourning. Whilst history had changed the landscape, one of the oldest bird species still extant remained the same.

And such contrasting symbols in this small waterway; fidelity, fertility and love in these monogamous creatures, cast next to the decadent backdrop that worships lust and immediate pleasure. Serenity embodied, upon a canvas of the sordid bright lights, and brashness of Rosseburt.

The next day we could not find the swans, and we wondered among ourselves, if perhaps we had imagined it.

Tags: 2015 Writing Scholarship

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