't Loosje
Most Sunday nights I can be found sitting at a table in the back of a particular bruin cafe located on Nieuwmarkt. I meet with my friends there and sometimes we bring friends with us and sometimes they bring friends too. Last night, there was a friend of a friend at the table. He had a very interesting face...very strong and broad with a nose and a chin that seemed to serve no other purpose than to be perfectly in alignment with each other. This man was most likely in his late '50s. The epitome of distinguished.
I commented on how much I liked his face and then my friend Arjan and I started to try to guess where he was from. He spoke Dutch, but with an acccent that was clearly Eastern European. He said he was Czech. Ah yes of course we proclaimed in satisfied unison. I asked him how he came to Holland and this is what he said.
He was a young man, in his late teens, in the late '60s. In 1967, everything was happening. The world was changing, love was changing, The '60s was happening. He is a musician and said that it was an exciting time to be young and engaged with the world. But unlike the rest of the counter culture '60s youth, he knew that this movement would be temporary, and in fact, would regress. The rest of the world thought it would last forever. In 1969-70, he was right. The Curtain dropped in Czechoslovakia and he got out the first opportunity he was able before he would not be able to at all.
He moved to The Hague in the Netherlands because he had another Czech friend who lived there. He only spoke Czech and about 200 words of German. He had 20 Deutchmarks in his pocket. He was looking forward to reuniting with his friend who was doing "quite well" in Holland and could help him get on his feet. He was about 20.
The week he arrived, they took off to Scheveningen which is the beach resort town within a stone's throw of the Hague. They partied for a week. Spent lots of money on girls and drinks. After the week was over his friend told him, "Well, guess what. I am totally out of money!." The two of them spoke no Dutch and no English. They were suddenly nothing more than refugees. They picked tomatoes to get by, barely got by, and had a great time.
I can't remember the name of the musician he referred to, but this man was a very famous folk singer in the country and everyone admired him greatly. The Czech man, who is a trumpet player, became part of his performing entourage. He had escape the communist regime imposing itself on his homeland and felt as he described it, a deep all-consuming hatred for communism. And yet, here he has landed in Free Love western Europe where everyone is proclaiming themselves to be a new-found communist or socialist. He said everyone had their nose in books about Mao Tse-tung. He found it unbearable.
One time, this folk singer wanted his group to perform a communist anthem. This man from Czechoslovakia was making a living as a musician in the Netherlands and owed everything to this musical leader. But with a great deal of trepidation, he told the band leader, "I am sorry, I just can't perform this song. I just can't do it." The band leader asked if anyone else has a problem with the song and a few hands slowly raised. They did not perform the song. The Czech man said it was a great moment of pride for him: in his own way, he had started his own revolution.
He has lived in the Netherlands ever since he arrived. He is still a musician and he is very very happy to see that Prague has made this wonderful recovery beginning with the Velvet Revolution. This is why I love this bar so much. It just seems to attract people that have the most fascinating stories. Stories that connect you to the past and to yourself. This bar was also the portal to my future.
