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About The Hague

I’m picturin’ it now—me, stumblin’ in, trippin’ over boots. “Where’s the exit?!” I’d holler, all red-faced. Ladies laughin’, tossin’ hair, smellin’ like cheap perfume—surprised me how normal it felt. Like a bar, but… naughtier. “God doesn’t care,” that Leviathan priest woulda said, judgin’ me hard. Whatever, man, I’d just want outta there—too much thinkin’!

Dutch Painting

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We get to The Hague, and I’m feeling good. I meet up with some friends, and we hit this bar. The vibe is lit! We’re laughing, joking, and then someone suggests karaoke. Oh boy. I’m not a singer, but I’m like, “Let’s do this!” I get up there, and I’m belting out some 90s hit. It’s terrible, but everyone’s cheering. I’m feeling like a rockstar, even though I sound like a cat in a blender.

Royal award for Paulien Herder