Travelogue 844 – April 28
King’s Day

Yesterday was King’s Day. It’s an annual holiday in the Netherlands to celebrate the monarch’s birthday. Since 2013, that monarch has been King Willem-Alexander. When I first came to Rotterdam, the holiday was Queen’s Day. It had been for many years, through a succession of three queens. Actually, the tradition started with the first of those queens, so I don’t think there was ever a King’s Day until now.

We celebrate it like most Nederlanders, going to the local flea market. The one we like is at the Heemraadsplein in Rotterdam West. Every walkway of the park, and every pavement surrounding the park is occupied by locals setting up stalls to sell second-hand goods. In the centre of the park is a temporary bandshell, where a band plays family-friendly tunes, and parents hold the hands of their toddlers and bounce.

The vrijmarkt is a King’s Day tradition. Permits are not required to sell, and no one pays sales taxes. I suppose it’s the job of a monarch to find indulgences for the people, and this is a popular one. They say one of five Dutch families set up shop on King’s Day, and half the population come out to buy. They even come out on chilly days like this one, during which showers come and go.

The swings are the highlight for my girls, and they are disappointed that the rains disrupt their fun. Jos is old enough to want to go as high as possible, laughing to see the sand speeding under her feet and the sky overhead. Ren is quiet. She holds the chains of the swing tight, and her wide eyes look on with concern and curiosity. She watches other children at play with something like suspicion. We run for shelter when the light rain turns to hail.

It’s an odd way to celebrate a birthday, the vrijmarkt. Of course, it’s not the only activity on King’s Day. There are concerts and parties. But the markets are the most popular, and they bring together the broadest cross-section of the population. It’s an odd variety of patriotism: the opportunity to make or save a few euros. Very pragmatic. But it all works. There are Dutch flags flying. People are wearing orange. The mood is buoyant.

Occasions like this always raise questions for me. What is patriotism? When it looks like people in funny orange hats holding up second-hand clothing for inspection, what is patriotism? Certainly, I prefer this variety to the American sort, which seems to require noise and anxious shows of aggression.

But more interesting to me is the question of national identity. In any setting, it’s a curious fiction. At the Heemraadsplein, most of the women cover their heads and the men greet each other with the salaam. In America, where neighbours are descended from peoples around the globe, they debate a wall to dissect desert land in the southwest. It’s an odd fiction, this idea of national identity.

It’s particularly interesting in this part of the world, in this part of Europe, where borders and allegiances have shifted continuously for several millennia. It’s nearly always been a place where peoples and goods meet, the mouths for busy rivers, ports for a busy sea. And yet, amidst the movement and change, there emerged very quickly a unique culture, easily recognizable as from this part of the world. It’s been durable and relatively constant through the centuries, crossing borders and language groups. It follows the River Meuse, for example, south into France. Primarily, though, it’s a Dutch-and-Flemish creation.

I’ve been studying this culture. I’ve been reading about its hodgepodge history. I’ve tried writing about it, setting stories in medieval Flanders. I continue to examine the question, what is this place?