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The broker said: it has to feel good. You will know.

we spent 4 weeks racing around Amsterdam

cycling from Oost to Zuid-Oost, to Noord

beyond Noord, then back to West and Nieuw-West

and then kept going until we reached Haarlem

sounds kind-of like New York, I thought, ‘Harlem’

would it remind me of that monster of a city –

its energy and the never-ending lights and sounds?

Nah. It felt more like a miniature model city in a real estate show

or a museum – you know, when you walk between buildings

that say: ‘anno 1765’ – built three centuries ago with the help of

wealth obtained – stolen, robbed – in faraway places.

He says it’s like a perfect little world here

and that Harlem is ‘so European’.

Yes. Yes, it is. I see it.

I just … don’t feel it.

We step inside houses the size of an American bedroom

with living room, kitchen, mini-garden

and three (3!) bedrooms that, together

equal a walk-in closet in a American suburban home

We cycle sixty minutes sometimes to get to

smoky-aired filled first- or second floor apartments

we take ferries to cross the water and hop on trains to get to the next town.

all this while, looking for home in all the wrong places

Home

When I think of my dream home I think of people visiting

laughs and the sound of music being made and played –

I think of the smell of freshly baked cake

and flowers in bloom and green views all around

when I think of home, I think of sun through the windows

cozy corners for reading and heaps of pillows

and perfectly white duvets on big comfortable beds

I think of people getting together and hugs. Intimacy

when I think of my dream home

I think a big plot of land

with a little house on it – just big enough

with floor-to-ceiling windows

when I think of home I think of a feeling

A vibe that cannot be found in empty houses

A fleeting feeling that – maybe –

I can’t quite get a hold on anymore.

Not yet.

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Day 49 of #the100dayproject – with my #100daysoftravelnotes.