To think about Amsterdam or Ghent is to dwell on pleasure. The quiet satisfaction of strolling over pretty bridges or cycling down cobbled streets. The epicurean delight of an incredible meal with the perfect bottle. The loved-up freedom of house boats and parties. The base drum heart beats of hedonistic club nights. The smiles, the press and the whispers in hidden smoke-filled bars. The carnival flotilla madness of Queen’s Day with its orange clad crews of revellers. Whenever life is too much or too little, flee to the Netherlands and sacrifice yourself to Bacchanalian beauty.
To think about Amsterdam or Ghent is to dwell on pleasure. The quiet satisfaction of strolling over pretty bridges or cycling down cobbled streets. The epicurean delight of an incredible meal with the perfect bottle. The loved-up freedom of house boats and parties. The base drum heart beats of hedonistic club nights. The smiles, the press and the whispers in hidden smoke-filled bars. The carnival flotilla madness of Queen’s Day with its orange clad crews of revellers. Whenever life is too much or too little, flee to the Netherlands and sacrifice yourself to Bacchanalian beauty.
Netherlands