Thorn Around the World

When The Oche Strikes Delft"
Today was October 6th, 2011, a Thursday, the day of darts worldwide, Thorn's kind of day, and a cool sunny breezy day in The Netherlands to boot. Delft was so relaxing and pleasant-plus the fantastic darts culture-that I considered staying longer. At this point, I had flexibility in my three month travel plans-I had twenty-five days to reach Palma de Mallorca in the Mediterranean to catch a cruise, and I could float my way through Holland, Belgium, France, Spain and Portugal any way I want. So I thought, maybe I should spend a few more days exploring Holland? And then, I struck upon a little luck.

That morning, my world traveling friends Robert and Patricia had emailed me and invited me to their home in The Hague. Then, the folks at Jorplace offered me a room in their sister hostel at the beach! Suddenly, I knew I was staying in The Netherlands a few more days-this time, touring the capital of Holland with long lost friends, and hanging out, looking for darts, in the cozy extreme-sport kite-surfing coast town of Scheveningen. The rest of the world would just have to wait.

...but first I had one more day and night in Delft.

Waking up to the church bells ringing through the stoney streets, I looked out my attic window over the canals and alleys. With a stretch, I refreshed my body and recharged my camera batteries before stowing my gear under the bunk and bombing downstairs for some morning coffee, cheese, bread, and meats. The hostel staff told me the local market was going today, and instantly I had a perfect plan: a day on the Dutch streets of classic Delft.

Tucking my laptop, camera and darts in my satchel, I stepped out into a beautiful blue day. Ducks and geese were tugging around the thin canal outside the hostel entrance. People were bustling about through the maze of cobbled walkways, arch bridges and hidden corners that wound around the walls of antique red brick row houses. I turned left and window shopped, I turned right over a small footbridge, through a secret gap between buildings and into the market square. Like being in the center of a massive maze, the main plaza sprawled out ahead of me, a massive rectangle inside the four story walls of brick and windows. Hiding within were churches, city hall, the bell tower and a smaller maze of white tents in the middle, serving every food, staple, necessity or textile the everyday Delft dweller could want.

I slowly browsed through it all, sampling fresh seafood or looking for funny?items for sale, studying the culture. I took my time. Why not? Here I was enjoying true life in a beautiful town in Europe. Between strolls I'd slip between cafes, bars, and coffee shops, checking my email, and admiring the endless stream of bicyclists. I had nothing better to do except enjoy.and wait for the dart bars to open.

Dusk came surprisingly early. As the evening bells rung, I waltzed over to the SnookerCafe sports bar to warm up on the boards. Too late, league was already in full swing. I watched with pleasure. Even though all I heard was Dutch, it was easy to translate the way they were supporting and cheering for each other, having a great time playing the game, the way we all should. I sat nearby. It didn't take long to make friends with a few of them and ask some questions-after all, most people here speak English fluently.

By now, traveling on my own for a week, I had made so many friends-for such amazing and often brief moments-I can hardly remember most of their names a year later. Nonetheless, it was another unforgettable night of fun as I played several legs, late into the night, with one of the league players after their match. We talked all about the world of darts. He had that same contagious passion about the game, that enthusiasm that makes the sport grow. It seems like magic that so many towns I visit I seem to meet a person like this.

Of course, afterwards, there was the obligatory late night kabob on the streets, under the moon with dormant church bells and pigeons cooing, walking along the canals back to the hostel. It was a wonderful delicious pleasant moment as well.
I crawled up the stairs and into my bunk. A few other travelers snored or dreamed or rolled over, and I went to sleep.

I woke up late but felt alive. In an hour, Robert would pick me up to visit his home in The Hague. With a pep in my step I prepped myself, packed my bags, grabbed my hostel sheets and pillow case, and headed down stairs to say goodbye to the staff, my friends, at Jorplace. The dartboard we got for the hostel was there, ready to be hung. Then, with a wave and thank you, I was outside.

I looked both directions, checked my map, and me and my bag, satchel and dart case headed down the street. It was noon, and the bell tower began to chime.

Over and double out.











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