This weekend had approached with the usual nonchalance of an anonymous weekend that does not promise much more than a relaxed Sunday afternoon submerged between the Times Culture supplement, the Mail on Sunday Crossword and the Economist while listening to Radio 5 live on internet radio. What I had not counted on was the fact that I was the only civil servant within the European Court of Justice who was blissfully unaware of the mandatory Monday day off that had been regaled upon us in order to celebrate Carnival. It was thus very late in the day that I booked a four day treat to the Limburg region for LL and myself. We would be basing ourselves in Maastricht – the humid city of the Maas, the shopping and the good Burgundian food.
The Nissan was loaded with the basic quick getaway requirements and before you could say Autoroute du Soleil we had quickly negotiated our way via the Ardennes region of Belgium and into the appendix to the Netherlands that is known as Limburg. I had been lucky enough with my late booking to find a Hotel that goes by the name of the Emperor something or other just outside the Maastricht Station. The Imperial reference allowed some kitsch artist to decorate the various halls and bedrooms with Goscinny and Underzo-like paintings of Ceasar and friends in pastel colours without the humourous effect. Still… splendid room, easy parking and walking access to town… couldn’t complain.
What we had not foreseen was the fanatic enthusiasm with which the local Maastricht people take on carnival. Imagine Nadur on a much, much larger scale. I mean the Wikipedia entry had mentioned something regarding Maastricht and carnival but I was not prepared for anything of this sort. Leaving the hotel on our first evening we came across early signals of the pleasures yet to come when we did notice that none of the shops were planning to open for the rest of the weekend. Bang went our plans for retail therapy and our moods went that tad bit grumpy when we imagined being stuck in a Valletta like celebration full of floats and coordinated buffoonery that is anything but funny.
Yet something was in the air… something magic…. some unplanned chaos that was what I had always suspected real carnivals to be about… those carnivals in medieval times when the days of revelry were respected to the letter before the real lenten diet began. There was an electric feeling of anticipation in the air as we returned to our hotel after feasting on an orgy of sushi at a Sushi and Teppanyahki restaurant. We slipped into bed still wondering why the Japanese waiter had seemed so enthusiastic and hopeful about the carnival next day… really… it could not be that good…
