A night escape from ‘the grind and the everyday’

8.50 pm, Patronage in Haarlem

“When I get on stage, you’ll know what to do. Turn off the music, and everyone go outside as quietly as possible.” Jolanda Beyer looks a bit nervous, but above all cheerful as she gives her security the final instructions. The general director of the Haarlem pop stage Patronaat knows that she is taking a risk by admitting more than seven hundred people on Saturday evening. Earlier this week, Mayor Wienen promised a penalty of 50,000 euros if nightclubs in his city did not comply with the corona rules and continued their protest action after 10 p.m. The deal: one warning, then everything should be empty.

It could well be the shortest party of the national protest action, visitors Sara van der Meer and Noa Nederstigt (both 21) realize. The friends already had a ticket for tonight when they heard about the penalty, but they did not hesitate to come to the Patronaat. “We haven’t been here in so long, we really missed it here.” They don’t have a plan B.

Six past ten, no enforcement yet. DJ swings the Beastie Boys in again #patronage pic.twitter.com/BjpSIOZlYY

— Sjoerd O. Klumpenaar (@sklumpenaar) February 12, 2022

It is now close to 10pm. “You gotta fight for your right to party”, it blasts through the large hall. The halls and toilets of the music venue are buzzing. “Are the boas here yet? Can we continue?” Max Dudink (23) and Iris Hageman (21) now see every minute as pure profit. “We now have enough experience with parties and events that are cancelled, from now on you have to grab everything you can get.” The two live in Heemskerk and came by train. Dudink, with a grin: “I secretly keep in mind that we can go back by train. But if it’s up to me, I’d rather take an Uber tonight.”

After 45 minutes of ‘illegal’ dancing, the first enforcer parks his bicycle at the front door. The conversation with director Beyer is short and clear: the store must be empty in half an hour. The large hall the frenzied visitors just roared along to the chorus of the Romanian pop hit ‘Dragostea Din Tei’, applauds loudly when Beyer announces that the evening is over. In the chaos at the lockers, Sverre Riepma (21) looks on, shaking his head. “Isn’t this nonsense? Look how busy it is here,” he says to fellow visitor Soraya Janlei (45), who is waiting for her coat. “It also just went well. It’s really childish that it has to close here now.”

Also read: No major incidents, but crowds at action De Nacht is up

11 p.m., De Effenaar in Eindhoven

“Don’t forget that this is a fucking protest,” shouts the MC on the stage in the small hall of De Effenaar. The audience in the Eindhoven pop stage cheers loudly, beer glasses are raised while a booming bass, blue-red lights and machine smoke billow through the room. For many, the party is a reunion of acquaintances, most of them in their mid-twenties, who hug each other in the hall.

The love for drum and bass, the music style of the evening, binds the 300 attendees – the organization keeps it small. A mixed group of friends from Amsterdam, Arnhem and Venlo, among others, recalls laughing memories while smoking. “We met at parties like this one. And through Tinder, and him [wijzend naar een vriend] we adopted through a drum and bass Facebook group”, says Sanjay Soerdien (25), the only Eindhoven resident of the couple. “These evenings bring us together. That’s what makes them so important.”

Ultimately, there is little question of a protest atmosphere. The organization called on visitors to bring a chair and leave it in front of the entrance. In the end there are ten. The greater the revelry, for as long as it lasts. At midnight the ‘night’ in De Effenaar is ended by enforcement, after which everyone switches to plan B. Where is the after† For a moment it seemed like a normal club night.

You need to get back into it a little bit

23:20, MONO in Rotterdam†

The queue for the Rotterdam club MONO is long, but manageable. Outside, shivering visitors smoke their cigarettes. Whoever has a stamp on the wrist, has his coat inside. Anyone who still has a coat but no stamp wants to enter as soon as possible. That ultimately costs twenty minutes and five euros.

Inside, the electronic music is booming and the dance floor is soon strewn with crushed plastic cups and empty packs of cigarettes. There is no wardrobe, coats are thrown on the pile in the corner. Lucas Vermeer (23) passes a bottle of beer around his dancing group of friends. Going out is an absolute necessity, he says. The club is a place to escape from what is for the musician “the drudgery and short-sightedness of everyday life”. “Outside, how you look, move and dream is quite framed. Here I can be completely who I want to be.” His long dark hair, mustache and eyes contrast with his white shirt, carefully tucked into his light jeans. He understands the danger of nights like this, yet his eyes twinkle. “The night,” he says, “is my utopia.”

1 a.m. – Club NYX in Amsterdam

The packed main hall of club NYX looks one and the same way. On stage, transwoman Loena Maas performs in a graceful cape with a panther print and with two long horns on her head like antlers. †Take me home‘ she sings along to the music. With tears in her eyes, she later admits, because this was what she missed so much. “As a queer person, it’s so nice to be in an environment where everyone understands you. I don’t have to explain myself here.”

Earlier in the evening it became visibly clear that this was going to be a very busy one: the line for the NYX ran almost to the end of Reguliersdwarsstraat. The nine hundred tickets were sold out within a minute. When many Amsterdam discotheques suddenly called on all visitors to arrive before 11 p.m. on Saturday instead of an hour later, at the request of the municipality, chaos arose among both the partygoers and the staff. “Everyone came at once,” says the blond bouncer. “Yeah, not our fault.” In the end, everyone with a ticket and a QR code was allowed in, even after midnight. “No problem.”

Inside, the evening is dripping with symbolism: “We are young and we wanna have fun”, shouts a boy in line for the toilet. Gwen Stefani sounds through the speakers: What you waiting, what you waiting for† The floor is wet, the music loud and the bodies sweaty. Every so often, the club pumps a confetti cannon into the crowded dance crowd. Then a boy starts twerking upside down against the wall. Marten Verheij – black make-up around the eyes and glitter shirt – was just eighteen when the clubs closed two years ago and has therefore only been out a few times before. He doesn’t really care what music is played, “as long as I can throw my ass in it”.

Also read: Clubs open during ‘The Night stands up’ despite the threat of fines

01.30 am: Paradise in Amsterdam

When the lights change from pink to blue and thorough Afrobeats turn into pounding electronic music, the audience’s eyes turn out and the mood changes from uneasy to elated. It took a while before the party really started in pop temple Paradiso, one of the initiators of De Nacht ops. “The last dance was in October 2021,” says a young woman with short blonde hair and black nail polish as she waits next to the toilet row for the rest of her group of friends, “but that doesn’t count, it was mandatory during the day”. She would have liked to pay more for the entrance ticket to support Paradiso, especially given the fine of 4,500 euros that Mayor Halsema announced by letter. Meanwhile, on the altar behind the turntable, a man with a long beard is hoisted onto his friend’s shoulders as he raises his arms in the air. “Amsterdam, we stand together”, the MC throws into the room. At 5.30 there is still plenty of dancing.

When a man with a fan stands in front of the DJ, it’s all over. Thorough afro beats have turned into hard club music.
And how! Beer has already been thrown over my back ❤️. Clothes and moves have been conjured up that certainly didn’t stay in the closet for two years. pic.twitter.com/PfhdSZ9zSX

— Dominique van Varsseveld (@DvanVarsseveld) February 13, 2022

02.30 am: Pop stage 013 in Tilburg

The corridor between the two halls of pop stage 013 is busy. From shirts to short tops, dreadlocks and a lost Thunderdome shirt; the wide variety of music styles, from hip-hop to electronic music, ensures a diverse audience. Visitor Tommy van Oirschot had to switch gears when he entered the large hall. “It was busy, all those people. In the beginning you sometimes noticed some irritation because you can’t pass each other. We’re just not used to this anymore. It may sound stupid…” Then he is severely addressed by his girlfriend, after which he continues with a big smile: “But I’m having a fantastic evening!”

Enforcement also came to the door on Saturday evening in Tilburg. Director Frens Frijns received them, as agreed, to hear that the pre-imposed penalty of 10,000 euros would be collected. “Was money, but I pay it with love. The signal to politicians is clear: this cannot go on any longer. For some 19-year-olds, this is their first time at a party. For two years now they have been told that everything has to close because they have to be careful with the elderly. And what will open first if there is relaxation? All activities for the elderly!”

In the corridor between the two halls, director Frijns has added two fans since tonight. “Sick a lot of respect for the boss here, that they just take that 10,000 euros,” says Frans Roets (25). “That euphoria you feel is really great”, adds Rik Hendrikx (25), although it was a bit strange in the beginning. “You have to get back into it a little bit. But after a few beers I have to say that things are going much better.” Roets’ eyes twinkle from under his cap. “Fuck it, we will continue until the end at half past four.”