The Last Homely House
In J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle Earth there is an elven stronghold tucked away in a deep valley, surrounded by enormous trees and waterfalls, where above all it is safe to be: Rivendell, The Last Homely House, where the quest for the destruction of the one ring began. There you can put up your feet and pore over maps, eat heartily and discuss memories. It is otherworldy to feel safe somewhere.
When I arrived in Eindhoven, my mother was still on the phone with her colleagues. I sat there for a while thinking nothing at all, just enjoying the dog-ness of the dog Lola. We had Chinese food and drank wine and watched Big Fish until we fell asleep, it was good.
I had planned to stay here for a few days, collect a few essentials and make a few repairs to the bike. In the morning I brought the bike to Velo d'Anvers where I got some brake pads, wiring for the brakes and shifters, waterproof handlebar tape and an overall instruction on how not to travel by bike like an idiot. Theon Valks, the owner, showed me exactly how to install new brake pads on mechanical disc brakes, something which as he was showing me how to remove the pads I envisioned myself having to figure out by the side of the road somewhere in a deep Ukranian forest. I shivered and I tried to focus. Theon told me that he'd hate to send me off on a journey like this one unprepared. Kindness above kindness.
Having left my bike at Velo d'Anvers, I walked into Eindhoven to deposit some of my tip-money at a bank. Bank teller told me you can't deposit money at that bank.
"But this is a bank."
"Yes, this is a bank."
"So where can I deposit money then?"
"Elsewhere."
Soon after that exchange his manager walked up behind him, hands crossed and upset.
"We don't accept money anymore, sir."
"But this is a bank," I repeated.
"Yes, this is a bank."
"So where can I deposit money then?"
"Our physical monetary services have been acquired by Geldmaat, which is now in charge of all deposits and withdrawals."
"So, where can I deposit money then?"
"At a Geldmaat (machine), but it's full."
She looked tired, the manager. The bank boy looked new to the job, which explained why the manager assisted so swiftly. I left that place muttering that banks aren't what they used to be, feeling old and upset and envisioning the bank's perfect world, where consumers are conglomerated into pockets of mortgage managed by affiliates, while serious banking can be conducted in the business chaos of investment and coffee. I felt like coffee, went for coffee, had a cocktail instead at a place called Denf, where I contemplated escape, where I also imagined Eindhoven might never return my bike, might never accept my money, might force me to turn tricks in exchange for bank credits that would allow me to buy more coffee.
My sister was on her way home, we'd have a laugh together in the days to come, the world isn't all banks. If anything, the world is mostly filled with people like Theon Valks fixing the things they love.