Paul, friend of the king

It's the day after. The city is almost clean again, just a few side streets still bear witness to the huge party, a couple of stretches of the canals look as if a garbage truck had toppled over. An urban show version of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, but soon to be cleaned up.

Other than that, Amsterdam is open for business.

Vondel Park, the people's park outside the the half circle of canals, is a good place to be this morning. Cyclists, joggers, hand cart loads full of kindergarteners from a nearby upscale pre-school, they all share the space with ducks, seagulls, and dogs, as well as hand holding and kissing couples. No junkies, in case you wonder or have read about the reputation the park used to have.

There, on one of the dark green benches beside one of the many ponds, sits an older man.

A bicycle with faded blue saddle bags rests against the trash can beside the bench.

The man's age is not easy to determine. He has all the deep lines of an old man criss crossing his face, but he sports a tan that takes at least ten years off.

He is wearing a faded green jacket and military pants, a habit from the decades past, as we find out soon, and cheap, too. As you get closer, you see a bottle of what looks like red wine, resting on the bench next to him.

You say hi and sit down on the second of the two side by side benches, you want to give him a wide berth and, well, honestly, it's a park and he looks like he might fit a stereotype.

A couple of minutes into the chitchat among yourselves, he strikes up a conversation by asking if you are the obvious Americans that you are.

You exchange pleasantries and observations about the big festivities of the day before, and before you know it,  you realize you are talking to a man who is - or maybe was - on a firstname basis with the new king.

You listen very carefully to the stories about the king, his parents and grandma, and you are glad you managed to look beyond the fatigues and the wine bottle.

There is nothing in the stories that would be a scoop, well, there is one little ditty but we keep that to ourselves.

Paul had an interesting life, and we hope that he has many good years ahead of him. He has the smile that is generally a positive indicator.

After half an hour or so we take our leave, wishing him well.

And we depart with the impression that the new king is a decent dude.