There are no more cucumbers for sale in my area, except for the shabby plastic ones that belong to the watery assortment of my supermarket. My greengrocer has officially been on vacation since Saturday.
“Where are you going?” I had asked him the last day it was open, in the half-empty shop. He had shrugged. “I will stay here.” I nodded. “Me too.”
And there is now a note on the window at the Turkish greengrocer’s too. They have been to Antalya for two weeks, after two years of continuous work. “It is necessary,” he had confided to me before leaving.
From him I bought bunches of mint, parsley and coriander, a block of feta, red onions, olives and a jar of yogurt. “Don’t forget the cucumber,” he said.
The poulterer will also be gone from next week. And the florist. The fishmonger. It’s summer and the sale is almost sold out. There are more parking spaces available, the newspapers are thinner and only Summer guests is still on TV. I refurbished my balcony with flowers from last year. The new hammock – for two because you never know what summer will bring – is already in use.
I took the ferry to Amsterdam-Noord with a friend. The trip felt like a three-minute holiday interlude. We were not ready for the dark halls of the cinema, but the EYE terrace looked inviting. We enjoyed a glass of rosé and silently watched the endless water ballet of cargo ships and ferries.
In the distance I saw the Bimhuis and got a deep sense of nostalgia for live music and the company of jazz lovers. A friendly waiter interrupted my reverie. He asked what we wanted to eat. A salad with beets, feta, red onion.
I’m having fun this summer. Not a cucumber in sight.