"There hasn't been a murder or rape on this island for 120 years, but you come here at your own risk." I imagine the stranger on the phone thinks he's real funny.
"Ok, where do I rent a bicycle?" I ask. "And which way is East?"
He lets out a mean little chuckled: "You're the journalist. Figure it out."
I can't resist a challenge. So I'm on a train headed north. After a three hour trip, I take a bus to the coast and then the second to last ferry out to the Dutch island Ameland.
All the while, I mentally run through his instructions: "Come to the island on Sunday. Rent a bicycle and take it to the East end of the island. At the end of the bicycle path, climb the dune on the left. From there you can see a black trailer out on the dunes. The key is under the stairs. If you're there when I start work at 7.30 Monday morning, you can do the story. If not, you're out of luck."
Luck seems to be on my side. You never know what the weather will be like in September. But today the clear blue sky is promising to serve as a perfect backdrop for a photo documentary of a nature preserve ranger. It's the last one I'll make before I graduate from a Dutch college with a Bachelors in journalism.
On my rented bicycle I follow a map to a village called Nos, pass a campground, a few farms, a patch of trees and I've reached the end of civilization. There's another 2 miles of dunes between me my destination.
By now my heavy backpack full of camera equipment and cans of soup is cutting into my shoulders. I meet very few people on the path, but the ones I do see are heading back into town and warning me that I should do the same.
I smile, half to disarm them, half because I'm enjoying the irony of knowing something they don't know. Finally I reach the end of the path and just like the voice on the phone said, I find the trailer and the key.
There's not much more than a few dusty nature books, some rabbit skulls and a gas burner. A huge window allows me to gaze out over the remaining dunes and the oil rigs that speckle the horizon.
Out here, my phone has no reception. There’s nothing to do but warm up some soup and lean back in my chair to witness the Grand Artist paint the sky with strokes of florescent orange, sorbet pink and gold. As the sky turns cornflower blue and the first stars and the light of the rigs appear, I light a candle and make my bed.
Then everything turns black and I can see more stars than I have ever seen before. I'm lost in space.
I snuggle into my sleeping bag, but seclusion is a lot noisier than I had anticipated. The wind is pounding against the trailer but it’s not enough to drown out thousands of thoughts that scream in my head. No distracting television or radio. No internet to check tomorrows weather. No one to share my victory with.
Also the insanity of this plan is starting to dawn on me. How loud my worries, fears, and complaints suddenly are. And I'm developing a new complaint. The temperature is dropping fast. Between the roar of the wind and the chill leaking through the flimsy walls, I can't sleep. I put on all of my clothes, layer upon layer and crawl deep into my sleeping bag.
Foot steps
What's that? I sit straight up and strain to filter the sounds. Despite the wind, I'm sure I hear something moving around the trailer. All doubt is removed when I see a stream of light flash across the window. Now the light is shining right in my face. It's too late to hide.
I'm paralyzed. The only thing moving is my heart which flutters violently like a moth against a floodlight. But I'm alone and it's dark. I was dreaming. So I’ve been asleep, but for how long? Fifteen minutes. Will this night never end?
I'm so cold, tired and now I’m scared too. I can't stand it anymore. Spiders or no spiders, I climb into a storage cabinet and close the door. Comfortable at last.
And then I have to pee. I hold it up until my nose starts to sweat. I look at my watch. Just another hour and the sun will come up. I can’t wait that long. I climb back out of the cabinet. Cramped with fear and chill I stand at the door, my numb fingers clutching the key. But as miserable as I am, I can't get myself to turn it. There is only one thing to do...
I pee in my empty soup can.
