Powered by our own shapely thighs

The morning gathering took place again.

A Dutch rush-hour is a little different to the other global scenes of 9am and 5pm chaos. New Yorkers hustle and bustle accompanied by a take-out coffee amidst a sea of yellow cabs. City gents in London respond to grey skies and light drizzle with a modest yet expensive raincoat. Ever committed office occupants in Seoul cram the subways long before 9am and long after 5pm.

I've always practised a more relaxed approach to a journey to work. A David Brent-esque boss once told me that if i'm going to be late, be an hour late and not just 10 or 15 mins , "enjoy your breakfast". Or was that actually a David Brent quote from an episode of The Office? I forget.

The attitude seems to fit perfectly here in Amsterdam.

A Dutch bicycle will only go as fast as it's owners legs, and a cycle journey to work is never a really a chore. Each morning, i roll up to the intersection of the A9 ring-road. There's no cycle path under or over so i'm forced to wait for the little red bike to turn green on our own designated cycle traffic lights. As it's a busy road, the ceremonious changing of colours can take a while.

After a minute or two, a gathering has occured and we make quite an impressive number. Several bikes, a couple of mopeds, a woman with a strange bike/SUV combo (she has two children safely seated and strapped on the bike aswell as herself), all two-wheeled attendees at this mornings silent disco. Each individual entertained by his/her own iPod headphones. Some of us sing out loud. Some of us play purcussion on our handlebars. Older or more conservative group members just smile or tap a foot to a silent rhythm.

Everything is OK.

More than OK.

As the red cycle vanishes and a green cycle appears, we shuffle and wobble into place like a nervous orchestra. SUV woman takes a surprising lead only to be overtaken by the mopeds. He goes left, she goes right and to my soundtrack of the Pulp Fiction theme tune, it seems like we're following a script we collectivley and subliminally revised during last nights dreams.

He is dressed in an expensive suit and probably earns an anual salary of three figures, she's a fashion designer and has a desk diary full of appointments with world famous names. He works at McDonalds on the Leidseplein and i don't really know what i do here yet. But more importantly, in our own wobbly orchestra, as in every moment outside our little 9-5... we all smile as we are all one.

This is Amsterdam.

I like it here.