The Night I Met the Colombians
After spending the whole day wandering Amsterdam’s maze of canals and streets, I was exhausted—not just physically, but mentally too. I returned to the hostel, hoping to find some energy or inspiration, but the noise of the common area was almost too much. People were everywhere: playing cards, swapping stories, laughing loudly, and sharing beers. It seemed like everyone had found their group, their people, their rhythm. And there I was, lying on my bunk bed, reading the same line of a comic over and over, unable to focus.
I wanted to join in. Really, I did. But the thought of walking into a conversation, letting out a garbled sentence in broken English, and being met with blank stares? It was terrifying. My mind kept racing with “what ifs.”
What if they didn’t understand me?
What if they just nodded politely and then ignored me?
What if I ended up standing there like a fool, awkward and out of place?
Still, I couldn’t just stay there. I needed to push myself. So I got up and walked into the living room, pretending to be occupied with my phone. I sat on the couch, scrolling through nothing, sneaking glances at a group of guys laughing loudly across the room. They were holding beers, leaning back casually, and speaking in rapid-fire Spanish. They seemed carefree, as if nothing in the world could faze them.
I told myself, Just go over there. Say something. They’re probably nice. You’re Brazilian; you can fake your way through Spanish, right?
But the weight of self-doubt was crushing. My legs felt glued to the couch. My stomach churned. I even tried to lift myself up a couple of times, but each time, I sank back down. The fear of rejection was too much.
“What if they think I’m weird? What if they don’t want to talk to me? What if they laugh at me instead of with me?”
My mind kept spiraling, but then, in the middle of all that noise, I had a small, clear thought: If you don’t go now, you’ll regret it. Fuck it. Just go.
So I did. I took a deep breath, got up, and walked over to them. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, but I forced myself to say something—anything.
Making the Leap
“Hola, soy de Brasil,” I blurted out, a mix of Portuguese and what I hoped sounded like Spanish. “¿Puedo sentarme?”
The group paused, turning their attention to me. My face felt like it was on fire. For a second, I was sure I’d made a mistake. But then, one of them smiled, raised his beer, and said, “¡Claro, amigo! Siéntate, siéntate.”
And just like that, I was in. They asked me questions about Brazil, told me stories about Colombia, and, before I knew it, we were laughing like old friends. There were three of them—Carlos, Andres, and Miguel—all slightly older than me. Carlos and Miguel could speak some English, which turned out to be a lifesaver for navigating Amsterdam. They, too, were young and broke, just trying to stretch their euros and have a good time.
Their warmth felt like a lifeline. After days of feeling like an outsider, I finally felt like I belonged, even if just for a night. And in that moment, I realized something important: the fear of rejection is real, but the regret of not trying? That’s so much worse.
Finding Common Ground Through Language and Laughter
The Colombians were slightly older than me, and definitely drunker, but they were incredibly friendly. As a Brazilian, I couldn’t say I spoke fluent Spanish, but our languages shared enough similarities for us to understand each other. Between my Portuguese, their Spanish, and a dash of Google Translate, we were laughing and sharing stories in no time.
It turned out they were also traveling on a shoestring budget. Their English was better than mine, which proved invaluable in navigating Amsterdam. We quickly bonded over our shared struggles: being young, broke, and eager to squeeze as much joy out of life as possible. That night, we became partners in adventure.
A Budget Adventure in Amsterdam
Together, we brainstormed ways to enjoy Amsterdam without breaking the bank. At the hostel reception, we asked the staff for recommendations. The receptionist chuckled and said, “In Amsterdam, you can have fun with expensive drinks or drink cheap beer and skip the fun. You can’t have both.”
Undeterred, we scoured Google, Facebook events, and even Tinder, searching for free or affordable activities. Nothing panned out. Feeling defeated, we ended up wandering the streets, eating McDonald’s, and sharing a bottle of cheap vodka. It wasn’t glamorous, but we made it fun.
A New Day, New Challenges
The next morning, my social energy was depleted. I needed to recharge, so I left the hostel early and headed to a local market to grab breakfast. Navigating the market was an adventure in itself—every label was in Dutch, and I accidentally bought sparkling water instead of still water for the fourth time. On the bright side, I learned that returning empty bottles earned you a few cents. Small victories.
With my market haul in hand, I found a quiet park and sat on the grass. The contrast of green trees against the gray cityscape felt oddly comforting. As I ate, I started scrolling through Facebook, searching for Brazilian or Latino communities in Amsterdam. To my delight, I found a Latino cultural event happening the following weekend—music, food, and dancing. It was the perfect opportunity to meet more people.
The Latino Event: A Rollercoaster of Emotions
When Saturday arrived, I was bursting with excitement. The weather was perfect—sunny and warm—and I couldn’t wait to connect with people from similar backgrounds. But when I got to the event venue, I realized I had arrived way too early. Vendors were still setting up, and the place was eerily quiet. I felt awkward and out of place.
To kill time, I wandered around the area, but it was far from the city center, and there wasn’t much to see. My nerves got the best of me, and doubts began to creep in. What if no one talks to me? What if I just stand around like an idiot? By the time the event finally opened, my excitement had turned into anxiety.
A Spiral of Bad Decisions
I decided I needed something to take the edge off, so I bought a whiskey and mixed it with an energy drink. Bad idea. The warm weather, combined with my nerves and the strong drink, hit me hard. My heart raced, my head pounded, and my hands were clammy. I retreated to a quieter corner of the event to catch my breath.
That’s when I saw a group of people smoking and laughing. They were speaking Portuguese. Brazilians! Summoning whatever energy I had left, I approached them and asked for a cigarette, joking, “I’m already dying; might as well make it worse.” They laughed, and just like that, I was in.
A Chance Encounter
We talked for hours. They shared their stories about living in Amsterdam, and one of them mentioned that during the summer, farms across the Netherlands needed volunteers. In exchange for helping with the harvest, volunteers received free accommodation and meals. It was the perfect opportunity for someone like me—broke and looking for a new adventure.
By the end of the night, I had a lead on a farm that might take me on as a volunteer. The anxiety and missteps of the day suddenly felt worth it. This chance encounter would lead to an entirely new chapter of my life in the Netherlands.
A New Beginning
What started as a lonely evening in a hostel had turned into a series of unexpected connections. From bonding with the Colombians to meeting my fellow Brazilians, every step—awkward and messy as it was—brought me closer to finding my place in a foreign land.
In the next chapter, I’ll share how working on the farm introduced me to one of my closest friends and a way of life I never imagined. But for now, I’ll leave you with this: sometimes, the best stories come from the most uncomfortable moments.
