7:45 on a Saturday night, I find myself walking down the Eastern Amsterdam dockyards where the Dutch East India Company once had its shipyards and warehouses. December 1st, it is dark, cold and desolate. The city sounds fade and my 5 inch heels are the only sound on the wet and wobbly pavement. In the distance I see silhouettes, the moon circling them like chalk outlines. People are walking side by side in a sort of queue as if they’re going to a Sunday mass. More footsteps, I must be heading in the right direction. I walk around the corner to see fire coming out of oil drums, people warming their hands, their breath forming little clouds. This could be a New York movie scene with vagabonds and roasted chestnuts. I feel excited.