Camp Turbo
Introduction camps, what can you say about ‘em.
Often not too much, besides that everyone tells that
you should go because of the fact that it will be unbelievably awesome.
That can go two ways:
1.The person you are talking too is overenthusiastic and is lying.
;
2. It is true. In fact, after a weekend you believe that the person
you talked to was not even telling about the real craziness involved.
So we left for camp.
With a devastating Thursday beer cantus in our veins
we left Tilburg and took off for a classic Dutch
accommodation in Esbeek: camping farm ‘De Kievit’.
Since we were the first group to arrive,
a true scoop was ahead of us.
Not that seeing two Dutch dudes in a yellow sweater climbing on a
table is a real scoop, but moreover them introducing
us to the magic world that is called the ‘ESN Dance’ was totally unique.
I always realize that for myself this is where the weak part comes in.
My dancing skills are, genuinely, below probably any average.
But after thinking in ‘pussy mode’ you stop crying and find out about
an amazing phenomenon: group strength.
You raise that arm when your neighbour does, you dive to the ground when
suddenly everyone does, and you’re fine.
You go with an unexpected flow, and in the end you find yourself
going for stuff that used to be unreachable every time before.
That is where we learned the ESN Dance, and it changed my life.
Of course, dancing should be followed by eating.
And eating should be followed by action.
Well, we got action. Divided into two groups we took off straight into the forest.
With a lack of flashlights, no moon, and totally poor shoe choice.
The amazingness is definitely in the combo.
For every team the job was to hide a flag in the forest, and
to capture the flag of the enemy.
Defending the own flag was only possible by means of tagging ‘enemies’
that were on your side of the forest.
The shady battlefield shut its mouth and the game started.
Direct routes to the flag were most often stopped by a club of first hiding,
then screaming and finally tagging girls.
Better options were walks through rivers, runs around the forest etc.
Or, for non-amateurs with Finnish army experience, straight
through the middle with invisible mode on. That’s how we won.
After the battling the clever part of the evening came in.
A real classic, and something very rewarding
for smart people: a pub quiz.
Groups clustered together and solved questions in various fields of study.
In between, every group produced a characteristic, custom team flag.
This symbol soon became a beloved object of which losing it was not an option.
In words of good-old Stevie Ray Vaugh: ‘she’s this sweet little thang, she’s my pride and joy’.
Less pride, more joy: a beer-mayonnaise mix drink.
In a world that is famous for rum and coke and vodka orange juice a
beer-mayo mess-up is something unique and new.
And it possesses the same secret as in the movie Beerfest1, ‘you got-ta
wait for the bubble’. Take that smoothly, and victory will be on your side.
We did not win the quiz, even though the quizmaster created
an atmosphere in which we suddenly still believed to have a fair chance of victory, but this hope was idle.
Not worrying about that for a sec, cause the party took over and Esbeek nights proved that they last long.
Activities Day
Saturday morning, damage hour.
No one felt alone in being a little destroyed,
and we got lucky with an everlasting morning work-out session.
In the afternoon more activities were programmed.
Games like beer pong, blow kiss and speed
dating set the right mood,
but the main afternoon event must have been the beer excursion to Hilvarenbeek.
The host over there truly made people
believe he would rather die than never be able to drink a beer again.
This man was in the category of guys that say goodnight to their wife first
and after turning off the light quickly give a cheeky kiss
to the favourite bottle of dark beer on the night table next to their bed. After listening to a short
presentation and touring through the atmospherically small museum we got the chance to go for
the highest quality beer of the weekend. ‘De Roos’ beer, a true yeast feast. We said goodbye to the.
The Saturday evening:
fell in and did not promise to take it easy.
As Dutch as we are, there ain’t no camp without a ‘Bonte Avond’.
Basically anything can happen during an evening famous for its randomness.
Board members blinding each other with hair spray,
Martijn Wuijts making his
appearance in a live dating show, snakes being killed,
returning exchange students lap dancing the
shit out of flabbergasted parents. And so on. It was the paved road to another night in Esbeek that
did not close the gates before severe tiredness was written on every single face.
The Race
Waking up on Sunday has felt healthier before, but there was no time to realize.
With less than half a day of camp left a ‘secret activity’ had been announced.
Unless the fact that The Netherlands are not excessively religious,
there are exceptions to this.
One of these exceptions comes together with a dozen cases of
Euroshopper beers and three bunnies: Saint Beer Race.
The myth around this phenomenon soon possessed the
already familiar party room and the games started.
“Hands in the neck!” You face the big guy across the table and prepare for the moment the race
comes your way. A last breath before your neighbour smashes an empty glass on her head and you
go. You chug the beer as if it was a bottle of water on a sunny afternoon in France and cheer on your
team that is drinking its way to the end of the table. You either win or lose, but you love this line of
people. The simple things make life beautiful, and this is one of them.
Monday morning, January 24th.
As agreed about Mondays, this is the day to go to work at
a bank in Tilburg. Of course you know this particular day
is not the day you will write history, but you also
do not expect major difficulties.
Until the moment the new manager walks in for his first day and
calls everyone together for a very first meeting session.
“Let’s introduce ourselves!” Your mouth
moves, but the words don’t come out.
You take some fresh air and then with a low, creaking voice
it goes: “Hello”. What was it about first impressions?
But then you smile. And within I smiled even
more when somewhere in the back of my head I heard ‘new kids, eternity…’
‘
Camp Turbo’; what a legendary start of a legendary semester.
-Michiel Matthijsen
ESN Mentor
Econometrics student