Scary Sunday


The one thing that made the biggest impression when I first came to Maastricht was not the amount of bikes, nor the different language, not the sound of Dutch music or the smell of coffee shops around every corner. Oh no, these things were nothing in comparison to the sheer dilemma and trauma that ensued on my first Sunday in Maastricht.

My beloved Albert Heijn, so loyal and reliable as it was, had now chosen to brutally betray me on my first lonely weekend in Maastricht.

It was closed.

Now, coming from a city where nearly everything is open 24 hours and would open even later if they could, where Sunday is just another day – I suddenly realized that I had only a few options:

  • I could attempt to arrange a movie night at a friends’ place, where I would just ‘happen’ to be there for dinner.
  • I could try to make an interesting experimental dinner that would consist of euroshopper chocolate spread, approximately 3 pieces of pasta, ½ a cucumber with a cola and beer sauce.
  • Or I could even go to the Maas in the hope of catching a fish with my bare hands.

I pondered these options for much time, weighing up the pros and cons for each - for so long that I am sure even my neighbours could hear my desperate belly rumblings of hunger.

As viable and appropriate as these options were I began to slowly get hungrier and hungrier and eventually began to consider giving in. Giving in would however mean catering to the lowest of sins – worse than your worst nightmare, the very devil himself. Going to the McDonald’s.

And it was the best big mac I ever had.


Catriona O'Sullivan

Scary Sunday
Author: Redactie
Simone Golob

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