J and I were in Amsterdam. I was wandering the city, alone, at night and came upon a kind of village near the water. A bunch of smart and interesting artist/squatter types were living in some industrial buildings. When I arrived, they were having a neighbourhood party. A bonfire raged in the middle of the street. The overall feeling was of Christiania, circa 1996.
Oddly, the people in the village spoke English. They told me they were part of an English enclave in Amsterdam.
I went back to where we were staying. The next morning, I wanted to show J the village but got lost on my way to find it. We ended up at an elementary school. I thought I would take a shortcut by going through the school.
Inside, I watched a really cool teacher work with a group of kids. They were doing incredible things. A man saw us watching and invited us to have lunch with him. It turned out that he was the principal of the school. The teacher we were watching was his wife. We knew we wanted to send our kids to this school.
J and I had a wonderful lunch with him in his office next to the gym where the kids were playing. Then we went on our way. It was the school for the village I had visited the night before. J and I knew this was where we belonged.
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