Little did I know that April 2024 would become forever known as the month in which I started my very first (and probably only) podcast. Not alone, of course, because between you and me I would never keep going by myself, but with my friend Sam from Canada. 

Let me introduce to you: Rosie the Reviewer, a WW2 podcast! In it, Sam and I discuss movies, shows and books of the WW2 variety. If you’ve come to this website, you’re probably a friend of mine, so you probably already know about it. But I wanted to post about it anyway. We have 12 episodes under our belt and some exciting stuff ahead. Here are some important links for you to check out if you’re interested:

• Our website, www.rosiethereviewer.com
• Our podcasting hub, where you can find all the links to the podcast on different platforms
• Our IMDb page, please rate us, it would help us massively!
• Our Instagram, come say hi

If you like, you can listen to our pod. If not, please follow and rate us wherever you can to help us.
Here’s the latest episode if you want to check it out:

Let me know what you think!

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It’s that time again. That time I run back to my blog and write one of those rare long accounts of what I’ve done. It must be another We Happy Few 506 tour. Why yes, dear reader, you are correct. This time, though, it was right around the corner in my own country. Relatively, anyway – a one-and-a-half-hour drive in the rain on Friday to reach our hotel (the fancy Pullman) in Eindhoven.

Armed with camera gear (I consider myself a replacement at best) in the absence of our regular tour photographer Stu, Geertjan and I set out for the drive over. On a whim, we stopped at the airport to pick up Natasha before finally arriving at the Pullman. There was a little hick-up with the accessible room, but they sorted it out before the night’s end, so I won’t make a fuss in this blog.

I didn’t do much the first evening apart from eating spicy pizza at Happy Italy and popping into the supermarket for some supplies for the weekend. I gave Matt and Mark (Huberman, our Band of Brothers actor guest) some art, which I hope they liked. Do you guys think it’s getting old? Should I stop?

Day one: In the footsteps of Easy Company

The following day, we sat down for breakfast. I went the English Breakfast route (minus the beans on toast or tomatoes – gross). It was cold, so I abandoned it halfway. I brought some fruit for unexpected hunger pangs on the road and then set off towards the bus on the other side of the building. It took a bit to figure out the bus, as railings are never quite convenient, but eventually we settled on the first row, on the left – later right.

Our first leg of the tour focused on Band of Brother’s Easy Company. I was already familiar with this part from the very first tour. Still, our tour guide, Reg Jans (the legend,) took us to places within the towns and villages that I had never been to before, like the very centre of Nuenen (where van Gogh was not born, actually, Webster!), where we saw Café Schafrath. It’s the cafe that you see in episode 4. Little did I know – I only just found out – that my mom and dad attended numerous raging parties there in the seventies.

Other stops included the St. Antonius mill in Eerde, the Joe Mann Memorial Stone in Best (and other Joe Mann-related sites), the Robert Cole monument near the dropzones in Best, Paulushoef in Son where we were shown and told about Forrest Guth’s Purple Heart, the amazing Landgoed Schoonderlogt in Elst and the ‘Crossroads’ in Heteren. 

A Sunset March at the Waal crossing

The next part of the journey took us closer to (my) home and involved a little surprise. Our trusty bus (liberally put, those who were there will know) took us to Nijmegen. With rain pelting down on us and wind lashing at our faces, we crossed ‘De Oversteek’. Literally, The Crossing, this bridge took us from one side of the Waal river to the other. What followed was something extraordinary—a Sunset March. We were met by a fully uniformed veteran, who led the way back over the bridge. As we followed him in columns of two on the bike lane, 48 streetlights came on one by one as we walked across in silence—one for each American soldier who died in the perilous crossing on September 20 1944—a fantastic thing to be a part of. As I’m writing this, 3294 Sunset Marches have already been completed. A veteran has made the crossing every night since the start of the ‘Crossing Lights’ project on October 19 2014. We concluded our day at the monument below the bridge (only accessible via some stairs, thanks boys for helping me down).

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My 6 AM alarm might as well not have gone off on Friday, June 2nd. I’d been awake ten minutes before its annoying generic iPhone tune reminded me it was time to get out of bed. My bag was primarily packed with more clothes than I would need on the four-day trip. The weather forecast was good, but I armed myself with layers. I’d made a packing list the day before, which I think I’ll continue doing for every trip going forward. So after a quick brush of my teeth, all I had to do was rattle off the list, and I was ready 40 minutes before departure. Where to, you ask? Oh, just the We Happy Few 506 Normandy Tour.

Coming with me to Normandy was Sven, my physical therapist turned friend. I’ve known him for eight years, but only after mentioning the Normandy tour by We Happy Few 506 did we discover a shared interest in WW2 history. I’m fortunate to have friends who not only want to push me around all weekend but also want to drive to Normandy! Damn.

When we checked travel times a few days earlier, Google Maps warned us of increased traffic, possibly extending our drive from seven to ten hours. Better safe than sorry, we headed off at 07:15, bright and early. The trip only ended up being six and a half hours.

We stopped two times for a stretch and a toilet break. I have to say, they do try with accessibility, but for me, they hardly ever get it right. Grip bars on the wrong side, toilets super low to the ground, you name it. I need to accept that nine out of ten times, I will need help. At first, I felt like disappearing. But after a day or so, it was only mildly uncomfortable.

We stayed in Caen, in a cheap hotel with mini apartments rather than actual hotel rooms. They’d tried to be accommodating with accessibility, too, with a grab bar on the right side of the toilet. It looked alright until I tried to pull myself up on the bar and promptly pulled it out of the wall. Guess I won’t be using that. Ok, more help then.

After a rest and a quick hello to some friends in the lobby, we got back in the car to drive to our first event, A Night For Our Heroes – the VIP edition. The welcome was hosted at the beautiful Chateau de L’isle Marie. I brought my camera, but because I’m an idiot, I failed to take any photos of the actual chateau. The VIP reception was attended by Band of Brothers (and The Pacific) actors, but more importantly, by three amazing veterans. I’m not a shy person, but I didn’t know what to say to these men, who 79 years prior had fought in Normandy. But I was glad to listen.

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All the wonderfully framed photos are by Stuart Bertie. You can find Stuart on Twitter or Instagram.

That was one of the most remarkable sights I’ve seen on this ‘Band of Brothers Tour’ this weekend and probably the most memorable. But what really made the weekend great was the people.

Old friends – Geertjan, who was with me for the second time, and our little ‘quiet bunch’ without whom these tours wouldn’t be half as fun. These friends are friends for life, and I feel sad to have parted ways again. 

And new friends. I love having instant connections over something creative – thanks for sharing your talents, Stuart. Looking forward to a little collab.

And, of course, the lovely people who make all this happen, Leighton and Matt. Matt, I know we joke a lot, but I really do love ya to bits. Leighton, man, you deserve some kind of award. This must have been one stressful weekend for you.

And then there’s the little thing of meeting the people who made Band of Brothers into the masterpiece it is. Matt – Doug, Shane and Lucie. I didn’t get to talk to you as much as I would have liked, but it’s an honour to have your signatures on my art. It’s a thing that has intensified my love for the show and combined it with more passion for my art. It’s just so cool. Thank you.

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My eyes follow the drops of rain involuntarily across the large bus window. They are like snails leaving their little tracks as they travel slowly down from the top left. Beyond them, it’s already mostly dark. I can’t tell where we are exactly, the Belgian villages too unfamiliar to me to tell them apart in the dark. 

We’ve been lucky to have had only two small showers on this tour. Still, the wind chill makes it a lot colder than the tour bus’s LED screen indicates. At times like these, travelling back, I feel saddest, because the weekend is nothing short of amazing and it’s now over. 

It’s time to get back to life as it usually is. Safe. Because when you go on a Battle of the Bulge tour and learn about the horrors that brave men faced in the Ardennes, you realise that for them, it wasn’t safe at all, once. And that they laid their lives on the line to make it safe again for all of us.

It’s so hard to imagine what it was like for them. Even as I’m shivering in a forest, trying to stay warm. They were in that forest for weeks, without proper winter clothing, while snow, rain and artillery fire rained down on them from a place off in the distance. Sometimes they couldn’t even see their enemy. And sometimes, sleep deprivation made them see an enemy that wasn’t there at all. Did you know that you lose 25% of your brain capacity every 24 hours you don’t sleep? I sure as hell did not. 

And here I am, upset that I missed a part of the fantastic tour guide’s story because I’m the last one off the bus, my wheelchair broke or I can’t cover the terrain in the forest because there are too many roots sticking up. What right do I have to complain?

Let’s be clear… I’m only complaining because I’m hungry to learn these stories and every second missed is a second too many.

But as a whole, this weekend was incredible. Spent with friends, nerds and people I can genuinely say I love. My heart feels warm and there’s nothing a little wind chill can do to change that. 

See you all in January.

 

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What have you been up to lately, Maartje? Oh, just hanging out at Amsterdam’s Ziggo Dome to talk about accessibility. Thanks for asking!

I’ve always enjoyed live music. I went to my first concert at age fourteen, in a tiny cafe without seating, where they sat me atop a giant speaker right in front of the stage. Safe? Probably not. Awesome? Yes, indeed!

Those were the days when I still walked, and I’ve seen many concerts since, with varying experiences when it comes to accessibility. I’ve become entirely dependent on my wheelchair, which means my concert experience has been dictated by the availability of accessible seating tickets, their placement and, for smaller venues, the willingness of concert hall owners to provide a space that is both safe and has a good view. Needless to say, going to a concert is much easier when you are able-bodied. Furthermore, you have a choice of where you want to sit or stand and pay accordingly.

For years, I accepted the status quo of accessible seating. Sat at the back of the hall, or sometimes at the side, but never close to the stage. That is, when I’ve been lucky enough to get my hands on tickets at all. At the Ziggo Dome, there are 20 to 40 tickets available for disabled people, and the same number of tickets for their carers. With a capacity of 17000, that number makes the ticket hunt feel like a lottery. Thankfully, most of my experiences at the shows themselves were good, if not always that memorable.

The status quo changed in 2018, when a Harry Styles concert brought the accessible seating platform closer than ever: right in front of the b-stage. From there, its occupants, me included, were treated to a very intimate few songs by the larger than life pop star and got to experience what it feels like to have a front row seat. A strange sensation of validation and feeling of inclusivity and equality came over me. As a result, I remember that night very clearly and still talk about it a lot. I also distinctly remember a young woman named Mir, who is now no longer with us. A direct result of her disability. It makes me happy that she got to experience her favourite artist up close, too. Moments like these matter.

I saw Harry Styles in concert again earlier this year, but the accessible seating was back at its usual spot, at the back of the venue. It was a great show, but it didn’t hit the same. When I wrote about the difference on LinkedIn, I was intent on manifesting a change for the better. After all, 2018 proved that it could be. Feeling empowered by that bit of proof, I tagged the commercial director of Ziggo Dome, a man I had never met or spoken to, and was invited to the venue for a conversation about accessibility.

Ziggo was open and honest with me. I learned that venues do not have any say in the number of accessible seats or where in the venue they are (apart from giving options). That is up to the promoters, who in turn listen to their clients, the artists and their teams. Valuable information. As was the confirmation that accessible seating costs money. After all, they take up more space than regular seats or standing tickets and because they have to be elevated to provide a good line of sight, regular seats can’t be directly behind them. Factor in safety, and you’ve got a shitload of barriers to break.

Those barriers aren’t enough to disillusion me. While I respect all of them and want to be mindful of artists’ incomes, I do believe there are ways to make concert experiences better for people with disabilities. To make it easier for them to attend a concert by providing more accessible seating on the one hand, and to make each concert something they’ll think fondly of for the rest of their lives.

I won’t go as far as to say I have all the answers, but I think it starts with awareness. Across the entire music industry. Especially musicians and their clever teams who put tours together. Stage designers who have the power to creative immersive stages that bring artists closer to their audience when the audience can’t move closer to them. Where are the cheeky catwalks that reach all the way to the accessible seating? The larger and longer b-stage sets? Where are the seats in front of the pits full of dancing bodies? Promoters and big bosses (I’m looking at you, Live Nation), put your thinking caps on. With your artists, with your venues, and with people with disabilities. We can make this something extraordinary!

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I knew nothing about colour theory or technique, but the beginnings of my style, if you can say I even have one, started to show, especially in the blending. I still blend the same way to this day.

Getting confident (and buying more tablets)

When I realised I had a knack for this art thing, I eventually got a Wacom Intuos 3 in 2008 and later 4, prone to buying gadgets as much as the next millennial. My Communication and Multimedia Design studies made it justifiable to buy a new one as soon as it hit the market.

I don’t think I can pinpoint which art was made with what tablet, but I was fully invested and drawing primarily in Adobe Photoshop CS5 at this point. The first major stab at realism came when I was a massive fan of The Fratellis and follows them all over Europe with a bunch of newly made friends. I painted Jon Fratelli and he put it up in their studio in Glasgow, for a while.

After that, I was unleashed. I had meanwhile also started an internship at a project development firm that had a 21 inch Wacom Cintiq which they allowed me to use. My job? Create concept art for a futuristic theme park. Any attempts at recovering those images have failed. The theme park never ended up being built but it was there I became incredibly spoiled as an artist. All my personal projects were still done on my trusty Intuos. Here are two more from that year.

Cintiq is an artists’ dream

In 2011, I made my first artbook with mostly Cintiq produced artworks and printed a whole bunch of them on canvas, though no one ever bought any.

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Who’d have thought that the end of April 2022 would be one of my favourite ends of April or any month, for that matter? And that I’d experience personal growth in the process? I set out to Eindhoven on Friday afternoon for what would be ‘An Evening with the Cast of Band of Brothers’ and a Band of Brothers themed WW2 tour through the country the next day. Or, rather, the cast of my all-time favourite mini-series because it combines excellent storytelling with great acting and WW2 history. Someone pinch me, I’m in heaven.

Armed with my art of (some) of the cast, my mom and I drove to Eindhoven, arriving precisely on time at the Pullman hotel. A fancier hotel than I usually go to, but also the only hotel that offered me wheelchair accessibility in Eindhoven’s city centre. I had spent several stressful hours trying to find another, cheaper hotel that I could stay in with my cousin Joost and his wife Sabrina since the Pullman couldn’t accommodate us in the same room but came up empty. Pullman by necessity. Joost booked a much cheaper Airbnb with a friendly lady and her dog about ten minutes away.

Upon arrival, I had one of those weird first-time greetings with Matthew Leitch (who played Floyd ‘Tab’ Talbert in the show) that felt more like a reunion than an introduction, which would become the case for everyone I met this trip. He gave me his beanie (thanks!), and while Joost and Sabrina filed into the hotel and hugged me hello, he signed my painting.

There was some time to kill before the actual event, so we had some drinks with two girls from the UK and Germany, after which my mum left (poor mom, taxi-servicing me only to drive back an hour and a half by herself; she swears she doesn’t mind). By that time, I’d gotten quite hungry. I hadn’t eaten all day because I was nervous about accessibility. It’s a recurring theme.

Flashback to a couple of weeks earlier, when I had asked Leighton (one of the organisers and driving forces behind We Happy Few 506) if the event was wheelchair accessible. Yes, was the answer. The first night was, and so was the tour. He even hooked me up for a complimentary ‘carer’ ticket so my cousin could be there to push me about. Perfect. About a week before the event, I reached out to Joris, aka The Battlefield Explorer, aka the guy doing the tour. To check about the accessibility of the several stops on the way. 2 out of 3 had accessible bathrooms, which is not bad. He even offered an extra stop if necessary. It wasn’t. Then came the bus. Oh, dear. The bus in question was a regular touring car, one with dangerously steep stairs that you can easily clip your ankle on if you’re not careful.

“Will you be able to get on that bus?” he asked. In my head, I’m going: “No, actually, probably not,” because my mobility had severely lessened over the years. It’s the reason I no longer travel alone. In my email, I replied: “Uh, sure. There are plenty of strong guys around, right? And actors too, they can pretend to be superheroes and save me, haha.”

Accessibility is always an afterthought. This isn’t a dig at anyone involved in this event, because they actually did most things completely right. But, in general, It’s a fact. It makes sense that it is since the majority of people is able-bodied, but it does not make it any less frustrating.

Back to me being hungry. Joost, Sabrina and I set off for a quick bite at a Vegan Snackfood Bar (who knew that was a thing? Not me, but it’s delicious) and made it to the ‘Evening with’ part of the evening with a couple of minutes to spare. We got seats appointed at the front (you’ll notice another recurring theme of the WHF506 crew getting shit right) and were ready for the show to start.

I say show because as soon as it began, I started to wonder if I’d accidentally rolled into a comedy show. All four men were entertaining and candid, telling funny and personal stories from their time filming Band of Brothers over twenty years ago. They hit the mark with their little critique on ‘making it in Hollywood’ and how working hard and being talented isn’t enough to get there because you need luck, someone giving you an in, and you need to be receptive to the success for your fortune to start rolling in. Joost is a musician; he knows what it’s like. I want to be an artist for a living, and I know what it’s like too. Either way, entertaining stuff with a good chunk of reality.

When the stories were over, there was the opportunity to get a thing or two signed. I had stupidly forgotten my DVD boxset and I had only done paintings of two of the guys there (Matthew and Mark Lawrence, who played William Dukeman), so I didn’t have a lot to get signed. I tend to disappear in crowds; get quiet, think, ‘nevermind, I’ll ask tomorrow’ (and then never ask). I’m not shy. I just… shut off when there are a lot of people around. Joost, however, wouldn’t let me do that completely and got Mark’s attention and mentioned my art. A major shift in atmosphere. Mark had seen me, had seen my art but had not connected the dots until then. Cue another spontaneous, instant connection. I don’t know what it is. It’s not me. It’s these people.

Still, I had burned up most of my energy during the day and with the fear of the bus with the stairs of doom still looming over my head, I couldn’t really be my bubbly self for much longer.

I didn’t sleep very well because I wasn’t in my bed or because I was nervous for the day to come. Who knows? After breakfast and a somewhat complicated search for an accessible bathroom since I’d already checked out (yes, it’s a struggle, even in a four-star hotel), it was time to face the bus with the stairs of doom. But not before facing the outside stairs of doom because the side of the hotel where the bus was parked did not have a ramp. Pretty sure the universe was just having a laugh at this point. But, by the time I’d reached the bus, I’d already discovered that people were more than capable of helping me and didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. And that was the trend for the rest of the day. I didn’t have to ask. By the third time, we were a well oiled, joke-cracking machine, and the stairs of doom seemed to have shrunk.

Sabrina, unfortunately, could not join us on tour due to family obligations, but Joost and I sat comfortably at the back of the bus with Mark. Apart from the tour itself, that was the best part of the whole trip: spending quality time with my cousin and having conversations about things that mattered with Mark.

The tour itself was impressive; I learned a lot more about Operation Market Garden than I had previously known, but the true magic was getting to share some memories and moments with the cast, who seem so profoundly connected to the men they portrayed. I thought that was particularly moving. The other impressive part was how precisely the creators of Band of Brothers have managed to recreate the locations where the events took place, especially the ‘Crossroads’, which in actuality are located near Heteren, but were rebuilt entirely outside of London. They never filmed here in the Netherlands, yet it looks exactly the same. If you squinted, you could almost see the characters creeping around in a ditch.

Another iconic place to see was Landgoed Schoonderlogt (not a name the British seemed to be exceptionally equipped to say), where I – and everyone else – found the perfect photo op with all four cast members (including Doug Allen, who played Alton More and Tim Matthews who played Alex Penkala) as seen on the photo above this novel of a travel report.

The last part of the tour brought us to Arnhem, about fifteen minutes from my home, where the bus parked at the Rijnkade. It’s no strange place to me, but I usually visit it in a social context for drinks or that one time I dated a guy on national television. But here, we saw the John Frost bridge for its part in WW2.

As I’m slowly running out of words to describe the day, I’m trying to think of what I really took away from this weekend. I feel like I’ve made friends, not only the gents from the show but also several other people who were at the tour. I felt safe and seen—a part of a group, of something special. I feel more than a little sad that it’s over and can’t wait to do it all over again as soon as the next event happens, but until then I can sit comfortably in the knowledge that…

Accessibility is a challenge, but not quite as much if you’re with the right people.

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A week ago, I attended the Dutch Grand Prix at the CM.com racetrack at Zandvoort in my wheelchair. It was a wonderful experience unlike any other for me as a race fan and as a person. To convey the full extent of what it meant to me, I first have to tell you a little more about myself.

Ten years ago, I thought Formula One or any motorsport was dangerous, noisy and annoying. I was 23 and a girly girl; I enjoyed the Tour de France because it meant the start of summertime. Sometimes I would watch a football match or ice skating world cup mainly because the Dutch show some talent in those sports on occasion. I was an opportunist sports fan, supporting our national teams when they were doing well and forgetting all about them when they weren’t.

Am I even a race fan?

When Max Verstappen joined Red Bull, I watched his races with much the same sentiment. Like most Dutch people, I knew Jos Verstappen’s past in F1 and Max’s young age was enough to draw me into watching it even though I knew nothing about the sport. My mum was much more passionate than I was, but Dutch pride kicked in promptly when Max’s spirited driving started challenging the field. That, and the banter between him and then-teammate Daniel Ricciardo was enough to hook me.

So how did I go from an opportunist fan to a race fan? I don’t think I can pinpoint the exact moment, but when Max began having trouble with his engine, I used to stop watching the race. Then one day, I kept watching after if he was out of the race. And again, and again. I’d look at the championship standings, started reading into lap and sector times, looking up race track history. It all happened gradually. I’d miss a race and watch it back. Then I started watching qualifying on Saturdays and eventually all the free practices as well. Nowadays, I even alter my schedule, so I don’t have to miss anything. I consider myself a big Max Verstappen, Red Bull and ultimately Formula One fan now.

I’m never doing multi-day events again.

In 2020, the Dutch Grand Prix was set to come to the CM.com circuit in Zandvoort. I was excited but, at the time, didn’t even think about going. It just felt like an impossibility. My previous experiences with large events like this one hadn’t been great. I went to a music festival in 2008 where I slept in a tent on a camping spot that was a 45-minute walk to the festival grounds. Facilities were subpar, and only the main stage had a wheelchair-accessible platform. At the end of each festival day, I’d have to go back to a cold and wet tent. I ended up with a mild case of hypothermia, exhausted and covered in mud by the end of it. It didn’t seem worth the pricey tickets. I swore then and there that I would never do a multi-day event like that again. So, even Formula One seemed out of the question.

Then covid19 happened, and like everything else, the race was postponed.

When the rescheduled date grew nearer, though, I got the itch. I wanted to go. If I couldn’t go the entire weekend, maybe I could pull off just attending the day of the race. Of course, by that time, the accessible tickets had sold out.

Discouraged but cheeky as ever, I reached out to the Dutch GP team to ask if there was any chance of additional tickets becoming available at a later time. In my experience, tickets are sometimes held back in case someone needs an accessible seat last minute. That put me on a waiting list. I thought it would be the last I’d hear about it. I was content to accept that I would have to watch our home Grand Prix on television. After all, the view is much better, right? Right.

Congratulations, you’re going to the Dutch Grand Prix!

Fast forward a month—HandicapNL, a Dutch charity organisation that looks out for people with disabilities, sent me an email. Their email included an offer to purchase ‘Extra Care tickets’ for the entire weekend at Zandvoort. An initiative by NRPU and HandicapNL that included access to the track and a stay at a ‘Pop-up Care Hotel’ that would have all the facilities I would need as a disabled person.

I had to think about it first. Three days of racing. Was I up for that? I initially only wanted to go on race day because I knew the entire thing would exhaust me, and I’d have to recover for about a week. And at this point, I had no idea what was in store other than spending quite a lot of money on the tickets for me and my mother, who would be coming with me. After convincing myself it was ok to spend the money because I had not been on holiday since 2016, I submitted the form for the screening that would determine if the facilities and care provided could meet my needs.

Ten days later, I received another email: “Congratulations, you’re going to the Dutch Grand Prix!” That was when the real excitement began. What a fantastic opportunity to be at the first Formula One race in Zandvoort in 36 years! I was still nervous – there was a possibility that the race would be cancelled because of a pending lawsuit about environmental consequences – but also really pumped.

Oh no, a tent again!

The Dutch Grand Prix came along faster than anticipated. A judge gave the go-ahead two days before the start, and I dismissed my inhibitions. Man, was I ready! My mum drove us down to Zandvoort on Thursday. We parked the car at our appointed parking lot close to Camping Bloemendaal, where the pop-up hotel was situated. We immediately met other disabled people and waited to be picked up to be brought back to the hotel. After some initial hick-ups and a somewhat bumpy ride, we arrived.

The ‘hotel’ wasn’t your typical hotel, but rather a gigantic tent with wooden floors and partitioned spaces for each of us and our carers. Ours had a high-low bed, making the transfer from my wheelchair to the bed effortless. The back of the tent had accessible showers and toilets. Not Dixies but steady, spacious rooms. The HandicapNL volunteers and caregivers welcomed us.

Everyone, from the volunteers to the other fans staying at the pop-up hotel and their carers, was super friendly, and we all felt equal. Entertainment enhanced our stay at the hotel, from DJs to singing duos to a marching band whose members were more like rockstars than a marching band. I can’t say I slept much because of this, but it’s all part of the fun.

The place instantly felt like a home away from home rather than an uncomfortable place to stay. It felt like that increasingly over the weekend.

From the back of the line to the front row at Zandvoort.

While the ‘Super Friday’ isn’t the most exciting day of any F1 weekend, it was pretty incredible for me because this is where we were first introduced to our seats for the weekend. I’m used to being at the back of stadiums or festival grounds, relying on the big screens for most of the show and missing out on the front row energy. I always thought that that was just how it is, for safety reasons, primarily. Imagine my surprise when I found myself rolling onto the front of the main grandstand, right alongside the main straight and stopping at start/finish! Yes! Front row, baby.

Our proximity to the race track meant I had to get used to my earplugs. What a wall of sound! Formula One engines weren’t bad (though still impossible to sit through without plugs), but F3 and the Porsche Supercup were deafening. At the start of the Friday, I found myself constantly jumping anytime a driver would rev their engine, but I was ready for it by Sunday.

A good result on Qualifying Saturday was possibly even more crucial than the actual race. It was a nail-biter for sure. I loved seeing it first hand, even though I did miss lap times and intervals, which weren’t visible on the big screens. But to see Max take pole position, well, that was all that mattered. It was a cold day, so I bought some Red Bull Racing merch (had to sell a kidney, but hey, gotta show my dedication to the team).

Sunday was the day of all days. Would Max be able to pull away from the two Mercedes enough to win? The race was about to begin. My knees were bobbing up and down with anticipation and nerves when the lights went out. Away he went: a great start and safe through the first corner. It wasn’t the most exciting race after that, but the energy in the crowd was high for the entire race. The team made the right calls. The last ten laps were the tensest ones, but Max quickly took it home once Bottas got the fastest lap and forced Hamilton to go in for new tires. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling when Max was in the final lap. The whole circuit was buzzing. I watched the screen in front of me but knew Max was coming into the Arie Luyendijk corner before he even showed up on the monitor. The thunderous roar of the fans as he approached gave it away. I got full-body chills when Max crossed the finish line and drove around the track one more time, only to park his car behind that coveted number one sign in front of me. Max seemed happy and relieved, but the crowd was ecstatic. I lost my voice.

A part of something special.

What a weekend. It’s impossible to put into words how much it has meant to me. Not just as a race fan but as a person. But if I had to try, I can say the entire weekend made me forget I had a disability at all. For once, it wasn’t a problem. It didn’t feel like an inconvenience to anyone or as an exception. I had the best seats in the house, and I had everything I needed. Most of all, I felt included and like I was a part of something special. If all festivals, concerts and sports events could be like this, I would be a thrilled person on wheels.

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