Pictures of a parched vista fill Maureen Ghazal’s phone screen – arid mountains and olive groves sent by her lover, Y. In Rotterdam, the city built on the waterfront, Maureen plunges into the Van Maanenbad swimming pool and Kralingse Plas. Enlivened by these bodies of water, she oscillates between her distant paramour and the ebb and flow of Rotterdam’s urban landscape, setting sail into a narrative of twinned, unquenchable desire.
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Landscape No:
1
Morning sun shines through the window on an empty swimming pool. Reflected in the virginal water is the symmetric and sleek interior of the Van Maanenbad.
I’m wearing a high-cut swimsuit and wait behind a glass wall. Next to me stand businessmen and women who have changed from suits into speedos and swimming costumes. Their bodies are beautifully shaped; I think about how they soon will be suited up again for a day of sitting in the office. The lifeguard signals that we can come in. It’s seven in the morning; the first round of lap swimming starts. We are the first ones who will touch the water and, through this shared act of submersion, it’s as if we’ve made an alliance. It’s satisfying to step into the flat, undisturbed surface. We take our slippers off and walk to the edge of the pool. I pick the slowest lane and dive in. Coldness caresses my skin, my brown curls float. As I begin my breaststroke, my body warms up. It’s always important to get into the mood first.
While walking out of the building with wet hair and an awakened body, Y. sends me a photo of his current location: The sun comes up above an olive grove, while one water sprinkler moisturises the trees.
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Landscape No:
2
A terrace overlooks the Oude Haven. A faint sun shines on green water. On a table close to the river stands a bottle with one glass.
Rotterdam’s tap water is written on the bottle. I’m pouring some of it into my glass. The bottle is an initiative to make the city’s tap water more tempting. I take a sip and taste a salty bitterness. Rotterdam’s water is, just like its architecture, hard. Drinking water is essential to thrive; when we are hydrated, our bodies become more mobile, our lips become fuller and our skin glows. Y. always orders a sparkling water when he’s out; he enjoys the tingling sensation. For his birthday I planned a water tasting. On the other side of the harbour, I set up a picnic spot where I unpacked the box I ordered from a water sommelier; ten small bottles from different countries around the world. Half of them sparkling, half of them still. Each sip transported us to a different landscape. With every landscape our bodies glowed more. We touched each other’s skin and felt how two rivers flowed beneath.
On a table on a white roof terrace stand five plastic litre bottles of water. A hilly neighbourhood fills the background. Tap water isn’t safe to drink everywhere.
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Landscape No:
3
The hull of the black and yellow water taxi gracefully leaps across the turgid surface of the water. Waves crash against the quay. The sky is full of clouds.
In this city, water gushes everywhere. Rotterdam’s bodies are continuously soaked. As the pilot starts the boat’s engine, it starts to rain lightly. I’m sitting next to a couple who have their arms wrapped around each other’s waists as they look for shelter from the downpour. When Y. and I met, I took him for a ride on the water taxi to show him around the city. We got in and laid our hands on each other’s thighs. Our brown curls blew together. We first navigated slowly along the quay but after a while the boat accelerated and moved into open water. Waves splashed us as we flew over the river. Y. immediately let me go and grabbed his seat. His face became pale. He didn’t talk until we reached the shore. With our feet back on city ground, he told me large water surfaces scare him as he nearly drowned as a child. Water is not always reassuring.
A large, sandy plain lies under a mountain. Everything is the colour of sand.
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Landscape No:
4
A peninsula, surrounded by three rivers. The workers’ houses of Katendrecht stand next to modern apartments.
Every time I’m here the wind hits me in the face. It has free play on the flat landscape; it feels like I’m in a desert. As I walk into Katendrecht, the water taxi behind me leaves. I imagine what this neighbourhood looked like in the past when it was inhabited by sailors, workers and prostitutes. It was once a well-known red-light district, which was visited by seafarers from all over the world. A place of arrival and departure. I go to my favourite café: De Ouwehoer. The light is always dimmed, the walls are covered in red baroque paper, there are posters of sailors and half-naked women, the ceiling is made from dark wood. The café breathes old times even though it has only been there for a decade. The owner honours the neighbourhood’s history. At the bar I meet an older sailor who tells me how the landscape has changed. His former house has been converted into an expensive apartment, and he was expelled to the outskirts of the city. Luxury apartments, coffee bars and cargo bikes have popped up all around the river. The man still likes to come here to remind himself of his sailor’s life. Meanwhile, at the other end of the bar, businessmen in suits are staring shyly at the ladies on the posters. Over time, landscapes change and are occupied by different varieties of people, giving rise to new types of storytellers. But who enriches the narrative?
In a square lined by palm trees, a number of wooden chairs are assembled in a circle. On the ground are empty tea glasses; a water pipe stands in the middle.
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Landscape No:
5
The sun sets by the Kralingse Plas, casting a yellow glow over the water. The skyline of Rotterdam is already shrouded in twilight.
I run into the lake. The water is freezing but gives me a wave of excitement. The Kralingse Plas is the green-blue lung of the city. I come here to cleanse myself. When I swim in natural water, I feel its power. As it flows, it is alive. When swimming in cold water, levels of oestrogen and testosterone go up. Swimming is essential for sensual bodies. I swim as far as I can towards the skyline. With its many rivers and lakes, one-third of the city of Rotterdam is water. You can get wet everywhere. While in the lake, I look at the city’s skyline and think about how its citizens must get turned on by this mass of liquid. Is it the reason behind the increasing attraction towards the city? Maybe travelling on boats, swimming in rivers, and getting soaked while biking across the Erasmus bridge makes our bodies more sensitive, both for ourselves and each other. Water is life, and being alive means thriving as sexual beings.
A red fireball sinks behind a mountain town. The landscape turns red.
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Landscape No:
6
Cigarette smoke hangs above a red ship. A string of lights brightens up the boat and reflects in dark water. On the red lacquer white letters are printed: Vessel 11.
I descend the stairs to the basement of the ship; with every step the bass gets louder. In a red-lit room, a rock band plays music in front of a frenzied crowd. At the bar I get myself a Raspberry Collins that’s finished with sparkling water. With the drink in one hand, I join the crowd and let my body get used to the music. With every passing song, I get looser. I feel the sweat of the people around me; my naked arms are getting wet. Y. and I used to dance as close as possible. Our sweat mingled. During the night I’d lay my hand on the small of his back and feel his drenched T-shirt. His body odour reminds me of the Mediterranean Sea; fresh and salty. The more hydrated a person is, the more sensual their body odour will smell. I squeeze myself through the people and order a sparkling water at the bar. I pour some over my hair and neck to cool off. As the music swells, I rejoin the crowd. We jump as one body. The boat is bouncing, I feel it in my flesh. Water drips off me. I don’t know what’s my own anymore and what’s from others. I’m wearing a mixture of bodily fluids on my skin. As the boat rocks, I’m reminded of Y.’s sweat. The music reaches its climax, I’m bursting with heat. My jeans pocket is vibrating. Cigarette smoke rises into a starry sky.
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Landscape No:
7
The ceiling is lit up by the morning sun. It’s streaked by yellow water stains. They merge into each other and become a mountain range.
Water is dripping down my thighs. My muscles clench and release. A deep moan escapes my mouth. A stroke of light shines on me through the curtains. My silken nightgown sticks to my body and becomes a second skin. Even the sheets under me are soaked. The water has found its way into my attic apartment and transformed my bed into a lake. I quickly lift my pillow: the phone underneath it is somehow still dry. I unlock it and a picture of the sea fills the screen. I’m at the Dead Sea, wish you were here.