The glass door

Before we went that evening to the beautiful old-fashioned cinema in our neighborhood to watch a Bollywood movie, we quickly went to our beloved coffee café on the corner of Marine Drive one kilometer from our hotel. 

I stepped in there resolutely and did not see the glass door. It did not give in a millimeter, because with my forehead I collided with the side of the glass door where the hinges are. 

Aafke ordered coffee, I sat down at a table in a corner, and staff and customers asked me concerned how it went.  

Aafke noticed on the terrace a moment later that a huge bump had appeared on my head, just above my left eye, and she asked for ice cubes. Thanks to the plastic bag with press-on closure that I had received at the airport in Amsterdam when exchanging euros in rupees from the perfect Dutch speaking Russian from the GWK, I had the perfect waterproof bag for the ice cubes, which I first held against my forehead just above my left eye on the terrace of the café and, later in the hotel room, while watching a Bollywood movie on the TV. The swelling became less and the next day you hardly saw it. 

After a few days a beautiful dark blue border appeared around my eye reminding me of my The Hague grandmother.