Dokkum Sings “Bohemian Rhapsody”
A few thoughts on King’s Day 2026 in the Netherlands
About 20 years ago, I made a decision: on King’s Day, April 27th, I stay home (though I began back in the Queen’s Day era of April 30th). Not out of protest, but out of self-preservation. Crowds and I are not a good match. It is the day when Amsterdam becomes a sea of orange enthusiasm and intoxication. I prefer to observe it from a distance.
But this year I made an exception. Someone requested a tour in Van Gogh museum, and I said yes. I started the day quietly: no alarm, a slow breakfast, reading my emails and the news, and my eyes occasionally drifting toward the television, waiting for the royal family to arrive in Dokkum.
Now, I am what you might call a fresh Dutch citizen(though I am a resident for more than 20 years). Long enough to feel at home, apparently not long enough to pass my husband’s spontaneous citizenship exams.
“Do you know what Dokkum is famous for?” he asked, just as the broadcast began.
I hesitated. Friesland… canals… skating… something historical?
“You should know,” he said calmly. “You are a Dutch citizen now.”
This is the moment where naturalization feels like an ongoing process.
As it turns out, in 754, Saint Boniface - a British missionary - was killed in Dokkum. When I asked what that meant for the town’s history, my husband delivered his final contribution: “You’re the royal watcher. I’m the republican.”
And just like that, he exited the conversation and went into his working room. So there I was, alone with the Dutch monarchy. I watched almost everything, but for sure not passively or quietly. I kept him informed of the developments:
“Look! The princess is shaking hands with absolutely everyone!”
“The king is skating!”
“Máxima is on the ice, of course she is!”
Dokkum is one of the eleven cities of the legendary Elfstedentocht, a 200-kilometer ice skating tour, last completed in 1997 and discussed ever since with near-religious reverence.
King’s Day traditions require the royal family to participate in local activities on the King’s Day, which results in wonderfully surreal images: Queen Máxima decorating cookies with great concentration, while King Willem-Alexander confidently operates what appears to be a flight simulator (or something equally technical and reassuringly modern). How ironic: a 21st-century royal family, carefully respecting the traditional gender roles, while both Queen Máxima and Princess Amalia, the future queen, serve as reservists in the Dutch army. Because nothing says “modern monarchy” quite like cookies and military training.
And then, all of a sudden, Dokkum begins to sing Bohemian Rhapsody.
I shouted, instinctively, so that Rob could hear me in the other room: “Dokkum is singing Bohemian Rhapsody!”
Silence for a few seconds. Then, I heard a deeply patriotic Dutch song replacing it, something that transported me straight back to the 17th century, bypassing Bonifatium entirely. “This is what they should sing”, replied Rob, laughing.
Bohemian Rhapsody? In Dokkum? On King’s Day? What could possibly be the connection?
And just then, the presenter answered, as she could hear my questions: “it’s always in the Dutch Top 2000. Everyone knows it.” Of yes, why not choosing a British rock opera as a pillar of Dutch national identity?
When the festivities in Dokkum ended, I went against my 20-year tradition: I went out in the city.
I had a guest waiting, someone who had chosen this exact day to visit the Van Gogh Museum. This is either pure love for the painter or just a coincidence. Possibly both. And I, clearly, have my own weaknesses: I agreed to guide him.
The moment I stepped into the street, I remembered everything I had tried to avoid. King’s Day in Amsterdam is more than a celebration; it is an experience. A challenge, a moving, singing, dancing, and drinking organism dressed entirely in orange.
Do you know what it means to cross a city invaded by joyful people (to say the least), while you are the only sober one? And it was only 2 p.m. It took me more than an hour to reach the Pulitzer Hotel on Prinsengracht, a distance I can normally cover in about 30 minutes.
I had to face an orange crowd to tell a story about the yellow color that Van Gogh loved so much. There was, however, one nice reward: my guest, in music, is as famous as Van Gogh is in painting.
“Oh, that's the way, uh-huh uh-huh,
I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh.”
I grew up with his songs. Suddenly, I was somewhere else entirely: Radio Holidays, another time, another version of myself.
And yet, here I was, back in Amsterdam, surrounded by orange, talking about yellow, and still slightly puzzled by a town that sings Bohemian Rhapsody to celebrate a Dutch king.
The rhapsody of the day was anything but bohemian.
