Defiantly, we step on the scooter. Pablo number 2 looks pissed that we bested him, but hey, don’t hate the player, hate the haggling game. Why Pablo number two you ask? Pablo number one came earlier in the day, and we definitely overpaid the dude. As in, we quoted a price and a woman standing next to us almost dropped her reeking cigarette laughing. The original Pablo was nice though. And a good driver. So good you almost forgot you were driving on a one-way lane with tuktuks and buses and overloaded scooters and bicycles and people, some of whom drive in the opposite direction with overwhelming confidence. Actually, we seemed to fully forget. While I was busy cackling with delight and making whizzing noises, Myrthe decided she had no need to hold on to the bike any longer and decided to film the spectacle. Even the incessant honking that everyone deems necessary didn’t bother us anymore.
The original Pablo took us all the way to the bottom of Moon Hill. Our expectations weren’t high, we’d read the dutch Tripadvisor reviews, and they weren’t stellar. Pretty average view; hard climb for a view you can get anywhere else; wouldn’t do it again; the café at the bottom of the hill was better and had a pretty great view. The café was our first indication that the Dutch aren’t the best judges of views. Moon Hill café offers spectacular views of… the bottom of a hill. Some grass. A gross toilet. Not impressed, we decided we’d climb the thing anyway and see what all the lack of fuss was about.
The climb was… tough. Halfway up the 800 steps, during a mango break, I measured our heart rates, which both seemed to be struggling at around 200 bpm. But I mean, with 37 degree heat, I think we can be excused. But. At the summit. Holy crap are we never trusting dutch trip advisor again. Just look at this. Look at it.