Today, I visited Westeros. And I wasn't alone, as thousands of others joined me on a tour to George R.R. Martin's fabulous world of epic fantasy as seen on HBO's Game of Thrones. It was well worth the trip; at least in my case, since I reckon there were others that did not get to enjoy it to the fullest extent as they ought to have. And that's mostly to blame on poor execution in the set-up and planning of the event. Though the Posthoornkerk in Amsterdam proved an appropriate setting with its Gothic look, it left a lot to be desired in terms of space, only accomodating 150 people at a time. Trouble is, the church was surrounded by vast legions of eager fanboys/fangirls (the series apparently appeals to both nigh on equally) which were held at bay by a small army of security guards, who gave each group only a mere 15 minutes to take in all the wealth and riches in design that the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. Alas, it turned out that for many such a brief time simply isn't enough even to get your picture taken on the Iron Throne...
I went there with a good friend, who loves the show nearly as much as I do. Being the smarty-pants that we are, we thought we would do well to arrive early so as to avoid most of the large crowds we knew would appear on the church's doorsteps this Sunday morning to worship the televisual teachings of the Song of Ice and Fire. It proved a smart move, since the number of fans that banded together in a long line around the block surpassed probably everybody's expectations, undoubtedly numbering in the tens of thousands before the day was over. So there we were, at half past nine, while the exhibition opened at ten, and there already was a huge group of people patiently waiting for the doors to open. When they did, the first group of 150 enthusiastic fanatics - which did not include ourselves, as we were part of the second wave - was let in but their enthusiasm was tempered when they were told they only had a quarter of an hour to soak it all up. Naturally, the first thing that happened was this former line of people immediately reassembling itself in front of the Iron Throne - or to be more precise, an iron throne (and definitely not made of metal), since it was an obvious replica if ever I saw one - were you could have your picture taken while sitting on the damn chair. Who wouldn't want that, eh? The answer: nobody, so everybody got in line for their own photoshoot. The moment you have your picture taken on the throne has to be the most orgiastic feeling a true Game of Thrones adept could ever strive for. But sadly, the allotted time of 15 minutes was insufficient for all 150 people to get this photographic highlight of their life over and done with. I and my pal, having waited for this moment for 50 minutes, were lucky as we had to wait only ten more minutes to succeed in this endeavor, and we got another 5 minutes to drool over the fascinating props and costumes on display. Again, inadequate in terms of time. So what's a loyal GoT fan to do? Simple, get back in line. To both our dismay and delight, the line had grown in size. A lot. The number of avid fans that turned up - even from neighbouring countries like Germany - surprised even me, its fanbase has apparently been growing strong in the last few years. You should hear them roar as they were again told they could not yet come in.
Unbowed, unbent, unbroken we finally got in again after another 70 minutes of practicing patience. This time we knew what was in store for us, having caught brief glimpses of the rest of the exhibition (and having recorded some on camera so we could spend some time exploring the expo while standing in line). So now we knew to avoid the photoshoot area. We had managed to have our picture taken and in hindsight it had proven to be a little kitschy, so now we could focus all our attention on what deserved it the most: the treasures of the Seven Kingdoms, Essos and even Old Valyria before the Doom. There they lay for our gazing pleasure, as well preserved historical artifacts of a world long gone, as valuable as the Mona Lisa, the Hope diamond or Sue the T-Rex. Or just as what they were: exquisite samples of family, duty, honor; of the great care and craftsmanship that goes with creating the wide world of Westeros. Both the beauty of this realm and the cruelty that inhabits its noble houses as they strive for its dominion were well represented: elaborate dresses were displayed next to humongous swords, precious gems next to severed body parts. Though we had unfortunately missed the appearance of some of our show favorites the day before (no Arya Stark meet & greet for us suckers), the clothes they wore, the weaponry they carried and the ever present fear of sudden death they might one day face on telly for our pleasure they had left behind.
The richly embroidered fabrics of the vile Cersei Lannister and the elaborately patterned tunic of her even more despicable son Joffrey adorned one end of the hall, the by comparison dirty but still impressive Dothraki rags of our favorite khaleesi Daenerys Targaryen the other. Also to be found were the simple garments of the members of House Stark that suggested only hints of nobility to them, while the furs and thick coats of the Night's Watch and the Wildlings betrayed their owners lacking noble blood completely but sporting sense enough to arm themselves against the bitter cold of the North with great caution. Many weapons we would love to have hanging on our walls could be gazed at, including Needle, Hearteater, Ice and Longclaw, while we also had the opportunity to marvel both over props of great beauty, like rings, cups and jewelry as high as honor, and some of a more bizarre, morbid nature, like Davos Seaworth's bag of fingers, the brutally severed arm of the poor Grand Septon and of course Ned Stark's head. Game of Thrones might be rated '16' in the Netherlands (and justly so!), but that didn't stop some fans from bringing their young offspring, who beheld the more grotesque items with as much fascination as they did the others. Again, 15 minutes proved inadequate to take in all the design details of the, in truth, small amount of utterly intriguing items on display (less than a hundred in total), but at least it allowed us to take decent pictures of them all, for further study at home. Though the time we had spend waiting in line exceeded the amount of time we experienced to enjoy the wealth of Westeros by a factor of six, we considered it well worth the trouble, and we lamented the poor souls that didn't get to have their picture taken on the Iron Throne and had to get in a two hour line again just to at least see the rest of the show. Since this exhibition is only going to be open to the public for five days, I doubt this situation will change, so be warned: if you decide to go there, arrive early. If you really feel you need that coveted throne shot (and you will once you're there), run to the back of the hall the moment you get in - yours is the fury! - and if you find 50 people have beaten you to it, don't bother and go check out the things this expo really ought to be about: the props and costumes that make the characters we've come to love and loathe feel convincingly sincere, sympathetic or sinister.
No giftshop?! The more fools HBO! They don't charge admission in the first place - did I mention this expo is free yet? - and they don't sell merchandise to a public that craves it. I guess they didn't feel like selling swords to a large audience that over the course of three seasons has learned how to make proper use of them. Especially when confronted with waiting in line for so long they might get the urge to swing at their fellow fanboys in a fit of competitve rage. Apparently, HBO does not sow such fire and blood.
I can't wait for winter to come again. Or that theme song to get out of my head. Which at least isn't on a spike, like this one:
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