It’s been one month since I arrived in Holland and only now am I starting to think clearly. I can finally face the day with more anticipation and less bewilderment. I can finally cross the road without stepping in front of a cyclist.
I know it’s my fault. I came to the Netherlands when I met the man of my dreams and he was transferred here by his company. He asked me to join him. Why not? I thought. Why not have the adventure of a lifetime? Why not grab the opportunity to travel and explore? Why not learn Dutch cooking and a wonderful guttural language? Why not revel in oddities and dykes? Why plan? I’ll go and take it one day at a time.
I landed in the middle of December, greeted by the coldest winter in 12 years. Coming straight from a 35° South African summer, I convinced myself there was no need to worry. I would merely wear my whole wardrobe at once. Anyway, I had heard it was very “European” to “layer”. So I piled on everything I owned and bravely stepped outside. And quickly had my first lesson in Dutch weather: when snow goes dark it really goes dark. In the psychological sense. The fluffy white innocence turns grey as concrete and hard as steel. And slippery as hell. On my ass and straight back into the house to rethink my strategy.
A day later (spent analysing the spectacle that is the weather in Holland) I was ready to try again. This time I was wearing rubber. Ha ha! I thought. If my aerobics shoes could stick to sweaty laminate gym floors they could stick to anything. Out through the door and off to the centre of the quaint little town of Bennekom where I live. All went relatively well until I realised that the few drops of rain that fell that morning turned the remaining snow into slush. I also realised that sneakers aren’t waterproof. Luckily the three pairs of socks slowed down the frostbite.
My first stop was a photographic store. Armed with a big smile and (in my mind at least) a very authentic-sounding Dutch greeting, I confidently pointed to a camera and asked for a set of passport pics. I had read that I would need loads of passport sized photographs when arriving in Holland. Just as well I didn’t bring them from home.
It’s quite amazing how many things can be specified on a square inch of ink. Like the background. The lighting on the face, the space around the head and chin and the angle of the head. Also jewellery, headgear and how much teeth are allowed to show. Coming from a slightly anarchistic country I found this exceedingly strange. This is one of the biggest cultural differences I still struggle with daily: the extreme attention to detail, the uncompromising adherence to rules.
Landing just before the new year gave me some great insights into this new way of living. For example: here in Holland fireworks are strictly regulated. But for a few days before New Year fireworks can be bought. Not before then and certainly not after. Similarly, the fireworks can only be fired between certain hours and on certain days. My gemeente (town council where I live) even sent a full colour poster with instructions on how to handle fireworks safely.
The poster illustrates the do’s and don’ts of fireworks with easy-to-understand pictures. For example: always place your fireworks on a solid surface such as paving bricks (as opposed to a neat row of eggs). Shoot your fireworks from a sturdy bottle or pvc pipe (and not from a bowling ball as the picture indicates). Dispose of your fireworks in the proper manner (and not by tossing them into the goldfish bowl). I was flabbergasted. Was this the Dutch sense of humour? Or are bowling balls, pet fish and eggs a usual part of New Year’s Eve celebrations? I soon realised that very strange things were included in the fireworks spectacular. Like bus shelters. And rubbish bins. And my post box which went out with a bang.
Speaking of the gemeente; signing up at the gemeente is a mandatory trip any foreigner needs to take within the first few days of arriving. My gemeente is located in Ede. It is staffed with loads of friendly and knowledgeable people willing and eager to help. So after handing over a handful of passport pics, going for a TB test (as a non-EU resident) and filling in a few forms, I now eagerly await the posted confirmation that I am indeed registered. Once I receive this I will be well and truly on my way in sorting out the bureaucracy of life. Like opening a bank account and finding a home. Until then, it’s hanging in, hanging low and enjoying the food.
I did not expect much of a food culture when I came here. I knew about the cheese. Everyone knows about the cheese. But that was pretty much it. Now I am ashamed to admit that I have never, ever in my life eaten as well (and as much) as I did in my first month in Holland. My love affair started on my first trip to the grocery store. En route to the town centre I stumbled across a doughnut caravan. I had no idea what the lady manning the caravan asked, but I diligently kept pointing at a certain brown, round thing until I got it. With icing on top. It was an oliebol (literally, a ball of oil).
Not only is an oliebol completely divine but it is mandatory Dutch eating. It is similar to a doughnut but without the hole in the middle. Mine was served deliciously warm straight from the deep fryer and had a scattering of gooey things inside. It was my first introduction to all things sweet as displayed in the rows and rows of pastries, tarts and baked goods lining supermarket shelves. The selection left me completely gobsmacked. All carefully baked with real butter and filled with chocolate, marzipan, nuts and caramel. The sweetness spilled over to the breakfast and lunch tables: cake for breakfast! Chocolate sprinkles and chocolate paste on your bread for lunch! I could not believe my eyes. I had died and gone to heaven.
Apart from the baked temptations the supermarkt held a few more surprises. Like a whole range of strange and wonderful vegetables I had no idea what to do with. On my first trip I bought cassava and witlof (chicory), prei (leek) and celery bulbs. Since then the cassava has been recycled and dubious probes performed on the others. The reason I’m no Nigella in the kitchen is that I used to be an ad exec in my previous life. Deadlines! No time for cooking! Now I actually look forward to finding out about boerenkool (kale) and rookworst (smoked sausage), spek (bacon cubes) and erwtensoep (pea soup). Wholesome, healthy cooking to counter the decadence of the bakery section.
Holland offers distinct challenges as well as great benefits. Coping with rigid rules might be challenging, but it creates a beautifully stable society. Buying an auto is hellishly expensive, but jumping on a train or bicycle is such a do-able alternative! The winter might be miserable, but surely this means summer will have to be so much more spectacular?
An unexpected surprise was how pleasant Dutch people are. I expected them to keep to themselves, to be frugal and solemn. Sure, some bus drivers are less than friendly but in my experience most people are great. Granted; the South Africanised version of Dutch I speak is a great icebreaker (once people stop laughing). In general I find people to be open, honest and very willing to help. I don’t necessarily think it will be easy making new friends in Holland, but I suspect that once I do they will be friends for life.
Looking back at month one of my brave new world I realised I might actually be able to call Holland home one day. If Holland will have me. But until then I have a few questions: like where do I recycle tinfoil? If it continues to rain so much will the place start smelling damp? Whose idea is herring (wouldn’t it much be nicer cooked in a cheese sauce)? And zwart wit kogels? Are they supposed to be edible?
I’m really looking forward to month two in Holland. And screw layering I’m buying a parka.
Tags: bicycle, bureaucracy, expat life, recycling
