Zandvoort

It's been a gloomy week, not helped by the fact that our landlords must have removed a number of fancy light-fittings from the house just before their departure. Waking up on Saturday morning to bright sunshine we decided to forego the planned trip to  begin our exploration of the many museums of Amsterdam  – the rainy day plan – and instead spent the morning browsing Haarlem's interior design shops in search of some lamps. The Dutch do seem particularly partial to rather quirky décor and judging from the price tags in most of the shops, the discerning inhabitants of Haarlem haven't  been hit by the recession either.  We eventually ended up spending the afternoon in Ikea.

However, on Sunday, despite the threatening drizzle (in the short time I've been here I've learned that drizzle does not constitute rain) we set off once again on our bikes. This time we headed for Zandvoort-aan-Zee.

Zandvoort is one of the Netherland’s top beach resorts. This time of year it’s reknown for its kitesurfers bouncing up and and down in the waves, and we too had a bouncy up and down journey to get there.  Back in the UK, Mr T was regularly out on his bike at weekends cycling 20 km before breakfast. I was not, and although I had a bike, every road from our village lead uphill, so my bike stayed quite firmly in the garage. However, now I’m here,  I’m determined to get fit and acquire those long lean Dutch legs, even if it kills me, and I think, after this weekend, it probably will.

Half way along the 9 km 'off-piste' cycle path to Zandvoort I discovered that there is a mountain range in Holland and lies between Haarlem and the sea. The Dutch refer to it as zandduinen (sand dunes to you and me).  At one stage I even had to get off and push - the shame of it! With legs like jelly  and pounding heart, we finally pedalled into town, and I would be lying if I said I thought it was worth it.

I’m sure Zandvoort is a delightful place in summer when you can stroll along the seafront without  being sand-blasted but the architecture itself is pretty grim – think concrete.  The highlights are a bizarre phallic shaped water tower at one end of the strand and the 1970’s high rise Centre Parcs Hotel at the other (don’t book this expecting something to rival Longleat Forest).  We revived ourselves with a portion of frites and a gigantic dollop of mayo, hardly conducive to the fitness campaign, and then headed back along the longer, flatter road-route to home.

We spent the evening at the cinema. It's is a mere five minute walk from the house and this was our second visit in as many weeks.  The cinema is a great way to learn Dutch as films are shown in their original language with Dutch subtitles. Last time we watched The Hundred Foot Journey, which no disrespect to its star, Helen Mirren, was pretty twee. This week we watched Pride, a film about Welsh miners supported by a gay protest group during the 1980's strikes. There were plenty of words in this gritty black comedy that probably shouldn’t be dropped into casual conversations with the neighbours. However, as I’ve reached the age where the ability to retain anything in my head diminishes daily, there’s not much risk of me remembering any of them, and of course the real thing I like about going to the cinema here? Seats designed for six footers – plenty of space to stretch out those weary legs!

That Monday Morning Feeling....

It’s five years now since I’ve held down a proper job so I’ve not had to suffer  ‘that Monday morning feeling’ for some time. However, this week I realised there is something worse than that Monday morning feeling, it’s that dropping someone back at the airport on a Monday morning feeling.

The university fledgling paid her first visit this weekend. We did our best to give her the ‘taste of Holland’ experience – we took her down a canal and up a windmill. The only thing we didn’t quite manage to do was get her on a bike, but there’ll be plenty more opportunities for that. 

First thing yesterday morning she was off, and back on my own in the house I had my first ‘wobbly moment’ since arriving in Haarlem.

I know from past experiences that there is no point dwelling in despair – the why did we have to move here, I miss everybody, how am I ever going to make any friends,  blah blah blah; it gets you nowhere and the truth is I was more than happy to come to Holland because the last thing I wanted was to face that ‘empty nest’ back in the UK.  It takes time to establish a social life, and after all, we have only been here just over two weeks.

So, determined to beat those Monday morning blues – I focussed, and set out to discover the swimming pool, not because I wanted to swim, but because I was adamant those cycling Dutch Google map guys were not going to defeat me.  And there it was.  I had been looking for a vast sports centre, when in fact it was a modest brick building down a suburban side street - very easy to miss. I was welcomed by middle-aged receptionist who happily translated the timetable for me. Even more morale boosting rather than suggesting I might want to join the ouderen zwemmen – elderly swimming sessions – she thought I might wish to come along with my kinderen – children.  I could have hugged her.

Totally buoyed up, I cycled home and tackled a trip to the grocery store. I had prepped a list in advance and managed to successfully return home with three days’ worth of meals planned. That’s a first.

Could the day get any better? Yes it could. A colleague of Mr T’s had mentioned her husband was a regular at an Irish bar in Haarlem where they have a Monday evening quiz. Last week we’d gone along and although we’d finished second to last we’d had a pretty good evening. This week we returned for more, and finished 7^th out 11 teams, not too bad considering most of the other teams have at least four members and there's only the two of us. Even better, we won the ‘free drink question’ - how much of the Netherlands are actually below sea-water -  a question which Mr T had posed for our own quiz team back in the UK just weeks earlier (it’s 26% in case you are wondering). The day was rounded off when another couple stopped us at the bar as we made our triumphant exit and suggested  if we were all there next week maybe we should join forces and become a regular team…..

Waking up this morning to another day of leaden skies, heavy rain, gale force winds, and no-one but the cat to talk to until tea time, doesn’t seem half so bad as it did yesterday.

Saddle Sore

Forget that last post - I’m not as Dutch as I thought.  The sun was out again today, so I decided, like a typical  huisvrouw that I would do the grocery shopping on my bike.  I’m lucky – I’ve two medium sized grocery stores within a five minute walk of the house, and up until now, I’ve walked to them.  The limitations of grocery shopping by foot, or on a bike, are of course that you can only buy what you can carry home. The typical huisvrouw will have a set of fancy paniers on the  back her bike as well as a basket up front. I’ve only a small, by Dutch standards, basket. Never mind, I thought, I’ve not quite got my head around food shopping/meal prep yet and with stores so close by its easier just to pick up a few bits every day.

As soon as I sat down on my bike I realised my dainty English buttocks had not quite recovered from the weekend’s trip to the beach. It’s me or the saddle, one of us is going to have to gain a bit more padding. 

However, I made it safely to the store and back, although my trip was slightly marred by discovering a rogue bike had been unceremoniously dumped on top of mine when I returned, laden with groceries to the bike park. I’d been blocked in!

Spurred on by the semi-success of the shopping trip, as the sun continued to shine, I decided to set out on a recce to the local  swimming pool. I like swimming, it’s non weight bearing, calorie burning, and relaxing all at the same time.  Haarlem has its own sports centre and according to Google maps, it’s a mere 3 km or so from our house – or a twelve minute cycle ride.

Fantastic. I set off in what I thought was the right direction. Twenty minutes later I decided I’d either taken completely the wrong route, or the Dutch Google map guys cycle a lot faster than me.

I had a moment of panic, despite telling myself over the last week that the best way to explore my new home town is to get lost,  (OK when you’re on foot and no more than a mile or so away from the house) I was  now on very unfamiliar streets. What if my chain came off? What if I fell or got knocked off my bike? (If this was Hollywood of course, new girl in town, lost, accident waiting to happen, the Dutch equivalent of Hugh Grant would have dashed to my rescue.) Even if I found the sports centre, would I really fancy swimming 40 lengths after a half hour cycle ride to get there? Plus there was still the ride back. I wanted gentle exercise, not Triathalon training.

I decided to call it quits. I’ll seek out the sports centre another day, and tomorrow, I’m doing the grocery shopping on foot.

The Great Outdoors

We’ve now been living in Haarlem a week, and I think we’ve settled in remarkably well.  In fact – apart from not being able to speak a word of the language - I think I was born to be Dutch.  I’ve taken to my bicycle like a natural.  Nine kilometres to the beach? No sweat. After a week of  rather grey damp weather on Sunday the sun came out and it was time to finally unleash the bike.

Our nearest beach is Bloemendaal-aan-Zee and it’s totally accessible by bicycle path – no traffic to contend with apart from maniacs on mopeds and roller skates. Even the humiliation of being over-taken on an uphill (OK a slight incline) stretch by a couple of 70’ year olds on their racing bikes couldn’t spoil the pleasure of the afternoon.

Who needs  a car? The Dutch are fit. They may well drink a lot of beer and eat hearty,  heavy food, but it seems to get burnt off – either that or it goes upwards rather than outwards, which might explain the height issue.

We’ve met our neighbours – fortunately both sides are fluent in English and it is embarrassing that so far I can do little more than mutter a hesitant ‘goede morgen’ in Dutch.

However, the Google-translate is proving invaluable in sussing out the inner-workings of our new house.  The word for today is verzekering - insurance. Not that exciting, but unfortunately a necessity and something we take for granted back home.  We have accrued a fair pile of correspondence already and although we don’t need to know what each letter says word for word, just being able to get the gist of what we are paying for helps. In Holland personal liability insurance is compulsory. It's all back to those bikes again - doesn't matter if one hits you or you hit one, it's always your fault.

Modern technology too is proving difficult to comprehend. Our state of the art central heating system appears to have a mind of its own (it seems to come on when the house is already warm, as opposed to when it’s cold). Despite being  left an instruction manual in English, the messages that appear on the programmer (which rather smugly refers to itself as ‘the brain’) are all in Dutch. 

But still, its early days and after a re-shuffle of the furniture, the purchase of some lamps, and the arrival of some plants, the house itself feels like ‘home’. Ed has been allowed out in the garden, and quite naturally the first time he was left unsupervised he disappeared straight over the back fence.  After an anxiety ridden hour he was sensible enough to return, so can now – like us - be trusted to explore the great outdoors. This is good, because to be honest he was beginning to get under my feet.  The entire upstairs of our house has black carpet. It’s a good job Ed has white paws.

So far so good

It’s my third day in Haarlem. So what about those facts I had gleaned beforehand from my research, have they proved helpful?

The Dutch are very house proud

We’re renting a 1930’s house that has been very lovingly restored by a couple of guys who have now headed off to Africa. I have inherited an instruction manual on how everything should be cleaned and cared for. I will naturally do my best to respect their wishes – after all I know that handing over your most precious possession to complete strangers is a daunting prospect.  I am beginning to wish I’d left my tenant a similarly precise to-do list rather than the hastily written  note detailing very little but what day of the week the bins are collected (and I only left him this when I realised our over-zealous packers had removed the council’s waste collection schedule from where I’d stuck it in the kitchen cupboard and shoved it in a box to be shipped it over to Holland.)

The Dutch are very tall

Yes this one is true too. When we moved to Los Angeles five years ago we acquired a family mantra to help us through the initial period of adjustment: it’s not bad, it’s just different. For Holland I have decided I need a different kind of coping strategy – I need to grow a foot taller.

A cheap plastic step has become a permanent fixture in our luxurious high-end kitchen. The wall cupboards were obviously designed for someone with an average height of 6' 7". The counter top is chest height. Even the cat struggles to jump on to it - not that he is encouraged to do this, of course.  

I’ve no idea how we're ever going to change a light bulb. We did bring a step-ladder with us but that has to be kept in the closet so that I can reach my clothes....

The Dutch word for today is Droogautomaat - tumble dryer. This has been placed on top of the washing-machine which incidentally is situated in the attic – as is common in all Dutch houses (as are the very steep, uneven, twisting stairs that take you up there).  I discovered today after downloading an English version of the instructions for the dreaded droogautomaat that there is a water-reservoir that must be emptied after every use.  The reservoir is the size of a petrol can and can only be reached when I balance tip-toe on top of a chair. When we viewed the house the agent told us the owners disapproved of tumble dryers as they were bad for the environment. I can only assume they purchased this particular model on our behalf to ensure I was similarly deterred from using one.

The weather?  We were prepared for the worse, and  it's as bad as we feared.  Mr T and I have not yet ventured out on our bicycles.  I’d rather walk with an umbrella than cycle in the rain.  I’m not quite ready to succumb to a full-length rubber cape, which I can see far from being an article of ridicule is a daily essential.

But so what? It rained in England too and I didn't have a view like this from my bedroom window. I can cope.

Tot gauw!

As my departure date draws closer I have been scouring the internet in an attempt to learn as much about my new homeland as possible. I have been looking for blogs - surely there must be another English middle-aged housewife who has made this move and posted her opinions and thoughts on line? Apparently not, although this does bode well for promoting my own blog in future (Exclusive! It's a First!)

I have come across articles by bright young things heading to Amsterdam for work - extolling the nightlife and the social scene and I've found blogs by ex-pat American stay at home moms who look at things from a totally different perspective.

So far I have gleaned that a Dutch huisvrouw will spend a great deal of day cleaning - apparently the Dutch are extremely house proud, and also that the average washing machine cycle takes at least three hours to complete.  I can understand an American's frustration at this - my mega top loader in California could complete a wash in 20 minutes flat (although it did manage to rip most of the clothes to shreds in the process).

Mr T - the font of all knowledge after only one month on relocation - reports that the Dutch are the tallest nation in the world. This is (apparently) due to the vast volumes of milk they consume. The Dutch also have a reputation for a rather 'wacky' sense of humour and for calling a spade a spade. Apart from the height issue (friends in the know tell me I will end up buying my clothes and shoes in the children's department) the Dutch sound like my kind of people.

My aim over my last couple of days in the UK was not only to grasp a few basics of Dutch language - ie general pleasantries and knowing how to ask for directions back to my new house, but to convince Ed the cat that sitting in his swanky new cat carrier for the seven hour car journey on Sunday will be fun. The carrier has been strategically placed in the bedroom for the last week in a 'familiarity' exercise and is currently home to several cat toys in an attempt to capture his interest. So far he has ignored it completely.

So we're all set. Just the final goodbyes - always the difficult bit - to get through, and it doesn't seem half so bad this time. We're an hour's flight away, minimal time difference and no jet lag. We could just as easily be heading for Newcastle or Edinburgh, so we're hoping for lots of visitors.

In fact it's not so much a case of goodbye as tot gauw (see you soon)!