Prettige Kerstdagen

Haarlem is generally a subdued kind of place, however, as we get ready to head back to the UK this weekend, our adopted home town is bracing itself for ‘Serious Request’. Serious Request is a major fund-raising event by one of the Dutch national radio stations – three DJ’s incarcerated in a ‘glass house’ in the Grote Markt playing six days of non-stop music. Apparently up to 200,000 visitors are expected – so it’s probably a good time to be leaving.

It’ll be Haarlem’s second weekend entertaining the hoards – last week was the Christmas Market, plenty of opportunity to buy all the handcrafted fir-cone knick-knacks you’ve ever wanted and sample the local gluhwein. It would have been rude not to have joined in.  The added attraction was the ‘Anton Pieck Parade’  – a spooky assortment of Charles Dickens’ like characters who spontaneously burst into song, played instruments and herded sheep through the market place. 

Christmas is pretty low-key here compared to the UK . There doesn’t appear to be the manic rush to stock up. Presents are exchanged on St Nicholas Day at the beginning of the month  and although there are a few ‘kerstdagen feest’ treats on the supermarket shelves, the shops are not full of the usual selection of tacky Christmas gifts. It’s a refreshing change.

However, our knowledge of cheesy Christmas songs proved a major hit in the quiz this week. Our bemused German team-mates who have adopted the mantra 'the music round is our favourite round' in an attempt to overcome their lack of strength in this department, were pretty impressed as we rose to the giddy heights of third place.  We feel we’ve well and truly earned our place in the team, unlike the rogue Irish man who joined us at the last minute and insisted he knew more about the length of the German border than the Germans. Not quite so sure he’ll be welcomed back….

Anyhow, Ed is getting very excited. He has been frantically clawing at the chimney for the last few days – it could be mice I suppose, but I like to think its anticipation of Santa’s arrival. Cats are known for their extra-sensory perception, perhaps he can already hear the distant patter of reindeer hooves. 

Unfortunately for Ed, his presents are being delivered 700 miles away back in the UK – he’s coming with us, and it’ll be good to get him back onto beige carpet.  Whoever decided  black carpet was a good idea obviously had never  vacuumed one. It’s a nightmare to keep clean, showing up every hair and speck of dust. In this Dutch gloom Ed has become a major tripping hazard.  Like most cats, he does like to sit with his (white) paws tucked in, and his favourite place to sit is at the top of our (very steep) stairs. After a three month delay, our medical insurance cards may only just have arrived in the nick of time..... And I've finally discovered the reason for the erratic delivery of our post. We regularly receive post for our neighbours, people in the next street, and people in the next town. According to one of my new ex-pat friends who lives further up the same road,  the postman is high on weed. This explains a lot.  It's a bit like the flashing Christmas lights in Amsterdam, warning you not to buy cocaine from street dealers - three tourists have recently died from contaminated cocaine. It's all right living in a liberal society,but it does have it's downsides. I think the Netherlands is a great place, but I'm very much looking forward to a couple of weeks back in the UK.

Culture Shock

Mr T had a long weekend so we’ve been soaking up on some Dutch culture. On the first of two trips to Den Haag  we visited The Mauritshuis museum, where we hurried up the stairs to the top floor. Philistines that we are, we really only wanted to see one painting, the picture everyone wants to see, mainly I suspect because of Colin Firth (or Scarlett Johansen for the boys). Once The Girl with the Pearl Earring had been admired, we hurried back down the stairs and along to M&S to stock up on some mince pies. There is a big M&S in the Hague, and after nearly ten weeks abroad I felt we were entitled to a few home comforts.

I like Den Haag – it’s quieter, and dare I say it, more ‘refined’ than Amsterdam, which on a Monday morning is distinctly lacking in culture as hoards of washed out teenagers and twenty-somethings, hiding their mega-hangovers behind dark glasses head back to the airport after an over-indulgent weekend.   We battled our way through the piles of rubbish and trailing suitcases to the Van Gogh museum. I like Van Gogh. In stark contrast to many Dutch painters, his work is full of light and colour, although now that I’ve been here for a bit I can quite understand why these Dutch Old Masters are so gloomy - open the curtains at 8.30 am in the morning and it’s still pitch black outside. Van Gogh spent a lot of time in the South of France, and who can blame him.

However, the highlight of our cultural weekend has to be dinner on the Hoftramm. This was Mr T’s company Christmas do, an all expenses paid four course gourmet meal, with wine, on a two hour tram ride around the Hague. Despite a major wardrobe dilemma beforehand – what to wear on a cold, draughty tram (it was actually like sitting in a toaster), heels or no heels (we had a fifteen minute walk to station, plus five the other end, and cobbles and heels just don’t go) we made it to the tram-stop on time.  As avid fans of Masterchef we had a great time, although I’m not entirely convinced gravy and chocolate should ever appear on the same plate, and as for the experimental pre-dessert pine-cone cocktail – that definitely needed to go back to the drawing board. The evening was rounded off with a cold coffee and a liquer - cold coffee because health and safety legislation apparently prevents the serving of hot drinks on a moving tram – somewhat bizarre in a country where it is considered perfectly OK to pop your baby in your bike’s shopping basket and take it for a spin….

On the thirty minute train trip back to Haarlem I browsed a copy of the Dutch Metro.  It’s a good way to learn a bit of the local language.  A double page feature on Southampton Football Club was an unexpected bonus. A quick search on Google the following morning revealed that the opening line of ‘Southampton is niet echt een hoopgeveende plaats’ literally translates into Southampton is not a hopeful place, although now of course it is, thanks to the ‘f*@!ing legend’ of Ronald Koeman – no translation needed for that. Geoff in the Chapel Arm’s quote  was spelt out in full, and that's another aspect of Dutch culture that takes a bit of getting used to. The F word is used quite liberally over here, even when you think you’re safely listening to the equivalent of Terry Wogan on a Sunday morning, there it is, splattered in between a bit of Abba and Cher. 

And, in case anyone is wondering what this headline actually means, Graziano Pelle is apparently too handsome for the Saints (a quote from Kathy in the Pizzeria). A city without hope, and without any good-looking guys, I'm obviously better off staying put in effing Haarlem.

Out & About Again

It’s another Monday morning feeling – the airport run and sad goodbyes.  The downside to all this globe-trotting is always being apart from family and friends. Yes being an ex-pat can sound rather glamorous, and  yes it is mind-broadening and eye-opening to have the opportunity to explore exotic places and experience a difference culture, but it can also be rather isolated and lonely…so after kissing the student off at the airport again, there was only one antidote, to get back on the bike.

The weather has turned pretty cold here in Holland but that doesn’t deter the Dutch. They just wrap on another layer and continue their battle with the elements.  Armed with hat, scarf and gloves I cycled up to the pool for a swim, where I was actually approached for the first time for some small talk.

I immediately apologised, in English, for my lack of Dutch. The dear old Dutch lady then apologised to me in English, for speaking Dutch in the first place! No, I insisted, still in English, I was the one who was sorry. So ashamed I hurried home and Googled  the translation for Sorry, I don’t speak Dutch , which is (according to Google) Sorry, Ik sprek geen Nederlands. How difficult is that?  Very, apparently because later that afternoon when faced with a shop assistant who appeared to be telling me more than the norm of how much I owed, I found myself saying in English yet again, sorry, I don’t speak Dutch….

Anyway, the student had a very happy few days hobbling around Haarlem on a suspected ‘OMG I’ve broken my’ ankle which fortunately turned out just to be a serious sprain, although she was rather appalled at our acceptance of certain dubious aspects of  Dutch culture.  So accustomed have we now become to Zwarte Piet that I failed to even notice the man on the fish stall in the market in total costume complete with curly wig and blackened face. Black Pete is everywhere in Haarlem, in shop window displays, on posters, and even available as an edible sweet.  I suspect our little political activist would have quite liked us to boycott the fish stall with placards.

Visitors are always a good excuse to get out and about, and consume far too much apple pie. The week before we’d played host to the in-laws. We’d spent a happy day wondering around the Hague which is home to several grand old buildings (and where incidentally Black Pete is noticeably absent) as well as heading out to the beach on the tram to view some pretty wacky modern art. 

Amsterdam just seems to get busier, and colder, every time we go, but we also ventured up to Edam, which is a surprisingly small place, for something so big in cheese, and as for Volendam, that’s always good for tourists in need of retail therapy. If you are looking for slipper clogs and tulip shaped umbrellas this is the place to go.  All I need now is couple of rolls of Zwarte Piet wrapping paper and I've got the Christmas shopping sorted.