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.