Sometimes these posts are written in the heat (or the damp chill) of the moment, when I am feeling most passionate, or vehement about my current situation. I have to strike while the iron is hot, or before the inspiration evaporates into a sea of lethargy…Oh, who cares, it wasn’t that funny anyway….
Today was not funny; today was ridiculous, today seemed to sum up all that is so good (and so bad) with the whole ex-pat wife situation. Being an ex-pat takes you out of your comfort zone and you find yourself doing stuff that you would never do at home. Why would anyone set out for a 7 km walk in the pouring rain in the suburbs of Amsterdam with a half a dozen people they have only known for the last couple of months?
Because that’s what ex-pat wives do.
Ex-pat wives have to find ways to occupy the lonely hours while their partners are hard at work. Some fill their time with coffee mornings, card playing, and classes at the gym. I know I have to force myself to be sociable, so I have joined a walking group.
There is nothing I like more than a good walk. I’m hardy. I have a raincoat, boots, an umbrella. The group have a sort of unwritten rule that if the weather is atrocious, they don’t go, but rain doesn’t count, because in the Netherlands, if you only walked on dry days, you’d end up never end up walking at all.
We were supposed to be walking around a lake, but by the time we’d all gathered at the designated spot and stood around for fifteen minutes waiting for somebody who took the wrong bus and then VERY SENSIBLY gave up and went home, the morning’s drizzle had turned into persistent rain.
The whole walking around the lake idea was starting to look very unappealing. Instead, we set off in search of somewhere dry and warm – and discovered we were in the only part of Amsterdam devoid of a coffee shop (of any description).
The poodle parlour, launderette, and the sunbed studio were all starting to look like very tempting alternatives before we finally stumbled into a Turkish café, which shone like an oasis in the middle of a faceless 1970’s shopping precinct. For once, no-one had the slightest qualm about ordering the chocolademelk met slagroom. Days like this you don't count calories.
After we had held a competition for who had the coldest hands and the wettest feet, we decided there was no point waiting for the weather to get better. It was time for damage limitation - who knew the quickest route home. A tram, a bus and a train ride later and I was back in Haarlem, wacking the heating up on full and devouring the remainder of a box of Christmas chocolates I’d vowed would last until Easter.
No matter how diverse a crowd, ex pat wives will always have one thing in common; when you are forced into an adverse situation, you make the most of it. The friendships might not last, but amidst the vagaries of international re-locations, we will be there for each other, whatever the weather.
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