One week in

We are now into our second week in our new home, and I’ve identified a couple of  potential problem areas.

(1) The balcony

Ed and I are not coping.  Our orientation trips onto the balcony bring on synchronised palpitations. Although blessed in the looks department Ed isn’t the brightest button in the box, but he has, I think, managed to work out that the only way I am going to let him onto our outside space right now is to suffer the indignity of wearing a fluorescent orange harness and staying on a lead.  I am perfectly aware of what I should do, which is to remain indoors and  just let him go out on his own. If he jumps, he jumps. At least I wont have to watch him go over the edge. We’re only one floor up. For a cat it’s a perfectly do-able leap, and that’s the problem. It’s inevitable he’ll give it a go. If Ed was landing on grass I’d probably be a little happier, but he’s not. We overlook the car-park. And how does he get back up?  The answer is to stay indoors while I pluck up the courage to let go of the lead. So instead we are over-compensating with play-time. Having purchased a variety of cat gizmos, a length of wool is so far proving to be his favourite toy.

 (2) What’s Upstairs

I have lived in apartments before, but I realise now I’ve always lived on the top-floor. It definitely makes for  a difference experience.  Right now, it sounds like there are a herd of elephants living on the floor above, although it's probably just over-excited children.  I don’t mind children – I’ve had two of my own – but even at a tender age if I told them to stop doing star-jumps or whatever it is they are doing at nine o’clock in the evening because it might just annoy the neighbours, they’d probably have obeyed me. Which makes me think it might well be elephants after all.

 (3) Tram-lines

The Hague definitely doesn’t seem quite so conducive to cyclists as dear old Haarlem. We’ve not encountered tram lines before. It’s not the thought of being run-over by a tram that bothers me – it’s getting my wheel stuck in the tracks and somersaulting over the handlebars. You have to make sure you cross them at just the right angle.

(4) People

I might be wrong but they just don’t seem quite so friendly here.  Despite encouraging smiles at dog walkers and other joggers as they pass, those cheery ‘morgens’ I used to get in Haarlem are noticeably absent. The check-out assistants in Albert Heijn are also made of a different metal – in Haarlem predominantly teenage and comparatively (for the Dutch anyway) chirpy,  in Den Haag, predominantly dour and middle-aged.  And, I’ve only been asked for my bonus card once. They just don’t seem to care if I am missing out on a bargain. Perhaps they are just fed up of all the foreigners, or perhaps it’s a north-south thing – after all in the UK northerners always say us southerners are an unsociable lot.  Maybe it’s the same here??

Ed looking wistfully north.....

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The Next Chapter

Welcome to Dutch for Beginners Part II, which in theory I suppose should be called Dutch for Intermediates, but as my linguistic skills are shamefully still very much at a child-like level I’ll stick with the Beginners title. It does seem a very long time since I last posted on this blog, enthusiasm for all things Dutch taking a backseat while I spent a very happy summer in the UK catching up with family and friends,  but now I am back  and ready to tackle a second bite of the Dutch apple-cake with renewed vigour.

There’s nothing like a change of scenery to provide inspiration for a burst of creativity. Within days of my return to Haarlem, our rented town-house overlooking the canal was packed up. ‘Oh no I don’t need fifty boxes,’ I told the girl from the removal company as she insisted on filling my hallway with flat-packs. ‘Half that will do, I don’t have much that stuff.’ Fortunately she ignored my protests. So much for me being the know-it-all serial house-mover.  

Using all fifty boxes plus more we made the move 60 kilometers south to Den Haag, and a rental apartment in a purpose built block in the city centre. The move itself went pretty smoothly - My main concern had been for the removal men’s safety  (or more importantly my furniture’s safety) on our narrow steep Haarlem stairs but of course these death-traps present no problems to Dutchmen  who see adversity as a challenge. It was the patio table that left them perplexed – there was even mention of sawing off the legs to make it fit through the door. Mr T had to point out that as it had come in through the house in one piece, logically, it should go back out.  In the end my suggestion that the removal boy’s fingers should be sawn off instead seemed to do the trick. He re-adjusted his grip and rolled the table out of the front door.

After just a couple of days in the south I realise they do things differently here.  I thought Haarlem was up-market but The Hague does up-market on a much grander scale.  When you walk past a sign for a shop selling hand-made shoes you know you’re dealing with a different league.  We’re in the land of the diplomat, and diplomats have wives who need that high-end retail therapy. An abundance of ‘conceptual’ art shops are sure sign of affluence; as are the numerous mani-pedi-waxing salons available for those who have nothing better to do. Apparently there are over 1000 restaurants,  bars, cafes and coffee shops in The Hague, and for once, I do mean coffee shops where you sit and drink, as opposed to the other sort, which I haven’t seen one of yet (not that I have been looking I hasten to add). 

The Hague is a big city and it's early days. I will obviously miss our home in Haarlem, although not the black carpet, to which I wish a very heartfelt  good-riddance. We have to adjust to new surroundings and apartment living, but first impressions? The sunshine obviously helps, but so far - good.