Finding Our Feet

Now that people are starting to ask me how’s it going in The Hague? I have to come up with a plausible answer.  I’m beginning to realise what a privilege it was to live in Haarlem, and how familiar I’d become with everything there.  Here we’re the newbies again, and yes, although we’re used to those wacky Dutch people and all their funny little ways,  we’re very much still finding our way around town, and the supermarkets.

I may seem obsessed with supermarket shopping but as a ‘stay at home’ huisvrouw I like to have a meal, if not ready, then at least in some state of preparation by the time Mr T comes home.  In Haarlem I knew what I could and couldn’t buy. Here I have three Albert Heijn within walking distance and I find myself blindly wandering around the aisles in a desperate attempt to acquire enough ingredients to create a wholesome dinner. I feel like a stone-age hunter-gatherer. What can I capture to bring home tonight? There’s little point going in with a set-plan.  Sometimes it’s more a question of what is left on the shelves. Don’t get me wrong, there aren’t food shortages over here, far from it, but these shops are relatively small and they don’t carry back-up supplies.

It’s a time consuming exercise but I’ve empty days to fill. After two years in Haarlem I had established a regular social life, a couple of days a week out doing something, a couple of days at home. It seemed to work. When we first arrived in the Netherlands I was determined to swim regularly and after a couple of abortive journeys around the backstreets of Haarlem, I managed to locate the municipal swimming pool. I’ve encountered exactly the same problem here in Den Haag.  Bikes don’t come with Sat Nav. I have to memorise the route before I set off. Dutch road signage leaves a lot to be desired, and so does my sense of direction. It does help if you know your right from your left, but anyone who has ever cycled on the ‘wrong’ side of the road in an unfamiliar town will surely sympathise with my predicament.  Today, at the second attempt, I actually found the nearest of Den Haag’s five municipal pools. And it was shut. Zwembad Gesloten said a notice propped on the unmanned reception desk, with no indication of any opening times. At least I know where it is, even if I can’t use it. A bit like capturing dinner, it was a moment of triumph.

The thing about getting lost is that you discover areas you didn’t know existed, and so far Den Haag is throwing up some very pleasant surprises.

Over the weekend we put on our tourist hats and headed out on a more formal expedition with some very welcome family visitors.  First we visited the Escher museum, and for anyone who doesn’t know – and I didn’t until I looked it up – M C Escher is the artist behind those optical illusions such as water flowing uphill, never-ending staircases and birds turning into fishes. Some of his pictures give you a bit of a headache but the museum was well worth a visit. As was the Dutch National Motor Museum – the Louwman, which we did the next day. Although the weekend ended on a damp squib of a visit to Nordwijk, it had begun with a very enjoyable glass of wine on the beautiful  beach at Scheveningen. 

It’s not Haarlem, but I think we’ll be all right, and in case anyone is wondering, yes I have let the cat out on the balcony unattended, and yes, he did jump off.  The drop from our balcony is higher at one end than the other, and just to confirm my theory about the size of Ed’s brain, he dived off the deep end. Fortunately,  he survived unscathed.