Happy Smiley People

Despite intending to postpone any further posts until I return to the Netherlands, I watched an item on the news this week and decided to add my five pennyworth of thoughts. According to a recent survey, Dutch children are the happiest in the world. Having also watched a programme a month or so ago about obesity, and how it just isn't happening in the Netherlands, I thought I'd also give my opinion on that too.

All this positive publicity might start you thinking that the Netherlands is actually a very sensible place to live, especially if you want content, slim kids. And to be honest, it probably is.

So what is the magic formula? According to the BBC news report, the happiness is all to do with family time, and according to Channel 4, the lack of obesity has a lot to do with cheese. When we first arrived in the Netherlands it was quite noticeable the amount of dads I saw out and about during the day with their kids. Talking to other ex-pats and making friends with Dutch-long-lifers, I soon learned that this was because a lot of parents only work four days a week enabling child-care to be shared by both parents. In fact a lot of Dutch people, of all ages, only work four days a week. My hairdresser, a young girl in her 20's, only worked four days a week. My cat-sitter, another young girl in her 20's, works in HR four days a week and cat-sits the rest of the time. Mr T (who has spent far too long working for a big American corporation) complains, quite regularly, that half his workforce only work four days a week, and they go home on time, and refuse to work weekends! They even take all their holiday allowance and take days off sick when they are sick. Heaven forbid. These people know to enjoy themselves. Or have they just got that work-life balance sorted out? That's the key.

Family time is important time. For example, Christmas isn't about buying each other lots of presents; its about being together. The first year we lived in the Netherlands I struggled to even find 'grown up' wrapping paper. Presents (and it is probably only one) are for children.

The Dutch don't wrap their kids up in cotton wool. You don't see kids being dropped off and picked up outside the school-gates in a 4x4. Right from the word go the school run is completed on two wheels, and if the little-ones are not trusted to make their own way to school, mum or dad will cycle alongside until they are. Dutch kids go 'out' to play - whatever the weather. There's no point stopping activities just because its raining. It rains an awful lot in the Netherlands. Dutch kids grow up balancing on the back of bikes, they grow up playing on the banks of canals, and they grow up living in houses with treacherously steep narrow stairs. 

'How do you teach your kids to go up and down those stairs?' I can remember asking a Dutch mum quite early on.

'We put a mattress at the bottom,' she replied. 'And if they fall, they tend to fall only once.'

They either die, or learn to be more careful. Makes perfects sense. There are obvious risks, and there must be obvious accidents. But more importantly, they have freedom.

Dutch teenagers do have I-pads and I-phones and go to McDonalds, but they will also cycle to nightclubs, or the pub, or their after school-activity. And if you do have to catch a bus or train to work, you cycle to the station. You might even keep a second bike at your destination to complete the rest of your journey. And imagine doing the weekly grocery shop on your bike. You soon cut down on the amount of food you buy, and waste, when you have to carry it home in your paniers.

So the Dutch can eat lots of bread, and cheese and drink lots of milk, because not only do they burn it off with all this excessive activity, but apparently, calcium aids the dietary process as it interferes with the absorption of fat.

Personally, from my own forays into Dutch supermarkets I'd say there is far less choice and far less processed food than supermarkets in the UK, but that's obviously not such a bad thing.  Maybe we have too much choice; everything is very convenient, and we've become very lazy.

No country is perfect, and the Netherlands is not without issues and problems of its own. But they have got a lot of things right.  And they do have a great sense of humour (just check out the Dutch tribute to Donald Trump on You-tube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ELD2AwFN9Nc&feature=youtu.be ).

Back in the UK

I'm currently taking a break from the Netherlands. It's nothing personal, it's just the thought of two solid months of dark mornings, grey skies, wind, rain, and a limited social life, so I've come back to the UK.

I'll post again if (and when) I go back. Like a little tulip, maybe I'll see you in the spring.

Out and About

When we first moved to Haarlem I told myself the best way to explore was to just go out and get lost. That’s not such a sensible solution here in The Hague. Its’s a big city. Exploration has to be curtailed to plans, and maps, and a wander not too far from home.

Fortunately we live in a very busy neighbourhood with cafes, shops all within a few minutes stroll. This is the land of the hobby shop - small businesses which seem to operate on a very limited basis and to a very niche market.  I've come across the fascinator shop - that's all it sells, but I've yet to see it open, let alone filled with customers. Then there is the Zalm Huis - a tiny deli that only sells one product - salmon, any which way you like. Great for salmon lovers but, a limited business opportunity I'd have thought.

Wandering around this net-curtainless country, it’s easy to mistake a front room for a high end art shop, or vice versa.  The Dutch like to keep things low-key - there won't always be a sign telling you it's a commercial property. Cafes and eateries are also run on the same basis.  Anyone who owns a cat will know how much they love a long lazy snooze on the windowsill. Fortunately for Ed, we live one floor up, otherwise we could be in trouble. See a cat snoozing in a windowsill in the Netherlands, and it’s very likely you’ve uncovered a cat café - not the place for your cat to go and have quick latte with his mates, but a place for you to go and pet the café’s resident cats.  We have one just around the corner from us, although it would seem totally disloyal to go in. I can have cat-hairs in my cuppa at home, thank you very much.

T

Food Heaven or Hell

If you thought there was a bit of a ‘foodie’ feel to my last  post about our weekend of trips, you’d be right. With over 2000 places to eat, drink and make-merry in Den Haag, it is very easy to become obsessed with menus.  It would be impossible to work our way through all the available eateries, but in the name of research we will do our best.

In Haarlem we did occasionally come across a café/restaurant we wouldn’t rush back to, but it was never a question of having a bad meal, more of a ‘service’ issue. Here in the Hague it's not a case of   discovering places we wouldn’t eat in again, but finding places that would have us back. There has been a couple of times just recently when we’ve made a very hasty exit.

The first incident was the vegan cheese crisis. It was a rainy weekday evening so we thought we'd try an Italian a five minute walk away. The waiter was very attentive and the food quickly ordered. Pizza for Mr and Mr T; a vegetarian pasta for our daughter.  We hadn’t seen her for a little while and had lots to catch up on, so much so that although we spotted the waiter taking a dish over to a side table, it totally failed to register that he was grating fresh parmesan cheese all over the vegetarian pasta. As he proudly  placed his work of art in front of our daughter.we all cried, cheese!, like some kind of manic photo-shoot. His face dropped - you can almost see him thinking but you’ve just watched me grate cheese all over this dish. No! We hadn’t watched him, we’d been too busy chatting. There was no cheese mentioned on the menu, we pointed out. But all pasta comes with cheese, he replied.It is traditionale, Italiano… Eventually when it became apparent that the food was not going to be eaten he removed the plate and returned with a cheese-less version minutes later. Mr T left a big tip but we couldn't get out of the place quickly enough.

The second incident was the three course set menu for four people which the waiter transposed into the four course menu for three scenario. There is probably no need to say anymore, apart from in our defence, the starter was a sharing platter, so no missing portion noticed there, and we had been told fish was the main course, so when the  smaller than expected dish of seafood pasta arrived, whilst muttering amongst ourselves (in a very British let’s not make a complaint about this way)  that we’d rather hoped for fish with a backbone as opposed to a shell, it was still technically ‘fish.’  It was only when the knives and forks were placed on the table for what we were expecting to be dessert, that the very confused waitress returned to confess that there had been a mistake. No wonder the pasta dish was small. Surely someone must have realised there had been a mistake when the ‘secondi’ course had to be split between four serving dishes as opposed to three? Presumably the same couldn't be done for the three portions of fish (although other people have managed miraculous sharing issues with little more!). No wonder the original waiter had made himself scarce. Anyway, dessert hastily appeared and a negotiation was made on the final bill. Another one we definitely wont be going back to.

Taking pot luck with the chef’s surprise menu is always a risk - but it hasn't all been bad. We've had a couple of extremely tasty experiences when we've felt like the judges on Masterchef. And, all this  fine dining has also made me realise how easy it will be to solve the cooking of the Christmas dinner dilemma. There I was wondering how many carrots I needed to buy to feed eleven, and now I realise the answer is just one. A couple of slices of turkey, carrot shavings, a miniature cauliflower floret each and a sprinkling of peas. That's all everyone really needs. I'll add a couple of dollops of pomme puree, some artistic swipes of turkey 'jus' and a shaving of burnt bacon crisp with a cranberry foam, all topped off with an edible poinsettia leaf. Just perfect.

Doing Some Dutch Stuff

Entertaining visitors means doing some traditional Dutch stuff. It’s what they come for, and we don’t want to disappoint.

For starters,  we ordered some traditional Dutch weather, a sort of grim and tonic, half a day's sunshine followed by three days of dismal, chilly dampness. For the next course, we visited Delft, the town famous for producing the dainty blue and white pottery as synonymous with all things Dutch as tulips, clogs and cheese. So far I had resisted the urge to purchase any traditional Dutch ceramics, having found no place in my home for the Delft tulip vase, an object reminiscent of an upturned cow's udder. However, with the in-laws in tow we decided to head for the Royal Delft Factory, mainly because it was a good excuse to keep out of the cold.

It was our lucky day.  We had turned up on the Royal Delft’s ‘open day’. All entrance fees were waived, and we could wander around the museum and factory floor at our leisure. I was starting to like the blue and white stuff more by the minute; so much in fact that when it came to the ‘seconds’ stall before the main shop, Mr T and I found ourselves browsing amongst the chipped and faulty offerings to see what we could pick up. One tea-light holder, a beer tankard, and two Christmas decorations later, we’d completed our tour.

Back in Den Haag in the afternoon and it was time for some more traditional Dutch stuff, and a bad case of déjà-vu. There are some traditions that need to be quite firmly knocked on the head, and Zwarte Piet is one of them. Yes, it was that time of the year again. Sinterklaas had come to town.

 ‘Surely here in an international, liberal city like Den Haag,’ I said to Mr T, ‘they’ll have done away with Zwarte Piet?’

But no.  There were hundreds of them. Everywhere. I thought the spectacle was bad enough in Haarlem; but here in Den Haag, jolly old Sint arrived in Scheveningen Harbour at lunch time and at five o'clock in the afternoon he was still winding his way from the harbour to the city centre in a mile long motor cavalcade of all-singing-all-dancing Zwarte Pieten. I don’t think the in-laws knew what had hit them.

We needed something sweet to take away the bitter taste. Dessert is always my favourite course. The following day we set out for Kinderdijk,  home to a series of 19 windmills. Kinderdijk is now a UNESCO World Heritage site, and it’s pretty impressive, even to someone like me, who is of the opinion that if you’ve seen one windmill you’ve seen them all. It was a chilly grey day, yet the sight of those windmills rising out of the mist was quite magical.

And finally, for the cheese course, we headed to Gouda, where unfortunately as it was winter there was not a single piece of cheese on show. 

Oh well, a bit like Black Pete; you have to take the good with the bad.

A Room With A View

After a quiet couple of weeks we decided to head down to Rotterdam for a day out. Rotterdam was completely flattened during the Second World War and during its re-construction it seems that every whacky architect on the planet has had a hand in its re-design.

The Markthal is one huge psychedelic dome, an amazing combination of retail, eating, living and office space in the Rotterdam Blaak district, an area which is already home to an eclectic mix of buildings. Opposite the Markthal are the cube houses – a honeycomb of dwellings designed in the 1970’s by the architect Piet Blom, together with a hexagonal apartment block in the style of a pencil, and the city library, which for anyone who has been to Paris, is reminiscent of the Pompidou centre with its vivid yellow external pipe-work.

Beneath the brightly coloured murals inside the Markthal there are a variety of eateries and food-outlets; you can embark on a culinary journey around the globe, eat your way from China to Mexico, Spain to Turkey. There was even the opportunity to sample the delights of vegan-land.  The student daughter, visiting for the weekend, was very impressed with the chocolates.

Traditional Dutch offerings were also on display – albeit with a twist. My eye was caught by a wedge of blue cheese, and I don’t mean blue as in Stilton, I mean blue as in sky-blue, all over.

‘Its’ lavender pesto,’ the stall-holder replied when I enquired what magic ingredient gave the cheese its unusual colour. Of course. Lavender pesto. I should have guessed.

Below the foodhall there is a large Albert Heijn supermarket (just in case you prefer to buy your cheese  cheese-coloured) together with a car-park. Hugging the outside, apartments. It’s a vast, innovative space.

Despite all the exotic dishes on offer we played boringly safe and lunched on frites before heading out off on a short tram ride to the other side of town, and the Euromast, a 185 m observation tower.

On arrival we were told that unfortunately, the glass elevator to the final 85 m was currently out of bounds. We could only go up to the observation platform at 100 m high. That was fine by me.  At a blustery 100 meters up there’s a restaurant and also a couple of hotel rooms.  The views are fantastic – we could see north to the Hague, and west to the vast Europort, where Mr T very enthusiastically pointed out his oil refinery, and of course, we could also see through the plate glass full height windows straight into the hotel room.

As I watched the maid scattering rose petals on the double bed, presumably in preparation for some unsuspecting guests,  I thought, no, a night at the Euromast is a bit like that bright blue cheese. Not for me.

Never On A Sunday

Last weekend we set out to explore Zeeland – the Dutch province south of Rotterdam.  For those interested in geography nearly half of Zeeland is water. The fact that anyone would choose to live there at all is a tribute to Dutch resilience and their engineering ingenuity. The fact that the province’s coat of arms features a lion half submerged in water gives you a good picture of what these people have been up against over the centuries. Their motto ‘luctor et emergo’ translates as ‘I struggle and I emerge ’.

Nowadays, the low-lying islands of Zeeland are protected and connected by a series of dykes and very long bridges. The province has emerged from the threat of flooding to face a barrage German tourists. They come for the beaches – miles and miles of soft pale sand, and they come to windsurf on the breezy lagoons created by the modern day sea defences.

Having found ourselves in the land of the Deutsche camper-van we stopped for a toilet break at a windsurfing gala.  Where else but the Netherlands would you have a water-slide into a freezing cold lake and think it fun??

We gave the Delta Expo a miss – I’m sure for anyone interested in the history of pumps, drainage systems and hydro-engineering it’s a fascinating place to visit, but we decided we didn’t have time.  My Rough Guide to The Netherlands recommended starting a tour of the expo with the 30 minute information film – Mr T and I are speed visitors when it comes to museums – half an hour is often our max (in fact we have been known to give entire exhibitions a miss and just pop in for a snack and the loo). It sounded rather like the Delta Expo was a day-out in itself. Something to go back for, if we drive that way again. Which is highly unlikely to be honest.

Instead, we travelled on to Middleburg, the capital of Zeeland, a compact, pretty town but a town that is closed on Sundays.  Middleburg sits in the middle of the Dutch Bible belt and it was deserted. The inhabitants of Middleburg weren’t even out walking their dogs – the belt is that tight.   In the main square a few cafes were open, but not many. Elsewhere shops and bars were firmly shut, giving the town a somewhat eerie atmosphere.  We joined the few other bewildered looking tourists ambling around the quite cobbled streets and admiring the historic architecture and wishing we’d come on any other day of the week.

We selected a different route for the journey home just so that Mr T could enjoy the drive over even more dykes and very long bridges. Personally, I’m of the opinion that if you’ve seen one dyke and a very long bridge, you’ve seen them all. But at least we’ve ticked Zeeland off the list.