All the Fun of the Fair

After a few fun-filled days in the UK catching up with friends and soaking up some warm sunshine Mr T and I headed into the Grote Markt late on Saturday afternoon and discovered the fair has come to town.

It seems an incongruous setting – back home these things would be situated in a local park or an area of greenery. Instead, the big wheel overlooks the medieval church and a giant octopus swirls its eight legs in the face of the old town hall. Makes me very glad we didn’t take a lease on a city centre apartment.

Apparently it’s here for the next week or so, in preparation for Kings Day which is the major event in the Dutch year. I’m looking forward to it. The shops are already full of orange attire (at least orange is actually fashionable this year). Apparently it’s the day when you can set up stall in the street and sell off your junk, and basically just a big excuse to party and get drunk. Sounds like great fun.

Back in the UK I’d had a hectic schedule. It wasn’t purely pleasure – I had a dental appointment, and an  MOT (on the car not me), plus I’d arranged to see a writing professional for a critique on my finally, or so I thought, completed novel (yes it’s very good but……)

I re-joined my old pub quiz team and enjoyed the success of being runner up – a feat that will just never happen here in Haarlem where the weekly quiz is taken far too seriously by the regular teams. The Dutch quiz-master has now quit – apparently he says there it takes up too much time, plus of course there is no fun in it anymore. I can’t blame him. I’d get fed up with people arguing over the answers with me every week too. It’s a bought-in quiz. He doesn’t set the questions. These people need to lighten up and take a holiday and let someone else win for a change. Like me and Mr T.

However, I was feeling a bit dull on Saturday afternoon. I’d had a good few days back in the UK and felt slightly deflated about returning to the Netherlands where the icy wind always blows and life just feels a bit lacking in purpose sometimes. However, as we strolled back to the house, Mr T with his arms full of tulips (we only wanted one bunch but the stall holder, who was just packing up insisted we take the whole bucketful) we passed the local craft beer bar, where one of our quiz rivals waved at us from the window and beckoned us to join him and his wife for an early evening drink.

So there we sat, Mr T with his craft beer and me with my glass of wine, exchanging jolly banter about the trials and tribulations of living amongst the Dutch with a very genial Irish couple, a bouquet of tulips resting on the table between us. It was a very pleasant 'homecoming' and to cap it all, the sun has been shining ever since.

Never Mind the Tulips

Never mind the tulips - it's all about the magnolias in my front garden. Over the last few days we have finally glimpsed some spring sunshine - and with it these beautiful magnolias which have subsequently attracted a lot of (unwanted) attention from passers-by (remember I have no net curtains or frosted glass in my very large front window). I’m seriously thinking of charging people who stop to admire the glorious white blooms. Some pretend they can't see past the flowers - others do respond to our waves. I suppose I shouldn't grumble. I am just as guilty as any of admiring plants in other people's gardens - I just try and do it a little more discreetly.

We've had house guests again this weekend and I've faced the usual questions about how we feel we are settling in and what we like/dislike about living in the Netherlands.

 To be honest apart from the weather (and even that's looking up - stripped off to a T-shirt for a couple of hours on Friday afternoon), there isn’t an awful lot to dislike about living here. As a Brit it’s very easy to fit in.  I almost feel like a native, apart from the fact that I am too short, not fit enough, and too polite of course.

Would I ever have 'said s**t' in front of a customer when I worked in a shop? No. Do I move out of the way for people on a narrow pavement? Yes.  Would I move over to an empty seat on a bus or a train to make it easier for another person to sit down? Yes.

I've noticed the Dutch don’t exactly co-operate - and I don't just mean with me, I mean with each other. When our neighbour changed his mind and refused access to the builder our landlords had engaged to replace the chimney pots on his roof, our estate agent assured us his attitude was nothing personal. He explained our neighbour was just ‘being Dutch’ – as I suppose he has every right to be. Personally I just call it being awkward.

Last weekend as we sat outside a café we witnessed a lady whisk away a chair from an occupied table, only stopping to ask the lone man sat there if it was free as an afterthought. Presumably if his wife had just nipped to the loo the man would have said something sooner, but surely it’s polite to ask first?

On the other hand, when we enquired if a table was available for four in our local very ‘bijou’ pizza restaurant earlier this week, the waitress assured us she could fit us in if we didn’t mind waiting for a few minutes.  I assumed she meant someone was about to leave, but no, she promptly asked a couple sat at a table for four to move onto a tiny corner table for two – mid-mouthful. I suppose at least she asked them – rather than just whipping their plates across to the other side of the restaurant while they weren’t looking.

On arriving at another restaurant the following evening with a larger group of friends we were again asked to wait as two customers sat at the table needed to make up the eight places we’d reserved, were still finishing their coffees. Fine, we said, no problem.  Twenty minutes later the two women still lingered over their coffee and the waiter seemed in no rush to hurry them up. He needed lessons from pizza lady. If ever there was an occasion for someone to be presented with a bill before they’d had a chance to order a second coffee a la USA this was it. When he finally took the hint (because they certainly weren't going to) and asked if they minded finishing their drinks at the bar, it was actually another hour before they left.

And in case this sounds like we spend an awful lot of time eating out - we do. Haarlem is foodie heaven, so why not? And just to add to the food-fest here are some pictures from our recent visit to Alkmaar Cheese Market. 

Blowing in the Wind

This is the land of windmills, so as Mr T regularly points out, I should have been prepared for a bit of wind. Well, there’s wind – and then there’s Dutch wind.

It’s the end of March. The daffodils are out. The bulb fields are open to the public. Back in the UK on a sunny day the temperature reaches the mid-teens. Here in the Netherlands it's brrr....and hold onto your hats.

We’ve had friends over this week and they specifically wanted to see the Keukenhof Gardens. Along with the boy who stuck his finger in the dyke, Johan Cruyff and Miffy, Keukenhof is a Dutch national treasure, drawing visitors from all around the world. We planned to set off early with the aim of beating the tour buses but at 9.30 am the power went off all over North Holland. We hung around for a while, debating whether the gardens would even be open – all the shops in Haarlem had closed, trains and planes had come to a standstill, but with nothing better to do, we crossed fingers and took a chance - maybe those precious thirty kilometres south might be on a different electrical circuit.  Half way there we discovered working traffic lights and ours hopes rose.

We had warned our visitors to wrap up warm and after a brief pit-stop for hot drinks and apple-cake we set off to explore 32 hectares of spring bulbs. The gardens had only opened the week before and there were plenty of bulbs yet to flower (and who could blame them to be honest).  The most impressive displays were indoors, glass pavilions full of hundreds of different varieties of blooms, from brash and blousey tulips, to delicate dainty orchids. My favourite was the Van Gogh display – a whole new concept in flower arranging. And in another break with tradition, the Keukenhof's Dutch street organ blasts out an electic repertoire of  songs at the main entrance, from Remember You're a Womble to Tom Jones' Sex Bomb. Not quite the greeting most visitors expect.

On Saturday we hit the tourist trail once more and took our guests to Zaanse Schans. They wanted to see windmills and at Zaanse Schans there are eight of them all in a row, together with a clog making factory and several other ‘traditional Dutch’ retail opportunities.  It was bitterly cold, but worse was to come on Sunday. We knew the wind had picked up –  the canal outside our front door had taken on the appearance of the Severn Bore and the rain was horizontal.  Our second set of guests, the student and her boyfriend finally arrived after a two hour flight delay, very wobbly and rather green around the gills. I think they only just made it into Schipol Airport before they closed the runway.

On Monday the weather forecast was at least dry, so while the student and boyfriend headed into Amsterdam, I took our first guests off to Zandvoort – they wanted to see the beach. I did warn them – however many miles an hour the wind is in Haarlem, there’s a 50% uplift on the coast. It was so blustery it was almost impossible to walk. I think the middle-aged lady accompanying a frail pensioner with a walking frame along the prom just in front of us was very brave – either that or she had become too impatient for her inheritance – poor Mama, we were just walking along the cliff, then whoosh, she was off…

More hot chocolate, more apple-cake and then we headed back to the relative calm of Haarlem. With our usual team-mates out of town it was the ideal opportunity to introduce our friends, regular pub quiz champions in the UK, to quizzing Dutch style.  Despite new blood in the team, the music round was once again our downfall. Unfortunately nothing as simple as remembering you're a Womble here. The answers were totally out of our grasp, in fact they probably whistling around the corners of the Grote Markt,  blowing in the wind…..

Top Tips

The expat  website this blog appears on has issued a call out for top tips on settling into the Netherlands. Actually I’ve found re-locating to the Netherlands comparatively easy compared to our last re-location to the US but in an effort to be helpful, here goes:

Learn the language.

Fortunately for us Brits, most Dutch people speak extremely good English, and unfortunately for the Dutch, I’m never going to pronounce 'goedemorgen' like a native, no matter how hard I try. In fact most Dutch people only have to look at me to know that Dutch is not my mother-tongue (I’m 5ft 2 so it’s a dead giveaway). The language barrier was probably more of an issue when we moved to the US – refer to an elevator as a lift and most Americans look at you as if you’ve just beamed down from Mars. Here in Holland it’s not a problem – there are no lifts, prepare for stairs.

Seriously though – it’s only polite to make the effort. You will receive post; you will want to read notices and endeavour to understand the parking permit and household waste bills that arrive with alarming regularity from the local Gemeente (another unpronounceable ‘hhh’ word). You might also want to be able to understand a menu  unless of course you don’t mind eating offal or wild hare. I know there is Google translate (do the Dutch pronounce that Hoogle?) – but that is not infallible. There are words in Dutch that just don’t exist anywhere else and NEVER jump to conclusions. For example, despite what you might think the first time you see it, oude kunst actually means OLD ART (masterpieces in fact).

Wrap Up Warm – it’s cold

We have yet to experience a Dutch summer and I can’t wait. The wind that blows down off the North Sea is icy. I can’t speak for anyone who lives in a modern apartment, but our 1930’s Dutch house is cold. High ceilings, lots of windows, and at least an inch of daylight around the front door. Invest in some warm clothing – I’ve yet to see my next door neighbour without his scarf (and that’s just for indoors).

Buy A Bike

If you want to blend in you’ll need a bike. There are no couch potatoes here – the Dutch are undeniably fit and they cycle everywhere. They start cycling the moment they are born (in fact I suspect Mama cycles to the labour ward and Papa straps her and baby on his bike for the cycle home). By the age of 3 they will have their own wheels and they’ll still be cycling at 80.

Keep an Open Mind

This is true wherever you go – not just the Netherlands. Every country has its own customs and habits and you just have to respect them. I didn’t like Zwarte Piet, but that’s just what the Dutch do, just like they sell cannabis in coffee shops and can’t make a decent cup of tea.

Retain Your Sense of Humour

Remember to keep hold of yours and learn to tolerate theirs. The Dutch have a particularly wacky sense of humour; even the most straight laced looking of middle-aged shop assistants can prove to be a right tease. You just have to go with the flow.

Be Realistic...and patient

Moving anywhere new is always going to be a struggle; it's an upheaval, it's stressful and it will take time and effort to settle in. See it as an opportunity to overcome adversity and find an inner strength you never knew you had.

And finally, when all else fails, sit back, relax and enjoy the apple cake!

Great Train Journeys

One of the things I do like about the Netherlands is its public transport system. The car is definitely not king here – at least not around town. The bike wins hands down, and if you can’t bike it, then you bus or train it long distance. It makes perfect sense.

This weekend we set off for Delft. Arriving at the station slightly earlier than anticipated  we decided not to wait for the fifty minute direct train (OK I got the times  wrong) but hopped onto the next train to Den Haag knowing we could change there and probably get to Delft sooner than planned anyway. A quick check on the public transport app 9292 confirmed that if we could complete a two minute change at Leiden we’d arrive in record time, and we did, literally jumping off one train as it pulled into the station and the other as it pulled out.

Delft is of course famous for its traditional blue and white pottery, but I’m not a ceramics fan and we were basically going there so we could tick it off our list. Yes, more canals, more cobbles, more beautiful old buildings, churches and the ubiquitous market. Tick, tick, tick. We browsed the ceramics shops, confirmed we didn’t actually like Delft pottery and if we bought a piece just  for the sake of it, it would end up at the back of a cupboard anyway, ate a piece of apple-cake and headed for home.

I was feeling pretty smug.  It had only taken forty minutes to reach Delft, so naturally it would only take us forty minutes to reach home. We’d be back in time for lunch.

We happily hopped onto the first available train to Den Haag Centraal where we then spent twenty minutes sat on a stationary Amsterdam bound train watching various passengers disembark after a series of station announcements.  We were eventually informed by a kind hearted Dutch lady that the line was blocked, Amsterdam, and all stations along the way including Haarlem, could now only be accessed via Utrecht, some 62 km away.  We boarded the next train for Utrecht, but alas, this train, despite the signage on the platform, and on the train itself, was not going to Utrecht, it was inexplicably terminating at Gouda, where another change was required. Like most Dutch railway stations, Gouda has a lengthy platform and the train either departs from the (a) section or the (b) section.  Fortunately we were already waiting at the (a) section, simply because it was less crowded, but at no point in time did the station assistants think to mention to the waiting passengers, most of whom were not in Gouda for the cheese or to admire the station architecture but to get back to Schipol airport, that the forthcoming train did not stop at the (b) part of the platform and they should move up a bit.  Eventually we reached Utrecht, where we just about made it onto the next train to Amsterdam, before another twenty minute wait for the Sprinter back down the line to Haarlem. Five trains and two and half hours later we had completed our circular tour of Eastern Holland.

So much for going native. Next time, we'll take the car.

Anyway, on Sunday, the sun shone. Photo opportunities galore in Haarlem, and some random llamas - just to prove I do like living here despite the public transport glitches!

Six Months In

It’s nearly six months now since we moved to the Netherlands and it’s a good time to take stock. All in all, I feel our move here has been easy compared to our previous re-location to the US, despite the language barrier which isn’t particularly a barrier at all. Most Dutch people speak excellent English which of course has made it very easy for us NOT to learn Dutch. Culturally I feel the English and the Dutch have much in common; the Dutch are reserved, probably erring on the side of caution when it comes to social skills, but I respect that. I can be reserved and grumpy myself and I really don’t mind if a sales assistant doesn’t accost me the minute I walk into a shop offering to be my new best buddy. 

Likewise I am happy to spend all evening in a restaurant. If I book a table for 8 pm I am quite content to still be sat there at nine.  OK I might have liked to have my starters within the first hour, but what the heck, we’ve got all night, and if I don’t like the service, I can reflect that in my tip - it’s not compulsory.  We have visited restaurants in Haarlem we wouldn’t particularly rush back to, (it doesn’t matter how much you dress it up, a turnip is a turnip and I don’t want it on my dinner plate) but in all honesty we have yet to have a bad meal in our new home town. Just because raw herring and bitterballen are national delicacies, it doesn’t mean I have to eat them.

The internet and the availability of the BBC on mainstream TV makes it easy to stay in touch with what is happening back in the UK.  Not that I ever watched the One Show every night but it’s actually quite comforting to know it’s there if I want to. We do sit down to watch Pointless at 6.15 pm most evenings and it's like putting on a pair of old slippers. I am ashamed to say Dutch TV doesn’t get a look in – apart from the when it comes to sport, and even then sometimes Mr T resorts to watching a German channel.

I check the internet for the Dutch news every Monday evening before our weekly quiz, just in case there is a question on current affairs, but the Zwarte Piet riots  just before Christmas are about as controversial as Dutch news gets. It’s a very easy country to live in.

There are obviously a few Dutch customs that take a bit of getting used to. Even a sleepy old place like Haarlem has its red light district and the Dutch are well known for their window-displays.  Looking  into other people’s windows is a national past-time. If I was living in my own house I probably would invest in a pair of net curtains or at least some frosted glass, but most people don’t.  I've got used to people gawping in my windows, and I am not without guilt myself. There are a couple of places we walk past in Haarlem where I’m still not sure if it is a genuine shop or just someone trying to offload their old junk onto passers-by by sticking price-tags on their ornaments.

We have resigned ourselves to the weather.  I’ve given up on umbrellas and invested in coats with hoods.  I haven’t worn a vest this much since I was six years’ old and I wouldn’t dream of stepping out of the front door without my full quota of gloves, hat and scarf. On a flying visit to the UK last week I found myself stripping off layer after layer, revelling in the soft warmth of British winter sunshine, I even picked up a couple of T-shirts in the sales. Silly me! As soon as we stepped back onto the tarmac of Schipol Airport we were hit with a familiar icy blast of North Sea wind to welcome us home. 

And that's how I know I have acclimatised. It took a good eighteen months to two years before I referred to the US as my 'home'. I was always 'heading back to LA' or 'returning to the US'. Our transition here has been far less traumatic, partly I suppose because I am much more aware this time around of the pitfalls of being an ex-pat, but I'd like to think those endless canals, crazy cyclists and crispy frites with lashings of mayonnaise might just have something to do with it too.

Oh, and of course, this time round I have the cat for company, or perhaps too much company?!

The Stedelijk

There’s nothing like a trip to a museum of modern art to get the old creative juices flowing again. We were entertaining friends from the UK this weekend and headed into Amsterdam on Saturday for a spot of sightseeing.  Friends wanted to see the Van Gogh museum – we’ve done Van Gogh so we left them happily browsing amongst the sunflowers and irises while we popped next door to The  Stedelijk Museum, home to Amsterdam’s largest collection of modern and contemporary art.

As the rain outside turned to sleet, I was filled with a warm, rosy, glow. What a joy! I’d forgotten how much of a smile the contemplation of modern ‘art’ can put on your face.  Bemusement, bewilderment.....

Sometimes I think I must be missing something.  I know art is subjective, but a pair of copper plated Y-fronts, a table covered in brown paper and tied with jute, and and the obligatory pile of rocks on the floor. Really??

Take the packing crate for example. When is a plywood packing crate not a plywood packing crate? When it has a light bulb inside. Then, apparently, it becomes a work of art and warrants it's own room in a museum. 

In another room the security guard gave a little dance as we entered – wacky Dutch sense of humour or maybe he was another exhibit? Who knows? Perhaps  he'd just returned from a quick stroll around the less salubrious streets of Amsterdam, where the air seemed to be particularly more pungent than usual this weekend.  I'm pretty sure the artist behind this piece of work must have been visiting a coffee shop or two.

In all seriousness the museum is full of fantastic and interesting exhibits, from examples of early 20th century innovative furniture and homewares, to very thought provoking 'underground' photographs taken during the German occupation in the Second World War. It has fair share of Picassos, Pollocks and Lictensteins, and there is even some work by old friend Jeff Koons, first encountered at the Los Angeles County Museum of Modern Art way back in April 2011 in another jaw-dropping 'how do they get away with it?' moment. Although in Jeff's defence I'd have to say the work on show in the Stedelijk was a vast improvement on the giant balloon poodle in LA.

(http://lifeinthelabubble.blogspot.nl/2011/04/art-for-arts-sake.html).

I suppose the fact that it has compelled me to write a post, provoked a reaction and made me question and 'think', proves that there is a point to it all. The Stedelijk is definitely my favourite museum in Amsterdam so far.