I think that if my Dutch friends would know what goes on in my mind half the time they would be shocked, baffled and not my friends anymore.
Safety is a daily chore (or even choice) for me, in stark conflict with European-born-and-bred friends.
I am always aware.
Of the car driving behind me, the pedestrian stopping at the red light and the person shopping a little too close to me.
The guy coming out of the lift smiling a little too friendly.
The woman staring at me on the tram.
And even the teenager watching me from the opposite side of the tram rails.
Now, I have been accused of being paranoid.
But as a good friend once said: “Just because you´re paranoid, doesn´t mean they are not out to get you.”
Ok, jokes aside. I am a thousand percent more aware than the standard person here. And I would like to believe that it would protect, or even rescue me one day.
But as you can imagine, it also brings a burden. It is not relaxing being so alert all the time. I always think twice before driving at night – something that almost never crosses anyone´s mind here. I double check the lock on my door – which is apparently good in Amsterdam! And I don´t like walking around after dark.
But one thing is sure: it is all I know. It is a life that I am used to. And I doubt if any amount of years living here will ever get that out of me.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Lunch... munch...
Lunch is an exciting adventure in the Netherlands. Or not. I am yet to decide. Let me tell you:
Everyday there are of course the usual temptations like a crunchy kroket or an “uitsmijter” - bread with eggs and cheese. But in principle the standard Dutch lunch is made of a cheese sandwich. Über traditional. With a glass of milk and piece of fruit or yoghurt.
Although I do like the odd cheese sandwich, I do opt for something more exclusive.
And although I long for the long lunches with colleagues at Primi consisting of gorgonzola panzerotti washed down with copious amounts of white wine (or spritzers if there are clients involved) – I like my new habit: Sandwich Healthy (literally translated). It contains ham, cheese, boiled egg, cheese, tomato, salad and lotsa salt and pepper. All tastefully arranged on a traingular bun packed with pumpkin seeds.
I know, it sounds all to green, organic and “packed-with-goodness” for me (someone who can tuck into a Steers burger like there is no tomorrow!), but still. I like it. Even the early memories of egg-sandwiches (rotten in a schoolbag) don't deter me from this delicacy.
And I have found the perfect chef for half-time. The lady at Bakkerij Bart. She looks like something from a pop-punk-rock-band from the early nineties. Scary, to say the least. She always asks the same questions, but also always makes my sandwich in exactly the same fashion: Butter smeared with a spoon, slice 'o ham, slice o'cheese, salt, pepper, three slices of tomato and heaps of lettuce. Warpped in a serviette. In the bag. Hit the till. Add a bottle of water and off I go! Yumminess in 3 minutes. Of course excluding the queue that usually lasts about 20 minutes. Unfortunately I am not the only admirer of Annie Lennox-turned-sandwich-extraodinaire.
If I think back now, I can barely remember what I had for lunch in Johannesburg (except for the catered ones!). What did we have for a normal lunch in? Hamburgers? Toasted cheese? It is a distant memory.
Here lunch is an institution. Lunch at 1 is a sin. It starts at 12. No arguing. No meetings and no interruptions. It is almost holy.
I have learned to like it.
Embrace it.
Even enforce it.
Just last week I had someone trying to schedule a meeting at 12.30. I paused... brought up the subject of lunch, and promptly the meeting was re-scheduled to 1. Amazing. I love the practicality of the Dutch.
I did however found it strange that I had to mention it...
Everyday there are of course the usual temptations like a crunchy kroket or an “uitsmijter” - bread with eggs and cheese. But in principle the standard Dutch lunch is made of a cheese sandwich. Über traditional. With a glass of milk and piece of fruit or yoghurt.
Although I do like the odd cheese sandwich, I do opt for something more exclusive.
And although I long for the long lunches with colleagues at Primi consisting of gorgonzola panzerotti washed down with copious amounts of white wine (or spritzers if there are clients involved) – I like my new habit: Sandwich Healthy (literally translated). It contains ham, cheese, boiled egg, cheese, tomato, salad and lotsa salt and pepper. All tastefully arranged on a traingular bun packed with pumpkin seeds.
I know, it sounds all to green, organic and “packed-with-goodness” for me (someone who can tuck into a Steers burger like there is no tomorrow!), but still. I like it. Even the early memories of egg-sandwiches (rotten in a schoolbag) don't deter me from this delicacy.
And I have found the perfect chef for half-time. The lady at Bakkerij Bart. She looks like something from a pop-punk-rock-band from the early nineties. Scary, to say the least. She always asks the same questions, but also always makes my sandwich in exactly the same fashion: Butter smeared with a spoon, slice 'o ham, slice o'cheese, salt, pepper, three slices of tomato and heaps of lettuce. Warpped in a serviette. In the bag. Hit the till. Add a bottle of water and off I go! Yumminess in 3 minutes. Of course excluding the queue that usually lasts about 20 minutes. Unfortunately I am not the only admirer of Annie Lennox-turned-sandwich-extraodinaire.
If I think back now, I can barely remember what I had for lunch in Johannesburg (except for the catered ones!). What did we have for a normal lunch in? Hamburgers? Toasted cheese? It is a distant memory.
Here lunch is an institution. Lunch at 1 is a sin. It starts at 12. No arguing. No meetings and no interruptions. It is almost holy.
I have learned to like it.
Embrace it.
Even enforce it.
Just last week I had someone trying to schedule a meeting at 12.30. I paused... brought up the subject of lunch, and promptly the meeting was re-scheduled to 1. Amazing. I love the practicality of the Dutch.
I did however found it strange that I had to mention it...
Saturday, October 25, 2008
The Unbearable Unpredictability of Dutchness
There is never a dull day in The Netherlands. That is for sure. Just listening to the news always brightens my day and adds a little joy to my residence among the “cloggies”.
This week, a frantic emergency call was placed to the police. Four young men have been spotted in bushes with guns. Not wasting a single moment, the police set out to catch the criminals, as gun posession is not legal here. After finding the boys in the bushes, they were promptly taken to the police station for severe interrogation. Turns out - the guns were plastic, and they were shooting a film for one boy who wants to attend the film academy. None the less, one perpetrator got a fine because the fake weapons were bought in Turkey. The rest were let off with a stern warning. For what, I am not sure.
A little bit closer to home, I was on a tram with a severely intoxicated woman last night. Severely intoxicated. She managed to fall, pee in her pants and lose consciousness within two tram stops. During a thirty minute delay (while we all had to sit on the tram waiting) she was removed on a stretcher with loving care by the emergency services and the police filed a report with the tram driver. But what I found amusing even at 12 at night, was that the paramedic also loaded her three “Heineken Experience' shopping bags into the ambulance with her handbag.
Tonight I also learned some interesting facts about Amsterdam from local friends. In order to provide less fortunate Amsterdammers also an opportunity to live within the city, all housing are rent-controlled. It is based on a points system. For each square meter you get a point, plus a point for a new kitchen, a basin, a bath etc. If you come to a total of more than 140 points (approx) you can charge whatever you want. But - and this is the case for most apartments – if you do not have that amount, the rent is fixed. To an amount of 450 euros per month or somewhere there. Which means, that for an apartment like mine, you can pay a mortgage of a thousand euros or so per month, and not be able to rent it out.
It is killing the investor's market.
This of course has various illegal activities to effect. Since there is a housing shortage in Amsterdam, people will revert to strange practices to rent a house. On the other hand, there are people living on the famous Keizersgracht paying 400 euros per month for a lovely apartment.
My suggestion to the general investor: buy a house, install three baths,10 basins, maybe a kitchen in the bedroom, and you are a free man... But then getting someone to rent it might be another story.
I do find it strange though, that in the year 2008, and in a country as modern and well-organised as here, these things are enforced. And enforced they are: the fine is eighty thousand euros.
Probably half the price of your apartment.
Fortunately I am not pursuing a career as a property mogul, and I´m quite satisfied receiving my regular salary in turn for slaving away my hours at a bank.
Tomorrow I am aiming for a leasurely day of shopping and walking in the centre, but as I said: you never know what might happen...
This week, a frantic emergency call was placed to the police. Four young men have been spotted in bushes with guns. Not wasting a single moment, the police set out to catch the criminals, as gun posession is not legal here. After finding the boys in the bushes, they were promptly taken to the police station for severe interrogation. Turns out - the guns were plastic, and they were shooting a film for one boy who wants to attend the film academy. None the less, one perpetrator got a fine because the fake weapons were bought in Turkey. The rest were let off with a stern warning. For what, I am not sure.
A little bit closer to home, I was on a tram with a severely intoxicated woman last night. Severely intoxicated. She managed to fall, pee in her pants and lose consciousness within two tram stops. During a thirty minute delay (while we all had to sit on the tram waiting) she was removed on a stretcher with loving care by the emergency services and the police filed a report with the tram driver. But what I found amusing even at 12 at night, was that the paramedic also loaded her three “Heineken Experience' shopping bags into the ambulance with her handbag.
Tonight I also learned some interesting facts about Amsterdam from local friends. In order to provide less fortunate Amsterdammers also an opportunity to live within the city, all housing are rent-controlled. It is based on a points system. For each square meter you get a point, plus a point for a new kitchen, a basin, a bath etc. If you come to a total of more than 140 points (approx) you can charge whatever you want. But - and this is the case for most apartments – if you do not have that amount, the rent is fixed. To an amount of 450 euros per month or somewhere there. Which means, that for an apartment like mine, you can pay a mortgage of a thousand euros or so per month, and not be able to rent it out.
It is killing the investor's market.
This of course has various illegal activities to effect. Since there is a housing shortage in Amsterdam, people will revert to strange practices to rent a house. On the other hand, there are people living on the famous Keizersgracht paying 400 euros per month for a lovely apartment.
My suggestion to the general investor: buy a house, install three baths,10 basins, maybe a kitchen in the bedroom, and you are a free man... But then getting someone to rent it might be another story.
I do find it strange though, that in the year 2008, and in a country as modern and well-organised as here, these things are enforced. And enforced they are: the fine is eighty thousand euros.
Probably half the price of your apartment.
Fortunately I am not pursuing a career as a property mogul, and I´m quite satisfied receiving my regular salary in turn for slaving away my hours at a bank.
Tomorrow I am aiming for a leasurely day of shopping and walking in the centre, but as I said: you never know what might happen...
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Accidents happen...
Tonight while cooking, I heard a loud noise. Like something breaking, real broken.
PS. I know the pic is out of focus... It adds to the dramatic effect!
I looked out the window and saw a girl lying on the pavement, oranges, vegetables and a scooter scattered in six parts.
After staring for a while, I realised what happend. A good ol´ traffic accident. Nothing strange. However I found it my duty to investigate (see my previous post with fascination with medical detectives!).
After speaking to the girl and the "apparent" guilty boy on the scooter, I produced my last band-aid and cotton wool with tape as emergency measures.
Back in my apartment I mulled over the thought of checking to see if everything (especially the girl) was okay.
I decided to take out the trash.
The girl was gone, but in the dark alley next to my house I found two boys desperately trying to fix a scooter in the dark.
It made me wonder:
Where is the police?
When are they coming to fix the sign?
PS. I know the pic is out of focus... It adds to the dramatic effect!Monday, March 10, 2008
My mind
I have adopted a true Dutch way of thinking. Not everyone will agree, but my thinking has changed so much since I have been living here.
I have learned to switch off lights as I go – my father would be proud. I remember big printed signs on the back of the garage door in our home saying “Switch the light off!”. However it never got through to me. And at the enlightening age of 30, and also after receiving an electricity bill of 650 euros, I get it.
Crime has always been an interest of mine. Which is strange, because I am such a scaredy cat, and not fond of bullet holes or blood. I had a Forensic Detectives phase, which lead to Medical Detectives, and eventually for the mass market, CSI Miami, New York and Las Vegas! I devoured it. That has since passed, but still the interest for true crime remains. When a new book came on the market here, Woensdag Gehaktdag (meaning Wednesday, Minceday) about a guy who was suspected of mincing his wife in a meat mince machine, I was on the case! I watched the interview, looked for the book online and was determined to buy it. Then social responsibility (a fairly new feeling for me) stepped in. After having lost everything to drinking and gambling and sitting many years in prison for the admitted murder of his wife (though not with a mincer), this guy has got no money. And no job. And I will literally be paying him a salary when I buy the book. (I am not even doing him a favour with a link to his name). Up to this day, my curiosity has never gotten the better of me, and I remain faithful to my new belief of not helping criminals.
The same thought-pattern followed when I saw the new O.J Simpson book on the shelf. Fondly remembering watching the trail on TV way past my bedtime with my father, I reached out for the hardcover. And retreated.
It may sound pretentious, I know, but I do find it refreshing to think about things now that has never crossed my mind.
In the same spirit, I have read this book. What is the What by Dave Eggers.
I do my washing on 30 degrees instead of 60. I try to print only when necessary at home. I am still not succeeding in that at work. I recycle. Glass with glass. Paper with paper. I take the tram and the train– partly due to not having a parking permit, but I do feel like I am earning 5 extra points in the climate debate.
I guess living so closely with each other in this miniscule country must have taught the Dutch something about tolerance and being responsible.
And I am a patient student.
I have learned to switch off lights as I go – my father would be proud. I remember big printed signs on the back of the garage door in our home saying “Switch the light off!”. However it never got through to me. And at the enlightening age of 30, and also after receiving an electricity bill of 650 euros, I get it.
Crime has always been an interest of mine. Which is strange, because I am such a scaredy cat, and not fond of bullet holes or blood. I had a Forensic Detectives phase, which lead to Medical Detectives, and eventually for the mass market, CSI Miami, New York and Las Vegas! I devoured it. That has since passed, but still the interest for true crime remains. When a new book came on the market here, Woensdag Gehaktdag (meaning Wednesday, Minceday) about a guy who was suspected of mincing his wife in a meat mince machine, I was on the case! I watched the interview, looked for the book online and was determined to buy it. Then social responsibility (a fairly new feeling for me) stepped in. After having lost everything to drinking and gambling and sitting many years in prison for the admitted murder of his wife (though not with a mincer), this guy has got no money. And no job. And I will literally be paying him a salary when I buy the book. (I am not even doing him a favour with a link to his name). Up to this day, my curiosity has never gotten the better of me, and I remain faithful to my new belief of not helping criminals.
The same thought-pattern followed when I saw the new O.J Simpson book on the shelf. Fondly remembering watching the trail on TV way past my bedtime with my father, I reached out for the hardcover. And retreated.
It may sound pretentious, I know, but I do find it refreshing to think about things now that has never crossed my mind.
In the same spirit, I have read this book. What is the What by Dave Eggers.
I do my washing on 30 degrees instead of 60. I try to print only when necessary at home. I am still not succeeding in that at work. I recycle. Glass with glass. Paper with paper. I take the tram and the train– partly due to not having a parking permit, but I do feel like I am earning 5 extra points in the climate debate.
I guess living so closely with each other in this miniscule country must have taught the Dutch something about tolerance and being responsible.
And I am a patient student.
Free time
Having to entertain myself quite a lot while Jaco is away, I have become a big youtube fan.
Not only does it provide unlimited entertainment until 2am on a Monday morning, it also is amazing to see what other people do in their free time.
I have picked some current favourites:
Margarita Pracatan
Margarita Pracatan is a Cuban novelty singer, who found success in the 1990s when Clive James had her perform live on his TV show on numerous occasions. Radio DJ Martin Kelner also played her frequently on his BBC Night Network and BBC Radio 2 programmes.
According to her website, Clive James discovered her Manhattan Public Access program and invited her to the UK to appear on his show. He sweet-talked her into believing he was serious, and she signed up. Not once on the show did he make it overt that he knew what he was doing, but his introductions to her end-of-show performances contained a tiny amount of teasing irony.
- Wikipedia
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8iZ0AIEWH8
Also with Liza Minelli watching...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hpkP2mb4SA&feature=related
Check also her other videos amongst others Mamma Mia from Abba!
I can see her walking through Heathrow with a feather boa dragging the keyboard through security!
Living in pancakeland:
This one is extra special for me...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UG5gO4nlLRQ
Plain White T´s:
The new Weird Al´Yankowich!!! How I miss him.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMqTKA8BxvE
That is all for now, I prefer writing to posting links as you know, but this was too good to leave.
Not only does it provide unlimited entertainment until 2am on a Monday morning, it also is amazing to see what other people do in their free time.
I have picked some current favourites:
Margarita Pracatan
Margarita Pracatan is a Cuban novelty singer, who found success in the 1990s when Clive James had her perform live on his TV show on numerous occasions. Radio DJ Martin Kelner also played her frequently on his BBC Night Network and BBC Radio 2 programmes.
According to her website, Clive James discovered her Manhattan Public Access program and invited her to the UK to appear on his show. He sweet-talked her into believing he was serious, and she signed up. Not once on the show did he make it overt that he knew what he was doing, but his introductions to her end-of-show performances contained a tiny amount of teasing irony.
- Wikipedia
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8iZ0AIEWH8
Also with Liza Minelli watching...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hpkP2mb4SA&feature=related
Check also her other videos amongst others Mamma Mia from Abba!
I can see her walking through Heathrow with a feather boa dragging the keyboard through security!
Living in pancakeland:
This one is extra special for me...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UG5gO4nlLRQ
Plain White T´s:
The new Weird Al´Yankowich!!! How I miss him.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMqTKA8BxvE
That is all for now, I prefer writing to posting links as you know, but this was too good to leave.
Friday, February 01, 2008
The move
Just like the first home I bought I´ve just suffered a sense of loss when moving into my new house. It is a happy loss, but still. I am yet to determine what I am losing, but it is a strange feeling that coincides with stepping over boxes and viewing all your earthly belongings fitting into a double bedroom or medium sized truck.
I have always been quick to get up and go, and also quick to settle down. In Taiwan I owned a kettle, oven, bed, tv, various books, bamboo plant, scooter etc, and left it all behind at a week's notice. Back in South Africa, it took a while, but I bought another house, wooden floor, car and Lulu, the cat.
I still have the cat.
Living on the Overtoom is challenging. It involves public transport, something which needs some getting used to. Sure, it is a great invention, and in a country like this it works well. But still. Personal space is not overrated.
Currently I am number 81 on the waiting list for a parking permit, and number 1 on the list applied in July 1999. It seems realistic that I will have a Dutch passport before I will have a parking permit for Amsterdam.
I have two huge windows overlooking an extremely busy street.
As a good Amsterdammer, I have a couple of options: 1) Place semi-transparent foil on eye-height on my window so people cannot look in. 2) Be completely exhibitionistic and leave it wide open. 3) Hang heavy velvet curtains and keep it closed at all times (frowned upon, and you'll probably have the police at your door very soon) and lastly, 4) Something in between. I chose for the sober option 4. I have semi-transparent white blinds (that I open when I'm home) that displays silhouettes when the lights are on inside. This makes for excellent entertainment when Pixel (the new Dutch kitty) is sitting in the window sill, and me on the couch. If only I could get that kind of attention sitting in a window sill! (Oh, I could, but that was not my choice of career!)
Integrating has become a hobby for me. Something like knitting, you do it when you have time and you get some therapeutic value from it. It also has a whiff of achievement to it, especially when you start to recognise the celebrities, understand the traffic report and can spot a bad neighbourhood. (The latter still requires some practice.) Other tasks like driving without navigation, memorising the train schedule and understanding bureaucracy are optional extras in my quest.
Getting back to losing things, I have a familiar feeling of "where is my stuff" that I recall from my move to the Netherlands. Waking up with sweaty palms thinking: "Did I leave the Alessi pan in the oven in Hilversum?" or even simpler "Where is the camera charger?" I am sure you are familiar with this thought pattern if you have moved house once in your life, but this feeling is enhanced when you are moving continents, or even a few kilometres in a strange country.
I must admit that I have grown immensely in my ability to accept these kind of things. They are mostly related to earthly possessions. A while ago I slipped on water that Lulu has spilled and grabbed for the nearest thing to break my fall. The drinks trolley. Stacked with all my breakables collected from my travels. I broke: a mug from Villeroy & Boch I bought with my mother in Vienna, a crystal sherry glass I bought in Budapest, two wineglasses that cannot be replaced and two super-cute wine glasses that my father loves. After being thankful that I did not have one cut, I sat on the floor between red, white and sandblasted glass thinking: I can cry or I can get up and watch TV. I chose a good ol´ reality show to cheer me up.
Thinking about it more clearly now, I have not lost anything moving to the Overtoom. I have gained a vibrant shopping street, a walk home from the train, and friendly neighbours that keep on ringing my bell by mistake. I am a city girl now, at last, and for real. A world city.
Even though I still feel a little bit of loss, I am, as they would say in Taiwan, "the happy".
And I still have the Lulu.
I have always been quick to get up and go, and also quick to settle down. In Taiwan I owned a kettle, oven, bed, tv, various books, bamboo plant, scooter etc, and left it all behind at a week's notice. Back in South Africa, it took a while, but I bought another house, wooden floor, car and Lulu, the cat.
I still have the cat.
Living on the Overtoom is challenging. It involves public transport, something which needs some getting used to. Sure, it is a great invention, and in a country like this it works well. But still. Personal space is not overrated.
Currently I am number 81 on the waiting list for a parking permit, and number 1 on the list applied in July 1999. It seems realistic that I will have a Dutch passport before I will have a parking permit for Amsterdam.
I have two huge windows overlooking an extremely busy street.
As a good Amsterdammer, I have a couple of options: 1) Place semi-transparent foil on eye-height on my window so people cannot look in. 2) Be completely exhibitionistic and leave it wide open. 3) Hang heavy velvet curtains and keep it closed at all times (frowned upon, and you'll probably have the police at your door very soon) and lastly, 4) Something in between. I chose for the sober option 4. I have semi-transparent white blinds (that I open when I'm home) that displays silhouettes when the lights are on inside. This makes for excellent entertainment when Pixel (the new Dutch kitty) is sitting in the window sill, and me on the couch. If only I could get that kind of attention sitting in a window sill! (Oh, I could, but that was not my choice of career!)
Integrating has become a hobby for me. Something like knitting, you do it when you have time and you get some therapeutic value from it. It also has a whiff of achievement to it, especially when you start to recognise the celebrities, understand the traffic report and can spot a bad neighbourhood. (The latter still requires some practice.) Other tasks like driving without navigation, memorising the train schedule and understanding bureaucracy are optional extras in my quest.
Getting back to losing things, I have a familiar feeling of "where is my stuff" that I recall from my move to the Netherlands. Waking up with sweaty palms thinking: "Did I leave the Alessi pan in the oven in Hilversum?" or even simpler "Where is the camera charger?" I am sure you are familiar with this thought pattern if you have moved house once in your life, but this feeling is enhanced when you are moving continents, or even a few kilometres in a strange country.
I must admit that I have grown immensely in my ability to accept these kind of things. They are mostly related to earthly possessions. A while ago I slipped on water that Lulu has spilled and grabbed for the nearest thing to break my fall. The drinks trolley. Stacked with all my breakables collected from my travels. I broke: a mug from Villeroy & Boch I bought with my mother in Vienna, a crystal sherry glass I bought in Budapest, two wineglasses that cannot be replaced and two super-cute wine glasses that my father loves. After being thankful that I did not have one cut, I sat on the floor between red, white and sandblasted glass thinking: I can cry or I can get up and watch TV. I chose a good ol´ reality show to cheer me up.
Thinking about it more clearly now, I have not lost anything moving to the Overtoom. I have gained a vibrant shopping street, a walk home from the train, and friendly neighbours that keep on ringing my bell by mistake. I am a city girl now, at last, and for real. A world city.
Even though I still feel a little bit of loss, I am, as they would say in Taiwan, "the happy".
And I still have the Lulu.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Ik snap daar niets van...
Meet a real-life politician in the Netherlands:
Geert Wilders.
Known for his wild statements (in Tolerantville!) to ban the Koran
and stop the "islamisation" of Holland.
Whazzzzup with the hair?
and the nose?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
