Together with Wim’s family we had a wonderful Christmas, and a week later we welcomed the New Year with a <<bang>> as we set off firecrackers with our friends Robert and Jolanda. It sure beat watching the cheesy singing acts on Dick Clark’s Rockin’ Eve—as if we’re really supposed to believe New Yorkers in Times Square care when it turns midnight in the Central Time Zone…not. Anyway we returned home around 3:00 am to discover our guinea pig Pijltje hadn’t missed out on all the excitement. Poor thing was completely shell-shocked from all the bottle rockets set off by the Irish pub patrons across the street. Even before this incident Pijltje wasn’t exactly a calm pet; she had guinea pig ADD after all. Now I'm sure we’ve got a full-blown case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Somewhere in some FDA testing lab there must be a few guinea pig-sized dosages of ritalin laying around. Too bad for Pijltje we’re not in the States, where we could visit a pet psychologist. I think the US must be the only place in the world with enough owners crazy enough about their pets to actually employ people as pet psychologists.

 In December I had my appointment with the Alien Police to apply for my Netherlands residency permit. Alien Police…where are Mulder and Scully when you need them? After our number was called (in Dutch, already a test), Wim and I were shown to a small room for an interview. One of the first questions was “have you ever committed a crime?” I sat there thinking that I knew this would come back to haunt us…now we’re going be charged with six counts of recklessly smuggling extra carry-on bags onto KLM. Fortunately the interview was a snap, and as a bonus, I learned something interesting about Wim’s birthplace. The officer asked “where were you born?” and Wim answered “Heerlen.” “Oh, Heerlen” the officer replied, “the Alabama of the Netherlands.” Aww-rite, ‘nuff said.

Coming from the shopping Mecca of Dallas, I can tell you there are a lot of differences shopping in The Netherlands. Here’s a shocker—grocery stores are in fact grocery stores. Not combination bank/video store/book store/pharmacy/sushi bars masquerading as grocery stores…ahem, any Tom Thumb customers out there, anyone? Customer service is an idea that is interpreted differently: here you have to bag your own groceries, bring your own plastic bags (or pay 25¢ a piece) and pay for a grocery cart. More precisely, you have to deposit a one guilder coin (about US 50¢) into the handle, whereby the chain connecting it to the next cart is released, and you’re on your way. I’ve asked several people how this whole system evolved. Some say it encourages people to bring their carts back to the cart stand, where the deposited coin is returned. But I’ve also heard another explanation: “if there were no deposit, people would wheel their groceries all the way home and keep the cart.” My question is if you’re the kind of person who would consider doing this, are you also so cheap that the thought of losing one guilder would actually deter you from doing it?

Something else I find odd is how CDs are sold. Go into any CD store and you’ll see that all of the cases have already been opened, with the CDs kept on file behind the cashier counter. After you pay the CD is returned to the case and it’s sealed in plastic wrap again. This way if it’s a gift, the recipient knows you didn’t just wrap up one of your old, least favorite CDs and try to pass it off as new. Apparently theft used to be a big problem in stores, because CDs are quite expensive here—about 25-50% higher than in the States. So what happens? People copy CDs from friends, and record labels inflate prices to offset the pirating—it’s a vicious circle. But I think they’re missing the point, because eventually people will just steal the empty cases to go with their newly burned music CDs.

After two weeks of intensive classes at the Regina Coeli Language Institute, I’ve at least doubled my vocabulary (first I knew one word, and now I know two…). I can even carry on simple conversations with Wim’s parents. But my toddler-like Dutch has also led to some of my more memorable mistakes:

[to Wim’s dad]
meant to say: “Sorry, could you please speak a little slower?”
actually said: “Sorry, could you please speak a little more noise?”

[to Wim’s mom]
meant to say: “Thanks for the delicious waffle cookies”
actually said: “Thanks for the delicious baseball bats.”

There’s nothing like learning a new language to teach you a lesson in humility. So until the next Going Dutch, bye for now and tot gauw,  

Last update 10 July 2005

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