January 20, 2009

I’m watching Barack Obama’s inauguration live on CNN-UK here in the Netherlands. Puffed up because of the flak jacket he was obviously wearing, it’s being shown live on 5 channels here (we have about 20 channels to surf through). Senator Ted Kennedy has collapsed, with seizures, and CNN is focusing on his demise, his obituary and his legacy. I expect much more from CNN, but it’s been a while since I watched them seriously. And don’t get me started on Campbell Brown…

Amid all the fanfare, I’m feeling such loyalty and, dare I say, patriotism, to my new citizenship, America. With our new president at the helms, I know the country is now in good hands. Especially, also, because the outgoing president is, at this moment, 30,000 feet in the air and out of Washington’s reach.

Scarf, on the other hand, seems down. It/he/she may be feeling homesickness after watching the inauguration with us. It may have been seeing all those hats and scarves in the crowd. Maybe, he/she/it wished it could have been there too. Not sure what the problem is... Thinking about it more, it may, in fact, also be keeping a watchful eye on the extra 6 minutes of daylight we get each day – a sure sign that winter is losing ground fast and, thus, that hats, gloves and (gulp) scarves tend to go the way of the closet. Hmmm… In hopes of lifting Scarf’s spirits, I decided to take it/he/she out today to a windy, frigid little medieval fortress situated on a bluff. A perfect place for Scarf to prove its mettle. We found a shivering little bronze statue and Scarf went straight to work. The bronze was nearly glowing and when the molten metal began dripping on the 12th century cobblestones, we knew that Scarf’s work here was done

The Netherlands -v- the Rest of the World....

Nine things I didn’t know enough about the Netherlands –

My GPS has a built in radar detector – two appliances in one. Sweeeeeet….

The sun, in January, comes up at 9:30. It then lurks behind the fog and clouds for about 6 hours before retreating again for the “night”. This leads to a wretched attitude (worse than my usual bitchy outlook) towards getting out of bed in the morning, eating breakfast, then driving two kids to school in blackness, 5 days a week. (that's Sawyer above, on his first morning at his new school).

A bottle of Jacob’s Creek runs around $5 at the supermarket. FIVE DOLLARS!!!!!

There’s a small but memorable scene in the movie “Pulp Fiction” where John Travolta describes to Samuel L Jackson what the Dutch like to dump on their french fries, a national institution. It’s true. When buying ‘frites’ from a street vendor or even in a restaurant, they will smother your lovely potato chips with a softball-size glob of mayonnaise, unless you catch them first and ask them NOT to. Perhaps you would you prefer Tartar Sauce. Or ketchup. How about a curry or garlic sauce? Oh, the humanity….

Be prepared to graduate from mere handshaking to a triple cheek kiss after second or third meeting with, oh, the boss’ wife, your neighbor or gym instructor. And if it’s particularly cold outside, wipe that runny nose before you swing your head back and forth like that.

While on the subject of food, the beer is plentiful and wonderful. And they serve it with a massive, frothy head. My dad or any of my brothers would have a stroke.

This country is pancake flat. Really. So there is a thriving bicycle culture like no other. AND we have to give way to said bicyclists everywhere – roundabouts, crossroads, parking garages, etc. So when it’s pitch black, ahem, good luck. You are at fault, no matter what. I think it is the death penalty if you hit one. It’s like stepping on a nest of Bald Eagle eggs.

Simon works in a town, the borders of which have been contested for centuries. Baarle-Nassau is such an oddity that it is now a curious tourist destination. It’s a Belgian town in the middle of the Netherlands. Houses, pubs, highways lie in two countries. Crossing the ‘border’ while on your cell phone, will incur international roaming charges. And whatever you do, don’t die and land on both sides. It takes days for them to figure out who has jurisdiction over your dead self.

The Dutch are the world’s tallest people. This means you’ll never reach the pedals if you borrow your neighbor’s bicycle. The mirrors in our bathroom only show the top of our heads, and if I stretch I can just touch the peep hole on our front door with my hand. When I go to the bathroom, I need a running start to jump up onto the toilet seat, and then I enjoy dangling my feet like when I was 2.

Our First Coffee Experience

I finally took Scarf to a coffee shop. I was really reluctant, but it was snowing out and my nose was runny (it was pretty cold) – Scarf started to freak when I couldn’t find a tissue. He/she (haven’t ‘sexed’ Scarf yet) knows that when drip turns to dribble, I will stop at nothing to stop the flow. One would think that the giant statue of ‘frittes’ out front would have clued us in for what lay inside, but no, being the coffee addicts that we are, we could only focus on the “Cafataria” sign just above the statue’s shoulders. Like a caffeine radar, we only registered satiation for our habit. Making our way to the back of the premises, we hovered over a tepid coffee (with just ONE of those little creamers), while the fry cook sweated up a storm over those vats of boiling oil, and decided to cut the heat. So, my first coffee in Europe was spent huddled over all of 2oz of it, trying to thaw my feet and hands. This is what I hoped would comfort me, after dropping H&S off for their first day at school – their mum wasn’t going to venture far, since she didn’t have a lifeline attached to the school yet, and because she’s neurotic.

As far as schools go, this one does it well. The usual subjects, 18 students/class, funky British teachers, a kaleidoscope of kids in all shapes, sizes, colors and sounds. Picking them up after our coffeeshop experiment, a girl in H.’s class tugged on my coat and said “Hi, I’m Marin – that’s my English name. My real name is (long guttural sound) and I’m H.’s new best friend.”

The school has but one flaw – lack of parking. Set in a typical, suburban neighborhood, it’s crowded in by narrow roads and row houses. There is no parking – parents are to find one of about 15 parking spaces in and around the school, and take kids into the yard, till the bell sounds. The problem? At exactly 8:30am and at 3:30pm everyday, 300+ cars show up, vying for the coveted front door space. And at -15 celcius, they REALLY want that spot! It’s retarded, and the school has washed their hands of it. Scarf and I park a couple blocks away, and negotiate the unplowed roads and footpaths to school, praying that they release our kids in good time before frostbite immobilizes us. Scarf is put to work at these times of the day – and with gusto, he/she provides me with abundant warmth and coziness for 10 berserk minutes twice a day. And I’m so grateful.

My First Post On My First Blog

I suck at writing. I’ve been known to sit and torture my brain for the right adjective for hours (but I got an A in English Comp). So I’ll blurt instead. You see, I’ve got this terrific scarf, and I decided to take it on a trip to Europe for 5-6 months. It really is an outstanding, one-of-a-kind scarf – with extreme attention to detail and finish, my friends took to it with time-consuming, hand-executed techniques that transformed it to not just another accessory, but a kick-ass, beyond cool, neck-extending, salami-skin-hiding, piece of haute couture, a trend-setting design intended only for the select... one. Me. My scarf, named Scarf, is accompanied by a gaggle of die-hard followers. Together, we plan to rate the coffee, sample the beer, and soak up some 'cou-cha'.