A Dutch dairy carnival

Being an ex-pat in the Netherlands, I've heard a lot of stereotypes about the Dutch.  Like all stereotypes, some are completely baseless and others, at least in my experience, are not.  Take dairy.  The Dutch like their dairy more than most.  It may be that not every Dutchman or woman is crazy for the stuff, but it certainly seems more prevalent than I remember it being in China or in Canada.  Conference breaks see glasses laid out with your standard juices, alcohol and buttermilk.  Before my husband was diagnosed as a celiac, clearly wasting away, fragile and in chronic pain, one memorable visit to the doctor had her suggesting that the solution might simply be that he wasn't eating enough dairy.  "Go home and make sure that you drink lots of buttermilk and eat more yogurt." was her advice.

This belief of mine, that the Dutch are enamored with dairy in a way that foreigners can never fully grasp, was even more ingrained a few days ago.  As it was one of the days that my daughter was at the creche, I was busy at the kitchen table my desk, working.  The day was lovely and I had the kitchen door open, the afternoon air was still and heavy - the perfect conditions for being totally immersed in my thoughts.  Slowly, though, music started to penetrate my thoughts.  At first quite quiet, I heard ragtime music, coming from the neighbour.  I found it strange, as our neighbours tend to be strictly top 40, but still, it was pleasant.  Then, the music grew louder and the acoustics shifted.  I realized that it wasn't coming from next door at all.  It was coming from the front of the house.  As it's not unusual for marching bands to go by occasionally for reasons completely unknown to me, I rushed to the front, hoping to watch.  The ringing of the doorbell beat me to it.  Opening the door, I found myself facing a robust and exuberant woman in a large florescent green hat.  She handed me a carton of milk, cheerfully explained that it was in support of local dairy farmers and then she was off.  Across and down the street were several other similarly dressed people, all ringing doorbells. Once the surprise wore off, I found that I couldn't stop laughing, and I was in a great mood for the rest of the day.  I truly believe that this is one experience that could only happen in the Netherlands.