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.

A different perspective

Life abroad is a strange confluence of states of being. It is at once exotic, confusing, challenging, and mundane. The longer one is away, the more the balance tilts towards the mundane. This is at once good and bad. Trepidation is replaced by confidence, you've navigated most of the red tape and come out the other side stronger for it, the customs and culture are more familiar and so you're less likely to offend, or be offended, you know where to buy your favorite toothpaste, you've made a few friends. Life becomes easier. It's unfortunate, though, that the trade off is that daily life looses a bit of sparkle. Slowly, slowly, bit by bit, so subtly that you barely notice it, the newness of it all wears off and just becomes...life. The houses on your street are no longer quaint, they're just the place where you live (and why can't the city do something about that missing cobblestone, already?), a trip to the grocery store is no longer an adventure, instead it's simply a quick errand to pick up some milk. You try very hard to remember to appreciate what you have, but sometimes, when you're running late, you're trying to herd a cranky toddler, and you realize that you have cereal in your hair and the girl at the check-out is seemingly deliberately misunderstanding you, it's tough to do.

You never fully forget, though. Every once in a while, when you least expect it, the fates hand you a gift and say 'Here! Take a look at this!' and you remember that yes, you have a gift in this incredible foreign life. Such was it yesterday.

The Dutch have a word for their obsession for skating - schaatskoorts, or skating fever. Every year, as the temperature drops, the word is on everyone's lips as they collectively wait anxiously for the ice to thicken. This year was no exception, and was perhaps even more so as it had been unseasonably warm all year and hope was almost lost. When the thermometer finally fell, fast and hard, the conditions were perfect for ice formation.

Saturday afternoon, we were able to get out and enjoy it. Although the entire city seemed to have sold out of skates, we were still able to get down onto the canals and walk around the city, admiring the beautiful bridges, the old buildings and the houseboats. Along with the rest of the city, we slowly made our way around the star-shaped canals that ring Zwolle's centre, enjoying the festive atmosphere as we stopped to chat with neighbours and for a warm Chocomel from one of the impromptu cafes that had popped up on the ice. It was magical. As we walked, I had a feeling that I haven't experienced in quite a while, a feeling that seems to have swelled from my heart, a feeling that said 'Wow!!!! I can't believe how lucky I am to live here!'

Choices, Choices

After months of weighing our options, we've settled on a destination. Really, when it comes down to it, there's not all that much of a choice. With Jason working 2 1/2 hours away from Amsterdam, commuting was out of the question. We toyed, off and on, with the idea of moving to Dwingeloo, a village of under 3000, half an hour away from the nearest train station but within biking distance of Jason's work. If there's one thing I'm certain of though is that I'm not a country-livin' girl, so however picturesque Dwingeloo might be, it had to be veto-d.

This left two towns of any stature left within reasonable traveling distance, Groningen to the North, and Zwolle to the South. Of the two, Groningen is certainly more appealing. With a major university, the city is the only major center in the North of the country, making it one of the more youthful, active cities in the country. Zwolle, by contrast, is an unremarkable, smaller city an hour and a half North of Amsterdam.

Our first instinct was immediately Groningen. However, thinking a bit more critically, it became less clear that this was the obvious choice. While certainly a happening city, it's by no means got all that the South has to offer. Two and a half hours away from the international airport can make a huge difference when you've already spent 15+ hours on a plane, and this goes for both us as well as any visitors we hope to tempt into visiting us. The issue of visitors applies too to simply visiting the Netherlands. While I'd like to think that family and friends making the trip over here are here simply for us, the majority of the major tourist destinations are in the South, which would require them to stay in a hotel away from us, commute five hours a day, or simply forgo the pleasures that Delft, Gouda, Amsterdam et al have to offer.

Furthermore, even family relations within the Netherlands would likely suffer. Jason has a large and close-knit extended family here and like most Amsterdammers, anything half an hour or more away is simply unimaginably far. Which is fair, in the case anyway, as I certainly wouldn't be too pleased to be making a five hour round-trip for a three hour dinner.

And then, there's the question of work. While I have a contract in Amsterdam that will go until the 1st of January, I'm crossing my fingers that it'll be renewed. Even if it isn't though, I've started to create a small but growing network of contacts down here that would be less effective in the North. All in all, while Groningen sounds like a great place to live, it doesn't seem to fit our particular needs.

And so, by process of elimination, we've arrived at Zwolle.