I AMsterdam (part one)
Dave says:
I’m literary impotent. Please reread the first sentence in case you interpreted the second word to be literally. I should be scrawling a dozen notes concerning the daily deltas of living in Amsterdam but all I have managed in the last three weeks are these last three sentences. It cannot be something in the water that causes my dereliction of duty – it is the best in the world. This I know from my latest faux-pas. Whilst checking into our new apartment, the conniptions caused by my mere suggestion that a water filter be made available were quite hostile. Two real estate agents, the landlord and the previous tenant all took offense to my question in a choral unison of “Nee, Nee” (pronounced “nay” like a horse). An equine harmony of incredulity and offense as a response to my implication that Amsterdam tap water is not the finest in the entire world. Our 1705 apartment overlooks a canal so my mind forces me to glance first at the tap, then to the canal and then worry as to the degree of technological advancement of early 18th century plumbing. The same process happens in reverse whenever I walk into the bathroom.
See, one paragraph in and all I’ve been able to talk about is tap water. My malady? Oh yes, the pressure of maintaining a blog when nothing of great excitement is occurring. Usually I would refrain from posting because I am, as I have repeatedly prattled about, a great believer in self moderation concerning contributions to the public internet. There is an inordinate amount of mis-focused photos and mis-directed opinions in the cybersphere that do nothing but clog my google with irrelevance. I wish not to be one of the cloggers but, I have an audience, they demand to be entertained and so the show must go on.
This is paragraph three. Paragraph one was about tap water, paragraph two was about, well, nothing at all, and here I am at the top of third, the bases are loaded and I’ve no idea what to write about next. I’m going to make coffee. Please be kind enough to await my return……… I’m back. I thank you for your patience. So, yes, let me tell you about personal space here in Holland. We traveling types reserve the great proclamations of cultural clashes for the exotic destinations of the world. Nothing raises a chuckle of self-righteousness as a story about the crazy Indians or the insane Vietnamese (see most of the previous posts in this blog). But here, in the westernized, developed country of Holland, personal space is a concept as strange to the Dutch as keeping dogs for pets rather than for food is to the Vietnamese. Perhaps it is a conservative concept of selfishness ripe to be revolutionized by that famous Dutch liberalism. In Amsterdam, if a building lays empty for more than a few months, it may legally be squatted. This concept is freely practiced, albeit on a small scale, with my personal space. I, and this sounds ruder than it is, have been squatted too. We have been reached over, reached round, reached though, barged back, pushed forward, sit next to, sat on, stood over and slid under in the course of everyday life here.
Now, those crazy Indians are no strangers to the shoulder check either but it’s always in pursuit of something important like a train ticket or seat on a five hour bus journey. The Dutch are very polite in those circumstances, it’s helping themselves to the salt and pepper shakers from your table where the greatest infractions are dealt. No asking, no gesturing, no excuses, apologies or humble offerings of self-deprecation, just a dirty great big arm, between you and the fork that holds your next morsel of food en-route to your expectant mouth. It feels like the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. First the pepper mill, next my soul. Being rational people we know that we should be waging war on our own cultural upbringing and not the poor guy who just wants to add some seasoning to his otherwise blandly deep fried Dutch fare but, we can’t help balking at the violation of our personal constitution. Sarah’s conditioning suffers greater than mine but this is probably because America is so big it affords plenty of room for all the people and all their condiment containers to exist in simultaneous spacious harmony. The UK is smaller but I believe Holland is the most densely populated European country and so, just like the Indians, this may be a matter of pure survival too.
The last couple of paragraphs weren’t too bad. Must be the coffee. Moving on. In matters concerning work: An interesting social experiment has been occurring in my life these past weeks. My stress levels have been blatantly rising despite my previous post which, incidentally, brought a few detractors from out the woodwork. It appears my adoring public don’t want to scratch the underbelly of the beast and would like to continue their faith in my corporate divinity. So be it and let it please them to know I have recently and continuously found myself waking early and thinking about the day ahead in terms of spreadsheets, reports and memorandums. This is in stark contrast to a few short months ago when my mornings were centered on nothing more but the location of the nearest banana pancake. Conversely, the tail end of the day leaves me mentally exhausted but with plenty of physical energy and a nagging feeling I should have climbed the hill instead of taking the vernicular. Words are not flowing as they should, my lexicon is shriveling back to acronyms and nouns stolen from a more organic origins and now shoe-horned into a technical products – spring and hibernate mean something different to me now than they did earlier in the year. But I shall not moan, just observe and promise myself to redress this balance once we return to Seattle.
Oh dear, this is all turning a little morbid and self-absorbed. Time for a another Dutch-ism. You don’t become one of the world’s greatest trading nations by splashing your cash. Centuries of becoming rich by being the globe’s middlemen (tea, spices, beer, slaves) have left the Netherlanders with a sense of obsessive frugality. The matter in question is that of the rent on our new apartment. When asked where we live, the reaction is always first of wonderment (our street is very desirable) nipped at its heels by the disbelief of spending so much money on rent. This reaction is not based on the actual Euro amount, it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but just the fact we must be paying for something intangible like location or charm. Sooner or later, they will tentatively ask how much we are paying which encourages us to justify our answer - proof this thriftiness must be mildly addictive. We live on a picture postcard canal in the middle of a major European city yet our hosts have the hardest time understanding the whys of our wherefores. Our rent is comparable to that of downtown Seattle, less than central London, yet remains more than any average local would spend. I feel they would rather live an hour outside of Amsterdam in, quite frankly, the deep fried blandness of provincial Holland, to save some money. It’s not they can’t afford it, it’s just they don’t want to pay for it and can’t, for the life of them, understand why anyone would. The Dutch frugality is everywhere, dormant until highlighted by the excessiveness of us, the Americans.
My maladies seem to be cured. I have more to say but worry that your life is too short to read it at present. You have your own busy lives to lead and I should not want to clog your google with more ramblings today. Tomorrow is a whole new day so sleep well my friends and remember the Dutch may be a little odd but you, the Americans, are as mad as balloons.
October 23rd, 2007 at 11:27 pm
…remember the Dutch may be a little odd but you, the Americans, are as mad as balloons.
I resemble that remark.
October 25th, 2007 at 1:38 am
“It appears my adoring public don’t want to scratch the underbelly of the beast and would like to continue their faith in my corporate divinity. So be it and let it please them to know I have recently and continuously found myself waking early and thinking about the day ahead in terms of spreadsheets, reports and memorandums.”
Yes, your adoring mother-in-law is pleased.