For the last week, we've been splurging a little. I go shopping almost every day to make sure that I haven't forgotten anything that I "need" to take home. I have new slippers, a couple of new sweaters, and a new pair of (gasp) skinny jeans. We've gotten a few souvenirs from every city we've been to and a small gift from each of the relatives. I'm beginning to wonder how all of our stuff is going to make it home with us. Seth says we can ship it, but that seems like cheating somehow.
We've also been splurging in the dietary department. Every time either Seth or I go to the grocery store, it seems like we come home with yet another Dutch desert that we have to try. We haven't found much in the way of uniquely Dutch food, at least not things that we don't find back home. If anything, it seems that the Dutch love to eat out, as in food from somewhere else. We find it's the little touches that make the simple food "Dutch," the most common touch being the incorporation of something from somewhere else. Ham and cheese on foccia bread. Goat cheese with honey and pine nuts sandwich. Tomato soup with sausage, vegetables and noodles. Hamburgers without the bun. But the deserts, the pastries in particular, are very Dutch. At least I think they are. They're like the treats on Beppe's coffee table but moreso.
We're not sure what makes the deserts different, but they are somehow. We stopped at a gas station and got some doughnuts, just some basic sugar-sprinkled doughnuts, Sunday morning (while we were getting lost), and we were shocked at how good they were. "That was a really good doughnut," Seth said. "Not just gas station good, but a really good doughnut." And the ice cream (ijs) is almost universally soft serve, even the flavored stuff that comes from the store. It's less work to eat and more work to resist. I had vowed to try every kind in the freezer section, but I didn't have enough time. We've been collecting fudge cakes, baked apple rum balls, stroop waffles, peppernuts, and spongey little chocolate dipped cakes called mergpijpjes, which I'm starting to think means "dog biscuits". Our snack shelf is pretty full, and I have to go to the grocery store and brave temptation again today. All we really need is bread and cereal, but I'm pretty sure I'll come home with something sugary, unhealthy, and probably waffley. A lot of Dutch sweets seem to come in the form of waffles.
Going to the grocery store is one of the reasons that I wish I had learned a little more Dutch. The people who told me that "everyone speaks English over there" were right. Nearly everyone does. But that doesn't help when I'm trying to read the back of the baking mix or a yogurt bottle or a juice syrup (because concentrate comes in syrups out here). It doesn't help me understand sales, contests, advertisements, or no shoplifting signs (not that the last has been a problem). And in the meat department, where everything kind of looks alike and the only ones I can be sure of are chicken and sausage, and they don't actually write koe (cow) or varken (pig) on the package because it's not a cow, it's a roast, well, it all becomes one to me, and I end up just grabbing whatever looks interesting. Call it instinctive cooking.
The same principle applies to street signs, advertisements, billboards, and the like. I didn't realize until I came here how much of our general communication is done in writing. Nothing makes me feel more like a tourist than walking down the street and being completely at a loss as to what I'm reading on random posters thrown up on an empty building or the sign in the shop window. I get the gist of it simply because certain things always present themselves in certain ways. For instance, I know that korting means sale because it's always followed by a number and a percentage sign. But the nuances that make people want to buy or reveal the social attitude toward the subject are missing. There's one street sign that's been confuddling Seth and I since I got here. It says "100% BOB, 0% op," and it has a big gold medal as the O. We don't get it.
Some of the bigger advertisements are in English, but all the signs in the stores are Dutch, and all the conversations are in Dutch or in some other language (Moroccan is a distinct possibility.), so heading to a shopping center is a good way to get a feel for being in a foreign country. All around me, I see life going on in all its familiar phases. People doing everyday things in their everyday way crowd around me. I can see the activity. I can understand the activity. I probably share a lot of the activity. But I can't understand what they're saying about it. It's an odd feeling to stand in the middle of a public place and realize that I can't eavesdrop even if I want to. It does make me feel alone.
But it is impossible to stay on the outside when one has family in the area. The biggest highlight of our trip has been meeting Beppe's many brothers and sisters, seeing their homes, hearing their stories, meeting their families, and building a few connections with these wonderful friendly people. They say that once the Dutch welcome you into their homes, you are welcome there for life, and I believe it. Much thanks to Teimin and Tinneka for entertaining Boogaloo and I while Seth was at work, to Kees and Rie for opening their home and showing us around Friesland, and to Gerben and Sietske and Arjan and Geerte for Sunday food and fellowship. Thanks to all for lots of family history, advice for the tourist in us, and lots more sweet things. You made the old homeland feel like home for a little while. We are grateful. We hope to see you all again, and if you're ever west of the Rocky Mountains, look us up. We'd be glad to return the favor.
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