Adaptable

If I had the time and the stamina, I would count all the new things (from foreign-language vocabulary to gadgets to rules and regulations) I’ve had to learn in the past 2 years and 10 months. Talking to someone recently about living overseas, I realized I’ve created three categories to help me handle my life: things I know already, things I don’t know, and things I don’t care to know.

Things I know already are my respite, a sanctuary. When my brain is particularly overloaded, I fall back on an old recipe rather than try something new. When I am a little homesick, I enjoy going to one of the places I’ve lived before – either in person or through pictures. When I’m trying to have an intelligent conversation and watch Rebecca at the same time, I will most certainly use English rather than muddle through in Dutch.

Things I don’t know are all around. Is this the right custom? Do you pronounce this word with the accent on the first or second syllable? Where can I find sweet potatoes? It’s so important to have people around me who can answer such questions or point me in the right direction. Or at the very least, not laugh in my face when I ask them.

And then there are the things that I just don’t care to learn. Like how on earth to get the rear windshield wiper to turn off on our car (the car I drive every two weeks, maybe). The other day, I just ended up moving the little joystick thingy that controls such things up and down and back and forth and every which way until the wiper stopped wiping. Works for me.

Birthday-ed

We celebrated two birthdays this week. Dutch, South African, Gabonese, Armenian, Polish, Russian, and French nationalities were represented. And they all did so well helping to celebrate a 31st and 1st birthday! I love the fact that nobody really knows what's expected.

Thoughtful gifts were given and appreciated, and then a timid admission of "Is it OK? I don't know what to do for a birthday here" was made.

Explanations of "splatter cakes" (for the 1-year old, not the 31-year old) were given.

Awkward moments of 'do I kiss three times on the cheek, shake hands, or hug?' were survived (hopefully with grace).

"Happy Birthday" and "Lang zal je leven" were sung.

Jokes about the size of the disposable plates being "American" were made.

Cream cheese frosting was described as "the topping on the cake."

"The Big One" birthday decorations were instantly recognized as imported from America. I didn't think it was THAT obvious.

Going Dutch

We’ve been having fantastic fall weather – not raining a lot and most days are sunny and cool. After a summer and early fall of rain and rain and rain and rain and not much sun, people are recreating outside in droves. As I’ve been riding around, I’ve been noticing the variety of transportation people use here.

I was waiting to get on the punt the other day, and a bright yellow bullet-bike came up the hill at me. Behind yellow bullet-bike guy were 9 motorcycles, including one with a sidecar and a passenger wearing the old-style motorcycling goggles. It made me giggle. The punt was delayed a bit because there were two sailboats and a barge on the river, and they have the right of way, I guess.






Recently, I was walking and pushing Rebecca in her stroller. As I rounded the corner by our home, there were three hot air balloons above our house. This is ballooning country, but I’ve never seen them so close to our house. It was a lovely sight.





Then there was the lady on her powered wheelchair rolling toward the store one Saturday morning. And the guy behind her on the moped that really isn’t a moped it is so small. I was on my bike, and was trying to draft off the lady, but when I noticed there were at least 5 cars behind us going the speed of powered wheelchair lady, the first chance I got I passed her so the automobile drivers would have one less object (me) to avoid.





Rebecca and I watch for the horse and cart that goes past the house a few times a week. Sometimes I’m able to get outside fast enough to greet it, and the children on the cart like to wave at Rebecca. We also often see horses and their riders on the trails and roads around here.



I love that people go out in whatever vehicle they have. Today while running errands, I encountered a family who was walking around town do their own errands. The eldest daughter had a broken leg and she was out in her wheelchair, tooling around on the sidewalks with her younger sister pushing her.

It goes without saying bicycles are common here. Our breakfast time coincides with the start of the school day, so we watch the many, many children riding their bikes to school each morning. The days must be getting shorter because on Friday, most of the kids had their bicycle’s headlights working. We have a tandem bike here at The Barn, at least 12 other regular bikes in the garage (for various people, not all are ours), and my friend, the recumbent-bike riding man, I often see wheeling down the road toward the river on his recumbent bike. And every once in awhile I see a very practical bike tooling around the neighboring town.





Walking, Strollering, Wheelchairing, Horse and Carting, Bicycling, Mopeding, Motorcycling, Punting, Barging, Sailing, Ballooning, and Driving

And that’s not even including tractors and busses and trains and planes and subways and trams and lorries and other forms that I’m not thinking about right now. Whew!

Re-Online

We dread out customer “service” calls to our telephone/internet company. We can negotiate just fine through the phone trees by now. It’s just that this company has terrible, terrible customer service. And we have to pay for every minute we are on the phone. Nice, huh?

So far, Dan has been on the phone 5 minutes with them and has been transferred three times. “Do you speak English?” he asks every time a new person comes on the line. Yes, of course they do. Then he explains the problem again.

It sounds like there is some progress being made. No more transfers, either. The problem started yesterday, we (and others in the neighborhood) lost our phone and internet. And then they started digging and then it still wasn’t fixed when it was quitting time, so the workman told us that they had to go home (4 p.m. on a Friday!), but they hoped another workcrew would come. Thankfully, another crew did come, and our phone worked again, but our wireless was kaput.

…25 minutes later, the call has ending and our wireless works again. 10 cents a minute x 25 minutes x a terrible exchange rate = too much time and money for a problem that wasn’t our fault.

070707

This is one of the several backed-up postings I’ve been intending to write for some time. The caffeine thing I pledged to do hasn’t worked. I drink it so little these days that when I try, it makes me so jittery I can’t stay still long enough to concentrate.

One very special Saturday this summer, Dan, Dan’s sister, Rebecca, and I decided to visit one of the castles in the area. There are several to choose from, and instead of being an easy decision, we overanalyzed it (Which one gives us a nice drive? Is there a self-guided tour? Will it be OK for Rebecca? Are there other things to do in the area? Is the tour expensive? Is it special enough for this special day? And on and on…) Anyway, we finally picked this one…



It is the Ammersoyen Castle. The castle information sight said that it was open on Saturdays, but when I called to confirm they were open this particular Saturday, there was no answer. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything,” I reasoned, “the Netherlands isn’t known for its fabulous customer service.”

So, we took the nice drive and when we got to the castle, we noticed a good number of cars, so we were relieved. But then we noticed that some of the other “tourists” had on kilts. And the kids were very dressed up. And that lady in the big white silk dress???

Yet, there wasn’t a sign announcing that the castle was closed. And no one stopped us from crossing the moat. Dan and Elaine wanted to proceed no further, but I was determined, “There’s no sign! Certainly this is just a wedding in part of the castle.” Oh, but we’re in The Netherlands. I searched in vain for the ticket desk, until the mother-of-the-bride told us this was a private wedding. I crashed a wedding.

With our heads hung low, we left and instead of touring inside the castle, we walked the grounds outside. And then we went to dinner to celebrate the special day. And then we went home and ate cake and opened presents.

We crashed a wedding, and then we celebrated Dan’s birthday.