Monday, November 28, 2011

Pakjesavond: A lesson in the meaning of Christmas

One of the most fascinating things to me so far has been observing the difference between the primary holiday celebration in the US and the primary holiday celebration in NL: Sinterklaas.

I'm going to assume that most readers are familiar with the American Christmas holiday, celebrated on the 25th of December, presided over by Santa Claus and requiring the spending of vast amounts of money on things that are not needed and often little appreciated, in order to be considered a "good Christmas." This in a country where nearly 80% of the population self-identifies as some form of Christian. So I'll just talk about the Dutch celebration, making note that only half of the Dutch population self-identifies as Christian.

Sinterklaas arrives in NL by steamboat (Sinterklaas lives in Spain), the third week of November. Sinterklaas, while having like Santa Claus a semi-superhuman current physical embodiment for the entertainment of small children, is an actual historical figure, Saint Nicholas--a Catholic bishop who died in the middle of the fourth century. The Saint was the Mother Teresa figure of his time, having spent enormous amounts of time and energy helping the poor, primarily in Turkey. De Goedheiligman "the good holy man," as he's sometimes called in Dutch, dresses in red bishop's robes and a pointed bishop's hat.

After a couple of weeks of visiting children and making various appearances, Sinterklaas's festivities culminate on the 5 December (the eve of the death day of Saint Nicholas). These celebrations have of course changed over time. And while a core difference between Christmas and Sinterklaas (the Dutch celebrate both) is that Sinterklaas's holiday makes no claim of connection to the birth of Christ, the current iteration of this holiday honors with true meaning the rest of what Christmas ought to be. I'll leave the discussion of whether Christmas really honors the birth of Christ to another forum for debate. It's not the point of this blog.

What did inspire this blog is an article in the local paper today, Sigaretten van papier mache, "Paper mache cigarettes." I'll translate part of it for you:

"The [tradition of the] surprise gift became popular in 1945. Even children who no longer believed in the Good Holy Man kept honoring Sinterklaas in the 50s and 60s. They no longer just got presents, but they began now to give them to their parents, brothers and sisters. Pakjesavond (Presents Evening) became something for the whole family. And due to the changed relationships within the family, the way Sinterklaas evening was celebrated also changed.

"For example, before pakjesavond names began to be exchanged. It wasn't about how expensive the gifts were, but about how much thought went into them. Mother would rather get from her son a self-knitted sock with holes in it than silk hose. The emotional worth became of primary importance.

"Likewise, the Father changed from the Boss of the family to someone with whom you can make little jokes. So it became possible to tease him a little: for example giving him a huge paper-mache cigarette if he can't stop smoking. His inability to stop smoking would be highlighted in an accompanying poem. And if his beloved daughter had a few too many admirers, then father might craft in his workshop a handful of broken hearts for her.

"This new openness and egalitarianism between parents and their children is the cause for the Sinterklaas surprise gift tradition becoming so popular."

I don't know whether the changes within the Dutch family caused or resulted from traditions such as these, but this whole mindset, and the warm atmosphere of a close family engaging in such a ritual, with the time and effort each has put into preparing for the evening, must be acknowledged as a far more profound way to honor the true spirit of Christmas than maxing out a credit card.

Going Dutch

Those of you who know me well know that I have random conversations. Regularly.

And so it was that eating frikandel, having my very special person tell me that it's pig's brains (it is not) led to a discussion of my beloved sister's almost-wedding (the brains vs ham argument between a 7th Day Adventist family and a Baptist family led to the couple eloping), followed by comparison of Dutch and American weddings.

Dutch weddings are simple affairs, rarely proceeded by formal engagements and generally entered into once the decision has been made by a couple to have children together or for other civil reasons. We talked about how on the one hand American weddings are often monstrous, costly affairs but how some communities have customs to offset this such as a money dance that can recoup the wedding costs entirely, making the grand wedding a community affair and not a burden to either parents or newlyweds.

This led my very special person to mention that when you are invited in Holland to an American Party, it means that you are expected to bring your own refreshments of choice. It's a BYOB potluck. When I replied that in the US, Going Dutch means that everyone pays their own way, we both had a good laugh.

Tomorrow's blog (barring some startling event that bumps the topic): Pakjesavond. A lesson in the meaning of Christmas.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Orange Tape

There is a little more to becoming Dutch than bikes and hotdogs. Puh.

As with any fine, upstanding nation in the world today, there's red tape. Only in Holland, Orange is the new Red.

So it goes something like this:
* From Expatica.com: "Anyone who intends to stay in the Netherlands for more than three months... must register at the GBA within five days of arrival." GBA = Gemeentelike basisadministratie... something like the state-level State Department; they keep track of where people are in order to make sure that each city/state has sufficient resources to provide for its residents.
* From the site rijksoverheid.nl... The GBA retains the following information on residents: "Name, birthplace.... burgerservicenummer (BSN)." The BSN functions the same way the social security number operates in the US. As far as the government is concerned, the number is who you are. Oh wait, I don't have one of those.
* From the site overheid.nl:  "Iedereen krijgt bie de eerste inschriving in het GBA een burgerservicenummer (BSN)." [Everyone gets with their first registration with GBA a BSN.] Great. So what do I need to take to the GBA?
* From the same site: In order to register with GBA, you must show the following: [as applies to me] " U bent vreemdeling en verblijft rechtmatig in Nederland." [You're a foreigner residing legally in Netherlands.]

There's more but that right there is where it starts getting wonky. What it all boils down to is this:
* You must register with the GBA within 5 days.
* In order to register with the GBA, you must show that you're here legally.
* In order to be here legally, you must have a residency permit.
* In order to get a residency permit, you must show [in my case] that your business is registered with the Chamber of Commerce and that you have health insurance.
* In order to register with the Chamber of Commerce, you must provide a BSN.
* In order to get health insurance, you must provide a BSN.
* In order to get a BSN, you must register with the GBA.

And round and round and round it went in my head until my brains almost melted. My very special person and a 900 number to the rescue.

This bit actually made me laugh a lot. The Dutch government, rather than providing 800 numbers, uses 900 numbers. Who knew there were 900 numbers that aren't sex lines??? They typically charge 0.10 a minute. (The government lines, not the sex lines.) Apparently it both offsets the cost of providing the service and cuts down on people phoning up the government to complain about random things.

Long story short, 2 euros worth of government chat time between my very special person and people I can only assume were talking about immigration and not sex yielded an appointment with the Immigratie en Naturalisatie Dienst (IND), on 7 December. The lovely IND person was reportedly not at all concerned with the apparent circular logic of the system, waving it off with a dismissive, "We'll give you a form to take to GBA."

Fingers and toes and everything else you can cross without doing permanent damage to yourself will be appreciated. Thank you!

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Hotdog!

My Dear Former Fellow Americans--

Forget McDonald's. Yes, I said it. In addition to the stroopwafels that I have teased so many of you with before, the Dutch have discovered the perfect food: HEMA Hotdogs.



I guess I need to sidetrack to talk about HEMA first. I think the authorative post on HEMA is here. Kind of like Target. They're all over. It's not a "big box" store, though. A Target-like economy of [that] scale does not exist when the entire country boasts a population of fewer than 17 million. It does end up playing a similar role in some cases, as shopping is, for the most part, very localized in NL, and HEMA competes with smaller local shops.

Back to the hotdog. Begin with the dog. A Dutch specialty is smoked sausage, or rookworst. There are several kinds of rookworst. Ambachtelijke rookworst is recognizable by the strings on the end. This is smoked sausage that is actually smoked. Most rookworst now sold just has smoke flavor added. Gelderse sausage originated in Gelderland (a region) where the pigs were raised on rye, buttermilk, potatoes, and acorns. This gave Gelderse pork exceptionally good flavor and led to the fame of Gelderse smoked sausage. (Smoked sausage was the most efficient way to store meat for later use.) Today it's a spice recipe and a particular thickness of sausage that's typical to Gelderse rookworst. Kleintje rookworst is a half-size version. Rookworst are available in lower-fat versions as well, magere, but this isn't generally a concern. Magnetron rookworst comes in a skin that won't explode in the microwave.

All of those kinds of rookworst are typically eaten alongside stamppot. Potatoes are as much a part of Dutch cuisine as they are in Irish. A very typical Dutch meal includes 4-6oz of meat (lots of pork, some chicken and some beef), boiled potatoes, pan gravy, and a vegetable. Smashing the potatoes on the plate with the vegetables and sometimes the meat mixed in with some pan gravy poured over the whole thing is normal. [One custom I'm not so much all about adopting, thank you.] Stamppot is when the potatoes are served already mashed with a vegetable. Boerenkool stamppot is with chopped kale. Boerenkool stamppot normally appears in November along with rookworst, which was traditionally made in November. The rookworst is boiled in the same pot with the stamppot, then removed and served alongside.

And then there's the HEMA hotdog. This contains a spice mix and flavor very similar to the region's beloved Gelderse rookworst, but it's long and thin and straight. As such, it slides nicely onto a rotisserie, where it is roasted to yummy perfection. It also slides perfectly into HEMA's own version of a hotdog bun. That is, take a baguette, slice it in half, and hollow out the middle--forming a tube that's closed at one end. Then slowly heat the resulting bun in an oven until it's toasty and crusty and hot. To marry these two, squirt saus into the middle of the tube before inserting the hotdog. Saus in this case in a mayo-mustard mix.

Voila. HEMA hotdog. €2. To die for.

Monday, November 21, 2011

My Bike

If Dutch, then bike. That's a given.

A common sight in this town of around 65k people is mothers guiding their small children to school on bikes. The Dutch are all but born on bikes, at least in this area. Infant seats with wind screens are mounted in front of the handle bars. Child seats for toddlers get mounted on the cargo space behind the rider's seat. When children are very small and riding their first bike, it's common to see a parent riding along beside, leaning over with one hand steadying the child during critical moments like high-traffic areas and street crossings. The child being steadied (on a bike without training wheels) might be 4 years old.

Never mind that I ride bikes about as well as the average mid-40s American--riding while leaning over sideways and offering support to someone else is NOT an option--I still need a bike. Within this town, there are bike and footpaths to get everywhere, and people use them. There are dedicated bike paths throughout Drenthe, the equivalent of what Californians call a county. There's no local bus service, but people do use the regional bus to get around town sometimes. More likely though, they ride their bikes. I found an unsourced statement that the 65k residents of this town make 70k bike trips every day. I wouldn't be surprised to find that accurate. Most children ride back and forth to school. Parents ride along with younger children. The local train station has parking for over 2300 bikes. (The most recent improvements at the train station removed 15 parking spaces for cars to help create space for an additional 800 bikes, which brought the total up to 2300.)

I'd purchased half a bike when I was here on an extended visit previously. Someone else needed a bike, so we split the cost and I had it to use while I was here. The dealer was very helpful, so I looked up the same shop online, got a rough idea of how to get there on foot, and headed out. The bike shop lies along the most direct foot/bike path from where I'm staying to the centrum (downtown), so off I trekked. Had a look at the bikes parked in front (the second-hand bikes) and the bikes parked inside (the new bikes) and then spoke to the dealer.

I had budgeted around 300 for a bike. Did I prefer 3 speeds or 7? 14? What kind of brakes? NL is flat (wonderfully, wonderfully, bike-friendly-ly flat) and I'm not racing, so it doesn't matter to me. Considered a couple of used bikes and then settled on a big, heavy-framed Sparta 8-speed with electric lighting. How much do I love electric lighting? The law requires that bikes use front and rear lights at night. A challenge I had on one trip, using a rented bike, was riding on a windy Autumn night into the wind. Typical Dutch bikes use a bottle dynamo that makes contact with the sidewall of the tire and draws power from the spin of the wheel. Those are cheap and fairly reliable (they can slip when the tire is wet). They also drag like a set of brakes on the front wheel. I was quite prepared to buy a battery-powered headlight to avoid this. Newer bikes, like my Sparta, use hub-generators. Brushless generators are built into each wheel hub and provide ample power for front and rear lighting (rear lights are otherwise battery-powered) with no discernible drag for the rider.

I <3 electric lighting. Having agreed on a price for the bike, only a few euros over my budgeted €300, the dealer noted that the back of the saddle was torn and replaced the seat for me. No charge. While he worked on that I browsed saddlebags and he mounted a set of twin semi-rigid bags for me. No charge. (These are really handy for "gewoon boodschappen" - normal errands like grocery shopping.)

Time to pay for my bike. The Dutch use a relatively small amount of cash currency and credit only rarely. Most banks issue "chip & pin" cards. The chip retains a pre-paid balance on the card, while the rest of your bank balance can be accessed with the pin as a debit card. These cards are the most common way to do business in NL. The grocery store a block from home accepts currency at only half of the checkout lines; the other half are only for pin cards. No problem. I stopped at Travelex at the airport on my way out of San Francisco and picked up a little cash and a chip & pin card. The pin accesses the prepaid balance, unlike a bank-linked card, but it should otherwise work as normal.

Card not accepted. :-/

After a couple of tries, I offered to walk to the ATM and come right back. The owner insisted on driving me to the ATM in his car. It was only a few blocks, but he insisted. Fortunately, there was no problem drawing money off of the card at the ATM. On our way back to the shop, we passed a group of bikes and the owner was beaming to see his sticker on the back of several of the bikes we passed. He pointed them out and mentioned that it felt really good because around a third of the bikes we passed had his sticker and there are 12 bike shops in the town. No wonder he wanted to make sure I came back!

Home I rode on my brand-new bike thoroughly enjoying once again the blessed flatness of NL and kicking myself for not bringing along a pair of mittens. Air that is cool when you are walking is cold when you are riding in a sassy 5th gear through it.

My bike.
Score!

Sunday, November 20, 2011

Moving Day

Moving Day started weeks before the actual Moving Day. In another sense, years before, when I met someone very special. But that's another story.

This one is about the adventure of one California girl becoming Dutch.

Between the US and Netherlands there exists the Dutch-American Friendship Treaty. In essence, it says Americans can come to NL for the purpose of starting a business, with relatively low investment levels required. You need to be non-criminal and net 81% from your business operations and make enough to support yourself. And that's about it. It's an easier bar to reach than if you're coming from another EU country to start a business actually, as Dutch business permits for foreigners other than Americans require that the business serve the country's economic interests and meet a point system of qualification. None of that for Americans. (The Dutch can likewise go to the US to start businesses under similar standards.)

So here I am starting a new business. :)

Arriving in Holland, my biggest concern was that I'd be in Customs and Immigration for a week or so, given that I had three large suitcases and once they asked the standard, "Purpose of your trip? How long are you staying?" questions and I wasn't going to give the standard, "Pleasure. 2 weeks" answers.

Having last slept for more than a couple hours at a stretch on Sunday night, I reached the Immigration checkpoint at close to 11am on Wednesday. (Granted, you have to take away 9 hours that are time difference, but still.) Handed my passport to the guy at Immigration, slightly surprised that it wasn't the same guy I usually see. (Swear I've had the same guy at the Immigration counter on three separate visits.) He opened it, stamped it, and handed it back.

Well, there's something new and different. No questions at all!

On to Baggage Claim to get my hoooooge bags. Done. They were the first ones off the plane. Yayy. Off to Customs. I head for the door that's labeled "Nothing to Declare," because amazingly, in three large bags, I had nothing to declare. Ahhh here we go. A Customs official approaches me, with another right behind her. "Why do you have so much luggage?"

Ugggh this is going to suck. Oh well. Smile and breathe and I say, "Because I'm moving here."

At this point, of course, her job is to ask for my completed forms in quadruplicate that I don't have and the purple holographic 3D stamp that I needed to get from Immigration and didn't and the.... "Oh OK. Go ahead, then."

And she stepped back.

I really didn't even know where to begin to process that interaction, so I just nodded and walked out into the Arrivals Hall. My very special person was waiting for me there and when I told him what had just happened, he laughed. "Yes of course. They're laughing right now. You see, it's all been a plot. Holland is really a terrible, oppressive place to live. The whole country's celebrating because we just tricked another American into coming here."

:-/ I got him back. I made fun of the Asser Bos (Assen's Woods) on the way back to his house, pointing at a stand of about 6 trees and asking, "Oh, is that the Asser Bos?" [He informed me that Asser Bos is holy and not to be made fun of, and then we laughed ourselves silly.]

More soon. Tot ziens!