There's No Place Like Home

It is inevitable that spending some time away from home will induce feelings of longing for certain things that may not be available in your current location. While I never really feel homesick in the traditional sense of the word, there are things that, at times, feel frustratingly distant. Is it bad that they are usually food related? Here is a list of the top five things I miss about England. I tried to exclude the food ones, because I looked greedy.

#1 Being able to eavesdrop on strangers' conversations, especially on public transport

We all do it, it's human nature. We cannot help but pass judgement on people for a plethora of reasons ranging from the seeming insignificance of the clothes they wear to the choice of magazine they apathetically leaf through. Of course, being in a different country doesn't hinder the sagacious onlooker, but it does handicap the nosiness involved in eavesdropping on both phone conversations and those happening with both parties present when you aren't fluent in the native language. I was once on a long distance train visiting a friend, dreading the journey, heightened by the lack of preparation I had done in terms of providing myself with any entertainment. It turned out that I had worried for nothing after I was graced with a fellow passenger that decided to include the whole train carriage in a number of personal calls regarding her sexual harassment case against a colleague. After becoming totally engrossed by the story, laden with TMI, I just knew I was in for a good ride. She made call after call and the plot developed each time like a strange game of 'Chinese whispers', becoming more and more elaborate and bizarre until, frankly, it bordered on the plain ridiculous. What started out as a bit of a pat on the arse morphed into something much more illicit as she got caught up in her own fabrications. All the world is certainly a stage; sit back and enjoy.
     
#2 Turning on the TV to relax, not embark on an exhausting Dutch language task

After a long day isn't it just the most magical feeling to slide off your shoes and breath out in front of the box! Unless it's foreign TV. It's like a savoury muffin; full of hopeful expectations until you take that first disappointing bite and remember that its not always sweet. Don't get me wrong it is sometimes great to watch TV in a different language; you pick up some new vocabulary and it's amazing when you find yourself able to follow a little bit of what's going on, but for the most part it just detracts from the main appeal of parking yourself down and entering a vegetative state of unknown return; AKA the proper and intended way of watching TV. This is somewhat redeemable though. Whilst on holiday in Wales with my mum as a child I learnt a game that changed my life for the better. Naturally it rained so hard at regular intervals during the week we stayed there that I thought my freckles might get washed off yet, in true British style, we weren't going to let a bit of rain spoil all the fun. There was one day, however, that was just unimaginably wet, so we decided to stay inside. Due to the horrific weather conditions, the only channel on TV that we managed to get was 'C4'; the Welsh channel which was airing an omnibus of a Welsh soap opera. Obviously not speaking much Welsh, we decided to mute the TV and dub over the voices and I can honestly say that the hilarity that ensued resulted in this being my favourite part of the holiday. Perhaps I can solve #1 with this...

#3 Hilly landscapes

This one's a given. Being born and bred in the Malvern hills has ignited strong associations between the rotund, rolling landscape and home. Whenever I leave for any prolonged amount of time, the shrinking of the hills into the distance plunges me into the reality of leaving whilst their growing emergence on the horizon reassures me that I am on the way home. I miss their looming presence like an omniscient being and the human characteristics that vary from day to day. Saying that, I'm not sure I'd appreciate them quite so much if I had to bike up them every day with an increasingly large boy passenger.

#4 English holidays

No, I don't mean a week in a caravan park in Devon, I'm referring to those little days that we take for granted whilst at home like pancake day and bonfire night. All an excuse for a party I'm sure you'll agree and I was shocked to learn that most of the little things we celebrate are unheard of to other, saner countries. When I explained to my host family about bonfire night and the traditional burning of the guy, they were somewhat horrified and appalled by the level of violence condoned and exposed to children during this day. They couldn't quite appreciate it for what it was... An excuse to make a huge fire and blow things up in the garden and try to write your name in the air with a sparkler before it runs out of fizz, spending the rest of the night with white squiggles burnt onto your retinas. But it is really good fun to see their interpretation of the things I try and explain to them. My host family ended up having their own bonfire night party in which most of the key elements were there, but in a somewhat more civilised manner; we had tea and cake around the fire and talked politics.

#5 Cadbury's chocolate and Robinson's Squash

I tried to avoid letting them slip into the list, but they need to be here. They also don't need any explaining other than the fact that it is utterly inhumane to not stock these two things in all supermarkets, internationally. They are a basic human right.

Erectile Disfunction

You know there's that saying that dog owners look like their dogs? (watch 101 Dalmatians, you'll see exactly what I mean). Well Dutch people have managed to produce their architecture in such a way that holds a striking resemblance to it's inhabitants. During the sixteenth century the Dutch government levied taxes from citizens that were contingent on house width, predictably resulting in very tall and very narrow houses. So this is the first way in which the Dutch look like their architecture. The narrowest is reported to be around 80cm wide, which, interestingly is approximately the average American waistline, further suggesting that houses are built for their specific nationals and not for outsiders. Here I envision a scene from Alice in Wonderland when Alice eats the enlarging cake and bursts out of every orifice of the white rabbit's house. Perhaps the Dutch have to employ dodos to smoke overly engorged American's out of their houses too. Doubling up as a defence mechanism against foreigners. This can also be applied to staircases of Dutch houses which are notoriously steep. Dutch residents' heads are already at the top of the staircase whilst their feet are still at the bottom so it's just a case of their legs catching up which isn't an issue for them. For the vertically challenged among us, however, climbing the stairs is like scaling Vesuvius without any official safety equipment and as a result bruised shins are a regular occurrence.

I imagine that very tall people are subject to a fair amount of buffering on particularly windy days, tilting wildly like lanky blades of grass in a storm, so it's no surprise that their bricky counterparts have begun to lean in all manner of directions too. This is obviously most famous in Amsterdam and whilst strolling through the city streets it became a little difficult to distinguish where buildings ended and people began. I do of course exaggerate, but I couldn't avoid imagining the different reasons for the slouchy stature. The streets were congested with people walking almost horizontally having taken advantage of that certain famous substance. It was almost as if, by some sort of atmospheric osmosis, the buildings had absorbed the second hand haze from the air and consequentially synced up with the people in a mass lounge. I think it was no coincidence that one of the least upright houses | witnessed was integrated with a coffee shop. It is unsurprising that the Dutch are so laid back because I for one found it impossible to be uptight when even the buildings were radiating easy vibes. I'm sure there is plenty to say about the building-person relationship in regards to the red light district too as that is a less than vertical (in some cases) affair, but we'll assume that there might be some reference to structural erection innuendo and move swiftly on.

The traditional attire that we have come to associate with the nation is also, believe it or not, reflected in the architecture. Due to the boggy texture of Dutch ground (definitely a sign from nature that the land is not ideal for human settlement and urbanisation which the Dutch just went right ahead and stuck the V's up at) houses need to be reinforced by big wooden poles which are essentially, if you think about it, just variations of giant clogs. Talking of giant clogs:

The classic bonnet type headdress, or 'Dutch cap' associated with old fashioned Dutch clothing is also incorporated into the design with roofs sharing qualities with the women's heads in classic Vermeer paintings. Once you realise this, you can't unrealise it and I can tell you first hand it's a little unnerving to walk through a residential area in the Netherlands with the distinct feeling of being eye-balled by many rows of the working women of Holland's past.

If only walls could talk, eh?

Hiep, Hiep, Hoera!

One of the most prominent cultural differences that Ive encountered during my stay in the Netherlands is birthday protocol. Birthdays, for me, conjure connotations of singing 'happy birthday' in a darkened room, gathered around a birthday cake with candles and wishes. The Dutch, however, do things a little differently. When I asked about traditional birthday foods I was met with blank looks of confusion. You'll find no sausage rolls, pineapple and cheese on sticks or jelly and ice cream here. The main aspect of this that I find most challenging is the lack of actual, real birthday cake. As a kid there was nothing quite like coming home from a birthday party and digging out the piece of birthday cake at the bottom of the party bag; peeling off the icing and saving it til the end. Heaven. A piece of apple tart, lovely though it is on any other day, just doesn't cut the mustard! 

And I know you Dutchies love a boterham, (that's a sarnie to you Brits) but is a birthday really an appropriate time to be celebrating this mundane lunch food? It's customary to pulverise the life out of countless things and call it a meal in the Netherlands and sandwich fillings are apparently no exception. They'll blend just about anything and slap the sloppy mess between their bread, the worst being Filet Americains (essentially just a chunk of raw meat passed through a blender). To me, this is no way to celebrate turning another year older. The increasing number is enough to remind me of my impending death, I don't need an early glimpse into the winter of my life by sucking my sandwich through a straw. The Dutch love sandwiches so much that they find them an appropriate figure head to place on the front of birthday cards. No, I'm not joking. Here is the proof:

Also, it is generally just expected that you will provide some sort of birthday party for your friends and family on your birthday. You are the host and you wait on your guests (who you basically didn't even invite) until they have reached their fill of sandwiches, tart and a good old game of shitting nails (you'll have to enlist the help of our trusty friend Wikipedia on this one). But I have to wonder how or even if, anyone ever gets thrown a surprise birthday party here. Perhaps on a surprise birthday no one turns up, who knows? I hate the whole big birthday fuss thing so perhaps next year when my mum asks the annual question as to whether I'd like a surprise party (it's not a surprise if you ask me if I want a surprise party) I'll tell her to throw me a Dutch one! 

The other strange thing about birthdays is that people congratulate the other party guests on the birthday of the person whose birthday it is. It has taken me a few times to work this one out and I still just sort of smile and nod when I get lunged at with an outstretched hand. If all else fails, just pretend you know what's going on and that it's not wildly bizarre. Perhaps fill your face with a boterham so it's not immediately obvious that you haven't got a clue how to offer a correct and appropriate response. Oh and if you can help it, try not to buy a 'Get Well Soon card' by mistake for a five year old's birthday. Though I'm pretty sure a cartoon frog with googly eyes on the front is more birthday appropriate than a sandwich, surely?   

Red Peril

To set the scene, Urban Dictionary describes a 'ginger' as 'A human, characterized by pale skin, freckles and bright red hair. "Gingers" are generally considered to be inferior to their more melanin-rich brethren, and thus deservingly discriminated against. Gingers are thought to have no souls. The condition, "gingervitis" is genetic and incurable.' I have had first hand experience with this with one of my best friend's mum's never growing tired of asking me whether I'd like a nice cup of 'Red Bush' snigger, snigger. However, one thing that is really great about being in the Netherlands is that being a little bit ginger is completely acceptable and even desirable, would you believe it? In fact they even have a whole two day festival in September (Roodharigendag) devoted to celebrating the carrot tops! Though I can only imagine that the streets of Breda, where the festival is held, during this time look like an explosion in a Wotsit factory.

I think most of us girls at one time or another have fallen victim to the classic 'home dye gone awry' situation, so my suggestion would be to hop on the next plane to the Netherlands and soak up the praise. I'm not sure why the whole ginger hating phenomenon began in the UK but I would guess that our large inventory of orange foods are only exacerbating the issue. (I don't think orphan Annie did us any favours either). In the Netherlands biscuit trivia is minimal with no distinction between a 'biscuit' and a 'cookie' and I'm pretty sure I haven't seen any ginger nuts knocking about on the supermarket shelves. They really don't take it as seriously as the Brits, I mean, you need the differentiation so as not to find a nasty surprise at the bottom of your teacup, right? So the Dutch are definitely not dunkers, but this can only be good news for the copper community.

The most amazing part of the festival is that some red-headed children in certain areas of the Netherlands get a whole week off from school in order to celebrate. I'm pretty certain that would cull the bullying issues in school corridors and even make for envious 'melanin-rich' children. I know everyone has an 'If I were Prime Minister' speech ready in their dreams, but I think this has to be the first time in history that someone took their's a little too seriously. I mean, come on, people come from around the globe to join in with the festivities and there are even dedicated lecturers that come to speak on a myriad of ginger related topics.

Strangely, considering less than 2% of the Netherlands' population are sporting the ginger tinge, it was a bit of a coincidence to discover that the girl next door is also in this minority and shares my name too! Maybe she would like to accompany me to this years festival. I think it might be classed as ginger etiquette to ask. She'd probably be quite upset if I went without her. Gingers united.

(Also, freckles mean I am a walking dot-to-dot. How is that anything less than amazing?)

Friends Forever

The Eternal Student

All the small things

I want to ride my bicycle

Great Expectations