One of the great pleasures of traveling is uncovering the small conversational differences that make cultures unique. Even if everyone speaks your language, you’re sure to run into a few indecipherable words or phrases that can cause some really fun confusion. In Norway, people make a sound that I can only describe as a very short, sharp intake of air combined with a whispered “ya.” It’s used a little like “yes”—one cab driver used it when we asked him if he knew of our hotel. Unfortunately, to the American ear, it is VERY similar to the sharp-intake-of-air-sound that you make when you are suddenly frightened or startled.  When you aren’t expecting it, and someone uses it to answer a very innocuous question, well…you can imagine the rest. In Holland, they say “yeah?” to mean “OK,” but they say it in the same tone of voice that someone in America might to news that is incredibly unexpected, pleasant, and exciting. It was nice to think that we were going around delighting everyone, but alas, it was not the case.

Amsterdam continues to be fun, and we are learning the fine art of dodging bicycles. Bicycles basically rule the roost here in Holland. You start young , you finish old, and in between, nothing bad that happens in traffic is your fault. When a couple gets along well, the saying in Dutch is that they “bike well together.” We got to experience bike culture firsthand on Friday when we went to visit my friend Ange, who lives in Geldrop. (To pronounce the name of this town, simply say it just as it is written, but instead of pronouncing the hard “G,” hock up a loogey). Ange and I have known each other from our first days in college, and she is now married to a very nice Dutch man named Jacques. Ange met us at the train station in Eindhoven, and we then rented bikes for the half-hour journey to Geldrop. Now, I haven’t been on a bike in about six years, and as luck would have it, there were no women’s bikes left. This wouldn’t have been a problem, had not my bike been a small but significant bit too big for me. Despite all these omens, it wasn’t too bad—in fact, it was a lot of fun. The land in the Netherlands is, of course, very flat, so the riding itself was very little effort. I had one near accident with another cyclist, but being sworn at in a language you don’t understand is almost like not being sworn at at all.

Ange and Jacques were marvelous hosts. They a) prepared a wonderful dinner of Dutch mussels (which kick all other mussels I’ve ever had in the ass, b) laid out an amazing breakfast spread, including homemade croissants, c) took us on a bike tour through the heather and along the canal (we got to see an actual working windmill), d) bought us lunch, and e) loaned us some Dutch duds for a photo shoot (see pictures).  It was great of them to put us up with such graciousness, and we really enjoyed talking to people who were not ourselves. Not that we aren’t getting along famously—we are, amazingly, when you consider it’s been almost three weeks of 24/7 contact—but it was nice all the same.

We’ve visited both the Anne Frank House (only three blocks from our apartment), and the Van Gogh museum. Both have undergone tremendous changes since the last time I was here. The building in which Anne Frank and her family hid is now encased in a glass and steel structure. Much in the way of historical context has been added—including video clips of interviews with the people who helped hide the family.  There’s also a museum café, which I think is kind of sick. I mean, Anne recounts in her diary the anxiety everyone felt about food resources and the many meals they had of old kale and partially rotten potatoes. I had no desire to chow down on a nice turkey foccacia and cappuccino in the same house. But that (and the huge lines) are the only negative things about the new developments.

One of the things on my must-do list for Amsterdam was going out for Indonesian food. The Dutch colonized Indonesia, so there are a lot of restaurants and the quality is pretty good. I’d never had it before, so we thought we should pull out all the stops and order rijsttafel. Rijsttafel means “rice table,” and it consists of white rice and tons of accompanying dishes. Even though it’s really a colonial invention and not an Indonesian tradition at all, ordering it is considered a classic Amsterdam experience, so who were we to argue? Well, nothing we had heard prepared us for the sheer volume of the food brought to us.  We counted 20 small plates on the candle-powered hot plate (which our waiter neglected to  light, but that turned out to be a blessing –it was about 90 degrees in the restaurant). We made a valiant effort, but even the tiniest taste of each dish added up. We were defeated even before we started.--I didn’t make it through half, even though most were delicious (Indonesian is a bit like a cross between Indian and Thai).  Two French couples were seated at the table next to us. “Was that supposed to be for two people?” one of them asked, horrified.  I could only bury my face in my napkin and nod.  I’m not sure what they ended up ordering, but I did wish them a very heartfelt “Bon chance” as we left, just in case.

Big Up, Baby: Today is my nephew Jordan's eighth birthday!! Happy birthday to him and to my brother Jeremy (August 4), who is somewhat older than eight. Many happy returns of the day, guys!

--Lisa

Back to the top