Roughly two-thirds of the RA population is Dutch, me included. I would like to address this first blog to the (prospective) students that aren't. Hopefully it will provide you with a bit of insight into Dutch culture.
Let's start with the basics. Windmills. Clogs. Cheese. Tulips, even though by now everyone and their great-grandmother is aware of the fact that tulips were once imported from Turkey and are therefore strictly speaking not quintessentially Dutch. That detail is glossed over; tulips are still part of the stereotypical idea of
Holland that prevails around the globe. At the top of the list, of course, are bicycles. Dutch people cycle. It's a fact. Have you ever heard the joking phrase "if it ain't Dutch it ain't much"? Well, if it ain't cyclin' it ain't Dutch. According to my unrivalled Google skills,
Holland is the only country in the world which contains more bikes than people.
I have this whole theory about how our bicycle culture ties in with another stereotype about the Dutch, namely that we're pretty straight-forward and laid-back (and that's putting it mildly). That's for another time, though. Today, I want to talk about the Dutch coming-of-age ritual that other cultures may be largely unaware of. A young Dutch person's passage into adolescence suspiciously often goes hand in hand with the first time their bike gets stolen. It's an interesting rite, characterized by many tears, a feeling of extreme confusion and dread, and a long sermon from the parental unit about always making sure your bicycle is chained to a fence. Twice. The aftermath of this complicated cultural ritual frequently consists of a shiny new bike with carrier straps, a bell that actually works, and a six pound chain that would single-handedly bash someone's skull in if they but looked at it the wrong way.
The ritual may be repeated once or twice, and after a while every Dutch citizen knows better than to leave their bike at a train station in the Randstad with less than, say, four extra locks to protect it. Everybody knows that's asking for trouble. I know, too. But I was in a hurry, and I couldn't find a spot near a fence. When I got off the train back three hours later and realized my good old bike was gone I couldn't even really get mad. It's simple; I should have known better. It was my own fault. I texted my friend, "fiets gejat fml" – which roughly translates to "bike got stolen. my life is so hard" – and went to the movie theater to watch Roman soldiers massacre one another. It is entirely possible I fist-pumped at the first sight of blood.
This happened three weeks ago. I'm still not over it, mainly because I've been eating toast with duo penotti for a week straight because I don't have money left to buy proper food. I spent a hundred bucks on a new bike with a huge, pink chain lock. I use the extra lock all the time, even when I know I won't be gone for too long. The loss is still too fresh. Even here in Middelburg, where bicycle theft is considerably less than in the Randstad (where I'm from), I use my extra lock. Especially at the train station. It's always hard to find a spot, but I managed to wriggle my own bike in-between another bike and one of the sparse little racks we're supposed to put them against. I got my extra lock and put it around the frame of my bike, through the front wheel, at the fence. I was going to make sure no one would steal my bike this time.
Behind my back, the train I was supposed to catch whistled its goodbye.
(Footnote)
Of course, there is the ever-present issue of using '
Holland' or the '
Netherlands'. 'The
Netherlands' would make more sense, for technically '
Holland' only encompasses two of its twelve provinces. My entirely selfish and politically incorrect reason for using
Holland instead: it's nicer to say. In Dutch some would say "het bekt lekker".
Seriously, though – try it. Say 'the
Netherlands'. Pronounce it. The-Ne-ther-lands. Are you there yet? Yeah? Now, say '
Holland'.
Holland! Short and snappy, with a nice glottal 'h' at the beginning… it even looks better; softer somehow, rounder. In
Holland, rosy-cheeked girls with blond braids skip around green green fields dotted with tulips. The
Netherlands, on the contrary, sounds a lot like a country where bikes get stolen and trains close their doors and slowly slide off without a trace of guilt on their face.
