Freezeland with a Friend

This weekend I traveled to Fryslân as it is known in Dutch, or Friesland, the northernmost province of Holland. It should be called Freezland. Here is a short outline of our trip.

My traveling buddy was my fantastic neighbor, Jitske. I go to Jitske's apartment for tea, pancakes with apples and cheese in them (not together) and borrow her books. For her bachelor’s Jitske (pronounced Yitskuh) studied American studies at Utrecht University (my current institution.) I, too, studied American studies at Brown. We have some of the same favorite authors.

In Friesland, Jitske showed me her family’s working farm. The farm belongs to her grandparents, aunt, uncle and two teenage cousins who help run the farm on weekends.The cousins were tall (according to Jitske, Freisans are the tallest people in the world.) It is a hard task to run a farm. You can never leave for holidays. The farm is connected to the house her grandparents live in, a house that was built in the 1700’s.In Friesland I learned that the people are not as reticent as they are rumored to be. According to Jitske, they may not show their emotions much, but they sure welcomed me warmly. There was laughter in the grandparent’s cozy home, and tea. Always tea.

Five calves were born the night before we came and lay under heat lamps in the barn. Yellow and white buckets of milk stood by the door. The door of the barn opens directly into the house. Most homes in Friesland are made from bricks. Though not as common as in the past, small family farms can still compete and sell milk. Still, the price of milk is unpredictable and most families hope to break even. The cows are Friesan cows (that look like American Holsteins, though stockier) or Holsteins, which, are probably the best milk cows around, as Jitske’s uncle put it.

Thankfully the sun made a mid-day appearance. I wore my winter coat and two scarves. I still froze. Cafes are always good for this sort of weather, and we found one, where we both had apple tart (a common Dutch item) and a café latte (always served in a mug, not a paper cup.)

The skin on my cheeks was tested by the wind as I climbed over the cement dykes which reinforce the entire country and prevent it from floating away. Dykes are natural looking hills with cement on the side facing the sea and grass and grazing sheep on the side facing the town. It is said that at low tide (in warmer weather,) you can walk through the mudflats to the islands off the coast of Friesland and take a ferry back. However, it takes hardcore training to be able to walk through that thick mud for such a long distance.If you get stuck, you are stuck!

Holland is human constructed. Its land is assiduously maintained by government crews that pull weeds from the canals and repair wooden beams that buttress every inlet. It is impressive to think that humans created a country. It is a peculiar landscape for this West Virginian. Flat, flat, flat. You can see why many Dutch people immigrated to lands in America that were flat—a reminder of home. These lands are planted with corn fields and are spotted with wind turbines. On the way home at sunset, I saw a line of wind turbines behind a blue, fading to red sunset sky that made me think wind turbines were as pretty as Renaissance art.

The Friesan flag has blue and white stripes interspersed with red hearts. About a half million people celebrate this flag. Notwithstanding the topography, Friesland is sort of like the Appalachia of Holland. It is considered backwoods and backwards. When really, it is beautiful farmland with highly educated people. They speak a different language, Freisan, a language that branched out of Old English--according to one of my University friends. It is softer, more like cursive than the hard block letters of Dutch. The primary difference, however, is the pace. There is less hurrying.

There are about 195 windmills in Friesland. Jitske and I saw five windmills on a day when the sun made a halo around the blades in the frigid October air. We even went inside one mill that processed and sold flour (Jitske bought some cheese and pepper bread mixture for her parents.)With a curious cat and mill owner looking on, I hoped on a working scale (used for grain) to see if I had gained any weight while in Holland. Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. In any event, it will all come off on the bike.

Born to Bike

You learn to bike before you learn to walk—an old Dutch saying

A typical scene: A girl rides double on the back of a boy’s bike (she is seated on the small platform part on the back.) You have to hop on once the bike starts moving (a tricky maneuver.) A man dressed in a tux holds a mobile phone in his left hand, flowers flap from beneath his arm. Bags hang over his handle bars and saddle bags bulge in the back. A curly dog emerges from his lap. Ahead of the man, lovers hold hands while bicycling next to each other; across the street, a mom bikes insouciantly along as her little girl stands on her lap, pigtails flying. Stands! The child is protected from an errant rock or large gust of wind by a large Plexiglas shield. For a few minutes I am alone on the brick-paved street. Silence (except for the clacking of my low-on-air bike wheel.) Here comes traffic: A dad chugs forward, toting a large wooden bike wagon with a couple of kids giggling inside. I switch on my bike lights (a red one in the front, white one on the back.) The fixture which secures the light broke on the front of my bike a few days ago. I tried to superglue it and then just invested in 2 euro bike lights that are made to hang off the front of your bike. The back popped off one, sending my battery into a canal, making the front of the bike lightless. Now I’m just a phantom moving towards you in the dark. My white hat helps warn of my presence. You get the picture. To help delineate the scene, here is a great website: A man in Amsterdam took 82 pictures of bicycles during 73 minutes: http://www.ski-epic.com/amsterdam_bicycles/

Nobody Wears Helmets

Cars move out of the way for you, there are enormous bike lanes and dozens of people move in a parade of good health. With all this happiness circulating, one can lose their focus and crash. During one of my first weeks here, I must have gotten swept up in the general euphoria because before you knew it I was careening over a curb and soaring face first beneath a café table’s iron feet. Though I sustained bruises, my durable made in U.S.A jeans survived. However, not all accidents have such happy endings: Last year, my roommate biked into a car door as it was being opened, which gave her a concussion for several months. She’s better now and do not fret mother and father: I just purchased university approved traveler’s insurance. It starts October first. I’ll try to stay away from cars until then.

Biking in Stilettos

When I first arrived I was in the habit of changing into sportswear to bike the four miles to class. At home, biking is a sport; here, it is a way of life. You bike everywhere and wear anything. The anything usually being something nice. Americans wear a sweatshirt, t-shirt or running shoes to class, not the Dutch. Case in point: Five minutes ago I saw someone waltzing into the library wearing a sweatshirt. Gee, he looks American, I thought. Then he started speaking English to the librarian. Case closed. The Dutch bike in high heels or boots or long trench coats. Though someone might flaunt a bright colored coat, the color pallet for this time of year is decidedly depressing: gray, white, black, gray. At least it’s not as bad as Germany where everyone seems to dress in the color of the earth: brown.

Thieves

I bought the least conspicuous bike possible to deter theft. It is old and rusty. On average, the Dutch get their bike stolen once a year. Some people tether their bikes to the railings along canals (a common place to park) with two different kinds of locks. “Most thieves are only able to pick one kind of lock,” my friend said. Each day I pass hundreds of bicycles. Some are painted fluorescent green, some are coated with stickers, some are foldable and can be carried on a train for free (otherwise you must pay an extra seven euros to bring your bike on a train, but this beats the five-hundred euros it costs for a foldable bike…) The problem with a rusty bike is that sometimes things break. While vigorously parking my bike, one of the two giant springs under the bike seat sailed off. I seriously contemplated gorilla gluing it back on, but, then remembering my failed attempt to glue together my bike light, I shelled out the 20 euros for a new seat. An excellent investment.

Biking is Equal

Holland is as flat as a plate and easy to bike on. However, this does not fully explain why Holland has so many more bicycles than its neighbors, Belgium and Germany. Why do the Dutch prefer the bike over the bus and train? And even though cars are more common in Holland than they were thirty years ago, people still prefer the bike. There are nearly as many bikes as people: 13 million bikes and 16 million Dutch people. Maybe this is because of gas prices (called petrol here.) In dollars, it costs between 80 and 90 dollars to fill a small Dutch car.

Culturally, the bike is revealing: It reflects a people that are healthy and live longer than most people (not counting the Japanese…)It also speaks to a penchant for egalitarianism. For example, a car can be a status symbol. Conversely, most bikes are created equal. Omafiets, also called grandma bikes, are popular. They have a low frame, wide saddle and low handlebars. I haven’t seen many of these in the United States. In a country that prizes frugality, you earn points for saying you got your bike used or on sale. Furthermore, there is a belief that everyone has the right to transportation. Everyone can pretty much afford a bike. In the U.S. unless you have a car you probably cannot get a job if a bus does not go to your workplace, or you cannot carpool.

Bike Accessories You Can’t Live Without

Abbreviation key:
Can’t: Cannot live without
Almost: Can almost live without

1.(can’t) Lock—I brought an indestructible u-lock from home. I know it is indestructible because the campus police at Brown had to remove it with an electric saw when I lost the key.
2.(can’t) Lights—It’s illegal not to have them and they make you glow and feel safe.
3.(almost-borderline can’t) Saddle bags—these strap on to the sides of your bike. You need them for groceries and anything you decide to buy.
4.(almost)Basket—get a falling apart one or it will get stolen, or affix an empty beer crate to the front…I have seen this.
5.(almost)Rain cover—though you can manage without it, why not splurge on a bike seat rain cover: a plastic, elastic-fitted keep-your-rump dry contraption
6.(can live without, but should be included for the more aesthetically inclined biker) Spray Paint—there is a thriving trade here in spray paint for bikes. Gold is popular.

Goedemorgen! (Good Morning)

It is 9: am my time, 3 am your time if you live in the Easter U.S. time zone. Good morning! Goedemorgen in Dutch (pronounced huda moorhen, except the h sound should be made in the back of your esophagus, like in Germany…) I have finished laundry, eaten breakfast, purchased the day’s food at the market, and am now seated in the library, finishing a paper, last minute for class.Beneath are the quotidian moments that comprise my morning, details that may interest you.

Breakfast: It is common here to make fresh-squeezed orange juice for breakfast. I still have to figure out where I can purchase oranges in bulk. Fresh-squeezed juice is a marathon ahead of the store bough variety. Once you have fresh-squeezed there is no going back! This past weekend I had breakfast at my friend Jitske’s house. Her breakfast spread epitomized the Dutch breakfast: simple, protein and fiber-rich and nutritious. Step 1: Start with a bowl of yogurt. Jitske had a great yogurt that tasted like a combination between marscapone cheese and yogurt. Rich stuff. Step 2: granola or muesli (a type of granola with fruit and nut nuggets in it.) There are no lucky charms. Sigh. Step 3: Toppings. Though I’m usually on the run and hurl a spoonful of jelly into my bowl, at Jitske’s there were dried raisins, and cranberries (in separate bowls), washed and cut strawberries, blueberries, raspberries and both Dutch syrup (molasses) and American-style pure maple syrup (nearly 12 euros a bottle here and hard to find.)

Laundry: I have a washing machine and no dryer (an electricity saver.) This is common here. Most people have a clothesline on their porch. I do, too. Today, it is raining. Though it does not rain here as much as it probably rains in England, we do get our share of showers—and keep biking through it. I’ll have to wait to dry my clothing...

Market: I have to get to the market before 8:30 so I can get to the library at 9--opening time--, so that I can snag a computer before anyone else, because I spilled water on my laptop yesterday, rendering it unusable for life. People buy food here daily; this is because the amount they can carry is determined by the size of their bike basket or backpack and because they want fresh food.

What I bought: Four types of cheese, which the cheese lady let me sample from her large white tent. (We have eleven varieties of cheese in our refrigerator right now. The we in this sentence is my Dutch roommate Lidy and I. Lidy is from the northern part of Holland, speaks excellent English and is a biology student at my university. Among the varieties that I know the names of are blue cheese, two types of goat's cheese, feta cheese, parmesan cheese, fresh mozzarella, old Dutch cheese and two types of gouda. Recently there was a lawsuit which made it so that only cheese of Dutch origin can be called gouda.Take that.hah. It is sort of like the way no wine except wine from the area of Champaigne in france can be called Champaigne. Pronounced shampahn here.) I digress. The cheese was then wrapped in paper for me. It now rests inside the cloth sidebags on the back of my bicycle. When we get a break during class I will use my paring knife (also stowed in my side bag) to whittle off a piece, which I pair with the yummy cluster of purple grapes I bought, and fresh rolls. I buy my rolls from a Russian lady that wears a scarf tied beneath her chin and mutters, 1 euro, 1 euro (in Dutch) as she shoves eight hot rolls of various sizes and types into people’s bike baskets. She pulls the rolls piping hot out of an oven that operates in the market square. Eight rolls for a euro, not bad. The problem is, they go stale in six hours. Guess I have to eat them all…I also bought lettuce and bell peppers.

Library: I am studying in Napoleon’s old palace. It is contemporary and white in the inside and looks a bit like Ikea (a Swedish-started chain furniture company that is absurdly popular here.) The library has a nice collection of English books and about thirty computers that are claimed within the first seven minutes the library opens. Except on Sundays, then you have a few more minutes to stake out a keyboard.And, then, off to class!

Dutch Culture 101: Brutally Honest

One thing the Dutch despise, and Americans embrace, is a little white lie— what the Dutch would call being two-faced. We don’t always mean to be this way. For example, instead of saying what we mean, we sugarcoat, or sidestep the point. If you look like you haven’t slept in days I might not say anything to be polite. The Dutch will look you in the eye and say, “You look like Hell.” The truth hurts. In a good way. The Dutch tell you exactly what they mean. At first, they can be blunt to the point of rude. But then it becomes refreshing. You do not have to worry about offending people here. They will actually be offended if you try not to offend because then it seems like you are concealing your true feelings (which you probably are.) Be honest.

Case in point: When I first arrived, I stayed with a Dutch rotary family for a few days. The wife said to me, “We were surprised. My husband and I thought you would be fat.” They watch a lot of television where American shows often air like The Biggest Loser and My Sweet Sixteen and Teenage and Pregnant. As a result, they think all Americans are pregnant, rich and fat. There is something to be said for this, after all, you hardly ever see a fat person in Holland (how can you be fat when you have to bike everywhere…) and, America’s teen pregnancy rates are far higher than those in Western Europe. And, Americans are generally more ostentatious about our wealth—bigger houses, larger cars. But, I digress. The point is that my host mom was honest. She said what she had been thinking. Her honesty allowed me to see a window into how the Dutch perceive Americans. And, facilitated this post.

Wine and All That Fall Jazz

Today was a glorious autumnal day. October. Crisp, apple air. Everyone was bustling out and about in the community garden five minutes behind my building. People rent plots throughout the year. Little huts or greenhouses are constructed on most people's tracts. Today, after an afternoon jog, I stopped to meander on the gravel paths that bisect the acreage (most plots are surrounded by wood gates.) I stopped for a few seconds to admire someone's canopy of grapes. An older man emerged from the hedges holding a pair of pruners, an enormous crate of green and purple grapes for wine-making lay at his feet. He worked in the government. He spent time outdoors because even the hard work of keeping birds and insects from the crop was a welcome reprieve from being inside. Holland is not known for their wine. They have access to an abundance of inexpensive and high quality wines from Italy, South Africa and everywhere in between, but, the Netherlands does not have many wineries. The man I spoke with said he was the only person in Utrecht who makes wine in semi-large quantities. I left with a bunch of grapes, a present. Wine is not ready until July. Until that time, it ferments in giant glass casks.

Dutch Digs

DUTCH MARKET

Oyster

Cap tucked over face
hand pries--
knife slides,
shells clack-clack on top of each other
in gray heaps

she plucks out oyster
face up,
offers it wet in her palm:

shells clatter on top of others
in gray heaps



Cheese

The market tables slump
beneath the weight of cheese
bound in wax and string,
yellow and red, tasty, cold.
How do you know which goat’s cheese
is best? There are eighty-five
kinds. And, how do you know
which brie is best? People here
know their cheeses and wine.
Don’t bring a random bottle of wine
as a present I am warned,
they will know if it is cheap.



Vases

Are each a foot high. I bartered
and haggled them down to six
euros a piece in the old Dutch
market,
swathed them in
newsprint,
cradled them home like
babies.
They were made in
1823, says one stamp
on the clay. They are antiques,
I have studied bottles,
I know how to spot
a fake. These
are
real.