Definitely landed

- Every time I look out of the window, I see gray clouds- I already know exactly when, where and at what time I will have tea with my friend… 3 weeks from now - When I see a Hummer on the street I no longer expect it to have a Saudi or Qatari number-plate - When we walk into a restaurant at 8 pm on a Saturday night, most of the guests are already having dessert - I considered it entirely normal that the woman in the Municipal Office told me I brought too many copies and forms and stamps, rather than sending me away because there was still some previously-unknown yet required paper missing - I’m no longer expecting the electricity to cut at any moment because it hasn’t cut yet today… - When I sit in a café and pick up a random newspaper, chances are I can actually read it - I’m no longer the tallest, nor the blondest one everywhere I go.

So yeah, it seems like I’m really, really back in the Netherlands.

The country in which things make sense

Now that we moved to The Netherlands, we plan on doing as the Dutchies do, and let our cats roam around outside. Since we have already spotted several ‘Missing: Cute Cat’ posters, we will not let them go out just like that: they will have to wear a collar. One with a small thingy attached with our name and phone number in it, so that should they get really lost and eventually very hungry, the nice person who fills their bellies can check who they belong to (and send us a cheque for the food). But these collars don't come with a cat-saving device only. They also come with a little bell attached. A little bell that tinkles every time the cat jumps, runs, or even licks its back feet to enthousiastically. It drives us insane, and it drives the cats insane, so Walid figured he’d remove the little bells.

Not so quick, dear man! That little bell is there for a reason! Dutch people really, really like cats, and cats really, really like catching birds… and a drastic decline in the bird population led to the idea of bells on cats.

Oh, true, Walid sighed. In this country EVERYTHING happens for a reason.

Blog Action Day 2009: Climate Change

Last year on the 15th of October, bloggers all over the world united to write about poverty. This year, the topic of Blog Action Day is Climate Change.I think we all know what to do:

Car less – bike more Plastic less – paper more AC less – fan more Meat less – vegetable more Fly less – walk more Artificial less – organic more Heater less – sweater more Garbage less – recycle more

Or, in short: Consume less – live more

That Moment

When I move somewhere for a longer period of time, one of the first things I usually do is get myself a bicycle. Nothing says ‘home’ to me as much as having a two-wheeler at my disposal, a means of transportation that makes me feel free to go anywhere I want to. In New York City, I took over a little gray All Terrain Bike that was slightly too small for me. It cost me $25 as I picked it up from Spanish Harlem with a flat tire. It was the lock that emptied my wallet; four times more expensive than the bike itself.

For one year, that bike and me were inseparable. I rode it to class, I rode it to visit the boroughs, and I rode it during the demonstrations at the Democratic Convention (2004) when suddenly the police blocked all the roads and made lower Manhattan a no-go zone for cyclists. My roommates didn’t quite understand that my bicycle was my mode of transport rather than a work-out accessory, and they also had difficulty grasping the concept of biking in a skirt. (I dare to state that any Dutch woman knows how to ride wearing a skirt, but they didn’t know that, so to them I was merely eccentric.)

The bike as a way to get around in the city also proved hard to explain in Beirut. The mountain-bike I bought in early 2006 was used maybe three times until I started realizing that it was not appreciated if I showed up somewhere drenched in sweat (inevitable, in Lebanese summer and traffic). I also became aware of the attraction me and my bicycle formed when a complete stranger asked me one day if I would like to join their bike-for-peace ride – I was the local ‘bike-girl’, after all. Until a month ago, when a Syrian worker in Hamra became the happy new owner, the yellow & blue bicycle has been gathering dust on our rooftop terrace.

Now I am back in the Netherlands, back to bicycle country. It took me two weeks, but my old bike is restored to its former glory and I just rode it to my parents’ house in the village. I had almost forgotten how good it feels – the speed, the wind, the freedom. I had also forgotten that in this country, rain is inevitable. And that rain + bike = wet. I came back home with puddles in my shoes, dripping hair and all the clothes on my body completely soaked with water.

But I loved the ride, because it reminded me of That Moment: the moment you realize that no matter how fast you go, no matter how hard you push those pedals, there is no way you will arrive to your destination in a presentable manner. You KNOW you will be drenched, soaked, dripping wet; you KNOW that turning around won’t help you, nor will finding shelter because you KNOW the rain won’t let up for the foreseeable future. So all you can do is throw your head in the wind and enjoy the freshness of the rain… and the hot cup of tea next to the heater when you get there.

Het is maar wat je raar vindt

“Ik heb een oom die hier in Utrecht woont.Ik ben nog nooit bij hem thuis geweest. Het is zo’n alleen-oom, weet je wel, ik bedoel, hij heeft geen vrouw ofzo, en geen vrienden. Hij woont in z’n eentje op zo’n flatje. Hij heeft ook geen rijbewijs, als hij bij ons komt, komt hij altijd met de trein. Best een rare oom eigenlijk.”

... vertelde ze haar vriendinnen in de trein van Utrecht naar Den Bosch, maandagavond, terwijl aan de andere kant van het gangpad twee dronken corps-ballen een parodie van zichzelf zaten te wezen.