There are wonderful Dutch words and phrases to describe everyday activities in a way which makes it sound more interesting: Fietsen is cycling, sporten is going to the gym (doesn’t "sporten bij een sportschool" just sound like something exciting you want to be a part of?) and feesten is a having a party (again, who doesn’t want to go to "een feestje!"). Feesten shouldn't be confused with borrelen though, which is the lighter, after-work version where you will likely encounter borrelhapjes like bitterballen and frietjes.
But my favourite description, although not necessarily my favourite activity, is boodschappen doen, which suddenly makes grocery shopping sound vague and secretive... and therefore exciting!
Initially, at the height of the (first) Covid-19 peak in the Netherlands, my husband took care of the grocery shopping. The store was deemed to be a high-risk area and our strategy was that he would be able to navigate this unknown hazard in a more practical way. And he did indeed return from the store with wonderful concoctions and creations: Kroketten and ossenstaart, sinaasappelsap and slagroom.
It was therefore not until summertime, after the initial corona wave / panic / toilet paper buying sprees had subsided, that I went on my very first boodschappen outing. Sure, I had done shopping in the Netherlands before, but this was 6 years ago, prior to Covid-19 and the subsequent risks and rules, and without a toddler dangling from my shopping trolley.
Our toddler and I cycled to the store and only took 20 minutes to find a suitable parking spot and secure our bicycle. Boodschappen is often done by means of fietsen (therefore I will likely not be partaking in any other form of sporten soon). Our toddler, who had accompanied my husband to the store before, had received prior instructions to introduce me to the logistics of the shopping trolleys and not touch anything.
I felt calm and collected. I was going to smoothly grab a few items, breezily swipe my bankcard and practice some light Dutch by asking for “de bonnetje alstublieft”. No problem. Boodschappen done!
But, as I was nervously queuing for a trolley, I suddenly realised that the trolleys were all fastened to one another. My husband had given me a token, which I was supposed to use... but how? Our toddler, who was energetically enjoying a moment of unsupervised freedom, was no help whatsoever and I anxiously looked around for assistance. “Verskoon my, Sorry, hoe doe ik dat?” I asked helplessly, pointing to the trolley. “De... zit vast” I had no idea what trolley was in Dutch (it is winkelwagentje).
Luckily someone came to my rescue and our toddler, remembering that he was supposed to help me, but forgetting that he shouldn't touch anything, climbed onto the trolley stand and there we went.
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Isn't a trolley child-stand simply ingenious? |
Most items in a Dutch store have odd or unknown names (remember the vlaai/taart/cake discussion?). In general it isn’t a major crisis: Pindakaas looks similar to peanut butter, so what else can it really be? (Don't answer that.) You can identify an orange even if it’s called a sinaasappel and a lime even if it’s called a limoen. (Yes, when asking for a “lemoen”, you will get an orange in South Africa and a lime in the Netherlands!)
Beschuit should not be confused with the South African favourite, and the flavour liquorice can pop-up where you least expect it. (Warning: It is often presented like cinnamon!)
Not "beskuit" Not cinnamon
Vaatwastabletten (dish washing tablets) proved to be more of a challenge and keukenpapier (kitchen paper towels) can easily be mistaken for toilet paper ("keuken” is kitchen, not... something else).
The meat items are an advanced-level challenge: Kip is chicken, rundvlees is beef and none of the cuts look familiar. Then there are soepballen, kroketten, and frikandellen (which look like sausages instead) and different varieties of gehakt-dishes.
In South Africa (prior to the Covid-19 pandemic), I had known exactly what to buy, how it was packaged and labelled and where it was stored. I had known the answer to the question: "Plastic?” when checking out and that my items will be packed in the aforementioned plastic (bags).
In the Netherlands you have to bring your own reusable bags or buy new ones, you have to put a plastic partition behind your groceries at check-out, you have to pinnen (pay by debit card), since cash and credit cards aren’t accepted, you have to pack your groceries yourself and you will be asked if you want “postzegels en de bonnetje erbij”. All this while keeping an eye on a toddler ("no more hagelslag!") and juggling a bottle of hand sanitiser.
I don’t know if it was navigating a new store in the midst of a pandemic, or trying not to touch the food items with descriptions I had never seen before (did my husband buy the runderlappen or kogelbiefstuk before? And did we like it?) while not blocking the narrow aisles, but it was all very overwhelming. My respect and appreciation for my husband, who had managed all of this by himself for weeks, were growing by the minute.
I mentioned this to him that evening and how a simple, ordinary task can become challenging in a new country and language.
He agreed: “It's especially difficult to weigh the fruit yourself. How are we supposed to know if bananas are biologisch or not?”
Wait... what?
I had definitely not weighed anything.
It seems boodschappen will remain vague and secretive and exciting for yet another week.
