Maastricht: Red Trash Bags

The best thing about living in a new country, is that all the mundane, routine tasks are suddenly a new adventure.
It's exciting to cycle to the store and jump daintily off your bike. It's such fun to discover yet another cereal packed with sweet chocolate flakes. It's a thrill to greet the cashier with a friendly "hoi" and an adrenaline rush to see if this time round, she'll hand you the receipt when you ask for "het bonnetje alstublieft" instead of saying "bless you".

The worst thing about living in a new country, is that all the mundane, routine tasks are suddenly a new adventure.
It's frustrating to get lost on your way to the store (yet again) and to struggle with your bike chain in the rain. It's annoying to decipher whether "rundvlees" is something you can eat or something used to patch a tyre. It's awkward when you ask for the receipt and the cashier thinks you have something stuck in your throat. And it's downright embarrassing when you can't remember where you have left your bike (again) and you have to haul your newly bought rundvlees all over town in search of it.

Therefore it was not surprising that a feeling of imminent doom immediately settled in the pit of my stomach upon noticing the red trash bags lined up on the street one morning. I eyed the identical red humps cautiously, turned a corner and peered down an adjacent street, only to find another ten red bags squinting back at me. The feeling of doom increased exponentially, because my very own trash bag, strikingly smurf-blue in colour, was teasingly beckoning to me from amongst the sea of devilish red.

Since I was late for work (time flies when you're frantically shuffling on high heels to anxiously peer down half a dozen other streets), I brushed off The Feeling with the logical explanation that people in Maastricht must just really love the colour red. 
But when I returned that afternoon, all the trash bags had disappeared except for a sad little blue one that stood motionless in front of my door like a shell-shocked child too shy to knock.

Taking pity on the bag, I took it by the sleeve and hauled it up the stairs. Then I jumped onto the internet in search of an explanation as to why my little blue trash bag had suffered such unjust prejudice. After reading through the numerous websites, Facebook discussion groups and articles, letters, notices and a smattering of dissertations and hypotheses on the subject of waste separation and collection in Maastricht, I was dually convinced that I needed a red trash bag. 

Nowhere, however, did any website mention where I could find such a bag. My local store seemed like a good place to start though, so off I went. At the trash bag section I stood staring in disbelief at the display. The shelf contained ample trash bags in all shapes and sizes: Big black bags, small blue bags (not unlike the one I had at home), see-though bags, white bags, green bags. But no red bags. Nothing. Nada. Helemaal niets. 
So I did what any frustrating foreigner in a new country would do. 
I bought a black bag.

It took a day for my black bag to suffer the equally cruel fate of merciless rejection.
I knew I needed some inside information, and I needed it now (there was an open can of tuna in the trash, for goodness sake!)
So one misty evening, I roamed the dark streets of downtown Maastricht in search of a local inhabitant who possessed the required wisdom. After an exchange of hushed whispers, promises of a South African braai, nervous glances and knowing nods, the secret was finally revealed.

The next day I was back at the same store, this time armed with insider knowledge and the Dutch for "one red trash bag, please." 
I boldly walked up to the cigarette counter inside the store, my heart hammering inside my chest. The cashier seemed to sense what I was there for because she leaned forward as I approached. I furtively glanced around and when convinced that I was out of earshot, I said in a hushed tone: "Een rode vuilniszak, alstublieft."
The lady nodded stealthily. The message was loud and clear.
"Groot of klein?"
Feeling braver by the second I intrepidly demanded a big bag: "Groot."
Quietly she ducked behind the counter, pulled open a hidden drawer at her feet and there it was: a red trash bag. 
A big, red trash bag.

The Red Trash Bag

That is how I learned the secret of residual waste disposal in Maastricht. It was a hard and treacherous road and therefore I have boldly decided to reveal the unwritten secret to other new inhabitants.

Now all that is left to do is to distinguish between residual, hazardous, course domestic, kitchen, and garden waste. Buy different containers for each type of waste, sort the waste and take the rest to selected recycling deports. 
Maybe a Ph.D. student can write a thesis about the process.
I, on the other hand, have wasted enough time on the topic of waste.

Maastricht: Aspergeseizoen

In the province of Limburg, spring is synonymous with rainy days sprinkled with sunlight, luminous green fields stretching into the horison, pink blossoms on trees and bicycles, and... asparagus.
Locally, springtime is even referred to as "Aspergeseizoen" - Asparagus season. 

In stores, massive bunches of white and green are put on display, while restaurants devotedly adapt their menus to cater for the seasonal hype. "White gold", as the vegetable is called, is grabbed by the handful to concoct enough salads, pastas and soups to feed the adults and entertain the children for the whole weekend.

In the Northern parts of Limburg, festivals, "kopen en lopen" hikes, cycling routes, and open days are planned during the month of May - all in the spirit of the almighty asparagus.
"Asperge" is the word, and taste, on everyone's lips.

Asparagus Fever

At my local supermarket, I approached the display of various sizes and colours with a caution reserved for the unknown and unpredictable. In Jozi, I would briskly disregard the (tiny) packets of asparagus without a backward glance, but suddenly the display (and asparagus on display) were big enough to occupy, not a glance, but an open-mouthed stare. Some pieces were big enough to be deemed illegal in conservative communities. 
Even so, in the spirit of embracing new cultures and gastronomic experiences, I bought a bunch. Medium-sized, due to the volume and weight limitations of transporting them via bike. 

As luck would have it, this Netherlands spring consisted of the coldest temperatures in 112 years. Fortunately my fridge contained enough asparagus to nourish a small family for a week. 
White gold on a cold spring evening: Priceless.

Maastricht: A Sunday Surprise

I had heard the rumours and tales long before I had the opportunity to experience this phenomenon in the Netherlands. 
It was a marvel not often encountered, a wonder that you wait and wish for. Stories and witness accounts of previous sightings were described to children, listening with mouths agape, and those who had experienced it firsthand had to repeat every detail of the the encounter to friends and strangers at the local pub. 
And then, suddenly and unexpected after months of endless waiting, the sensational sight arrived: A sunny Sunday.

Brilliant Blue

Overlooking the Maas

People poured into the streets to enjoy the radiant "Pinkster weekend", shops displayed flowers and crafts out on the cobblestone streets and the smell of freshly baked "stroopwafels" lingered in the air.

Sunny Sunday

Out and About

Maastricht is a city so pretty and picturesque that I have to rack the corners of my brain to find adjectives worthy of describing it. It is probably a blessing that I never visited Maastricht on previous travels with friends, because my whining about wanting to stay here for ever and ever, singing Dutch songs and eating stroopwafels while wearing my "klompen" slippers, would have truly put their patience and our friendship to the test.

My shoes are taking strain from walking on the cobblestone streets as I explore each part of the city in sunshine and mostly rain, wondering if the novelty will wear off like my heels. But it hasn't yet. In fact, each day brings with it new wonders as I stumble upon yet another view of the magnificent Maas, or a bakery selling vlaai and freshly baked bread, or a bicycle decorated with pink flowers.

I could have walked around the city centre for hours, but instead I took a leisurely stroll along the Maas and through Stadspark, which was lined with trees and people on blankets, their faces turned towards the sun.

Enjoying the Sun in Stadspark

Kempland and Onze Lieve Vrouwewal in Stadspark

Plans were made to get together for a barbecue to celebrate the glorious weather later that afternoon. A friend had an extra bicycle I could borrow and besides a few minor challenges (no braking system and my knees brushing past my ears) it was great to cut our travel time in half. She would shout out warnings of cross-traffic looming at the end of a downhill slope and we would hold our breaths waiting to see if my bike would stop in time or if I would be crushed by an oncoming car. Such fun.

The barbecue was awesome and the crowd a mix of foreigners who introduced everyone to thirst-quenchers from their respective countries  Icelandic Brennivin (literally "burning wine") should not be mistaken with Brandewyn, although both are equally dangerous if not taken in moderation. We sipped South African Pinotage, followed by brownies with caramel sauce accompanied with home-brewed coffee. I scored a unanimous B+ for my first attempt at making a Starbucks-style cappuccino. Apparently you are not supposed to use a spoon to scoop the foam into the cups. It's a good thing I didn't lick the spoon afterwards as that would've surely costed me my "+".

The meal was fantastic, the company extremely entertaining and when we wiped the last tears of laughter from our eyes and checked our watches, it was 8 pm!

Cultural Experiences

It really was a Sunday full of surprises: Cycling, laughter and new friends. 
And of course, the sunshine.

Maastricht: Bicycles

After one week in Maastricht, I can already say with certainty that I love it here!
One of the many reasons is the bicycles that are visible on every road, street corner or alley.

All Shapes and Sizes

In South Africa, cycling is more of a sport or pastime than it is a method of transportation. On Saturday or Sunday mornings at 7 am, we would go cycling at the Cradle of Humankind with its many cycle routes and few motorcars - a combo that slightly decreases the possibility of becoming roadkill. 

Cyclists would often head out for an "easy" 60 - 80 km cycle, take a short stop to spot the (caged) lions next to the road and eat an energy-bar and return 2 to 3 hours later, ready for a scrumptious breakfast and coffee and/or cream soda.
Cycling is an outing in the company of friends and nature, a way of staying active or train for an upcoming cycle race.

In the Netherlands, it is the opposite. Although I have caught glimpses of sleek and swift Bianchi bikes in the cobbled streets, their helmeted owners bent low over the handlebars, most bicycles are strong and sturdy. And noisy, with squeaks and alarming rattles. 
I also suspect that bending over your handlebars are "vorboden" as it would completely destroy the grace and style with which you are supposed to cycle in the Netherlands.

Crossing the Maas

Police Officers on their Bikes

Shopping Spree

Bike in Hand

Advanced techniques and gestures are constantly performed with a nonchalant elegance that makes me want to dive for my camera to capture the phenomenon that is the Dutch cyclist. After two years of cycling in Johannesburg, I have yet to master the lifting of my left hand from the handlebars (Yes, the cyclist at the Argus with the one arm-warmer pulled up in 30 C weather was me). Therefore I truly respect and appreciate the art of cycling that I get to witness here everyday:

In Maastricht I have witnessed the impossible: Students cycling in five inch heels. Girls getting lifts on the back of bikes, while waving with both hands at passing friends doing the same. Mothers carrying one child in the front of the bike, one in the back, and pulling the third with a flagged wagon behind the bike. A guy on a uni-cycle. With a backpack. On a cobbled street. In the rain.

Lending a Helping Hand

Uni-Wonder

Rain, sunshine, wind, and probably snow - no matter the weather, you will find cyclists in Maastricht pedaling their way through town.

Cycling daily at a leisurely pace whenever you feel like it, is definitely a luxury for us Jozi-cyclists. 
Therefore I have decided that I need to get a bicycle.
And start working on my left hand's handicap.

Maastricht: Koninginnedag

On 30 April the Netherlands celebrated "Koninginnedag", the birthday of the current Queen of the Netherlands (Also the birthday of someone special and close to my heart – my mom!)

This year, Koninginnedag was particularly festive as the new King of the Netherlands was inaugurated and therefore next year’s “Kongingsdag” will be celebrated on King Willem-Alexander’s birthday, which is on the 27^th of April.

Orange Window Displays

The town of Maastricht was brightly decorated with flags and balloons in orange - the colour of the Dutch Royal family whose lineage can be traced back to Willem van Oranje - and since it was a public holiday, a fun-filled programme was planned for the day.

A Decorated Bicycle 

Orange Everywhere

A group of artists from the Netherlands even wrote a song, "Koningin van alle Mensen", in honour of the Queen. 
Radio stations played it repeatedly. Over-and-over. Non-stop. Throughout the whole day.

In the evening, everyone spilled into the streets and the sounds of merry Dutch songs, pumping music and cheer filled the air (This video clip was recorded at 9 pm - it's still light outside!)

After the magnificent fireworks display that concluded the celebrations for this year, I walked back across the bridge with the hundreds of party-goers. The street lights glimmered on the black water of the Maas, the cool night air ruffled my hair and murmurs of the "leuke dag" filled my ears. 

It was magical.
I crossed my fingers in a wish that I'll be able to celebrate "Koningsdag" again next year - here in Maastricht.

Maastricht: Parking Adventures

Since this blog is about new experiences and joys that I encounter in the different countries that I visit, I was forced to add the word "adventures" to the title of this post. 
To be honest, "Pulling-my-hair-out-of-my-head frustration and aggravation" would've been a far more accurate depiction of the situation.

The two-week workshop in France came to an end on Friday and I boarded the Thalys train, pulling and tugging on my two suitcases, to the country that will become my home for the months to come. 

These high-speed European trains are amazing and this one was full of French teenagers on a school trip, a couple of backpackers, businessmen in black suits, a rowdy American crowd, and a group of elderly English tourists. 

While I was busy hauling one of my suitcases into the overhead storage area, the group of school kids smartly used my other suitcase as the cornerstone on which they constructed a vast luggage mountain. They obviously attend a technical school where they are trained to become civil engineers from the age of five. Since my French vocabulary only consists of ordering fruit at the marketplace, I decided not to make a (luggage) mountain of a molehill and rather descended on the train snack bar. 

The attendant greeted me with a friendly "Bonjour-Goedemiddag-Guten tag-Good afternoon." Four languages served with a smile. Incredible. I chose the latter and armed with coffee, a sandwich and chocolate I made my way back to my seat to lazily flip through my Kindle for the duration of the 2 hour train journey.

At Liege I was greeted by a colleague and my (rather squashed) luggage was re-loaded into the boot of the car. When I had left Paris 2 hours earlier the sky was a brilliant blue, but as we drove closer to Maastricht, dark clouds descended and soon raindrops were pounding against the windscreen. Maybe this was what my French colleague meant when he described the Netherlands sky as being "very low".

I couldn't be bothered by the rain though, because I had a fantastic little car to drive around with. The only challenge was to find a parking spot for it in the Maastricht city centre. I drove into Maastricht on the right side of the road, which is the wrong side in South Africa (and the left, the right) just as the sun was setting behind the clouds and the rain was coming down hard. 

Luckily I found a parking spot not too far from my apartment, and was quite chuffed with my parallel parking skills on the right (wrong) side of the road (I am so ready to become a Capetonian!) that I barely took notice of the tiny yellow sign painted on the pavement. Besides, many cars were parked there and I couldn't see a parking meter where I could deposit any money. 

I walked the three blocks to my apartment in the grey rain, mentally adding an umbrella to my shopping list, and was soon in my cozy, dry apartment. But the yellow sign on the pavement kept bothering me... After pottering around my new apartment for about an hour, I decided to look it up online, just in case. What I found, chilled me to the bone.

Nowhere was there any mention of a yellow parking sign and what it could possibly mean, but it was clear that there was no such a thing as free parking in Maastricht! Words like "fined", "towed away", "clamped" and "locked up by the angry traffic police" jumped out at me from the screen. I helplessly jotted down a couple of parking areas nearby, but red blinking lights ominously informed me that they were fully booked until 2026. I ran out into the cold night, trying hard to remember where my car was parked and praying that it would still be there.

Luckily it was and I jumped behind the wheel and sped off, shivering from the rain. Or maybe from relief. I drove around aimlessly, hopefully looking for a big blinking sign with the words "Park here!", but none appeared. Cars were parked everywhere and I saw a few open parking spots in-between rows of bicycles, but according to the internet I needed permits, declarations and reservations to be able to park on the street. At 10 pm on a Friday night it was unlikely that I would get any of the required documentation.

Suddenly I saw a blue sign with a white "P" for "Parking"! I pulled in with a sigh of relief and rushed closer to see what the charge would be. However, upon closer inspection, the small print on the sign sternly instructed that the driver of a vehicle parked within 1000 m of this blue parking sign will be locked up for life and fed andouilette sausages every day. Or something along those lines.

Exasperated, tired, cold and wet I climbed back onto the car, wishing I was inside one of the warmly lit bars filled with music, laughter and people who arrived by means of a bicycle, which could be parked anywhere for free. How ironic that everyone who cycled in the rain was now warm and dry, while I sat soaking wet and shivering in my car.

As a last resort, I phoned the manager of the apartment and explained my dilemma. 
"No, there is no parking available on the street," she informed me, quite unnecessarily. "But I can arrange for you to use one of the parking garages for the week." 
I thanked her profusely and sped off to get the keys, a parking spot and a change of clothes.

I have no idea where I'm going to park next week, but at least I have seven days to get a reservation for the declaration and application of a parking permit.

Maastricht Bicycles

Travelling by Bike

Cyclists Crossing the Maas River Bridge