Boodschappen

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. 

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.

Vlaai... or Ta(a)rt?

It is wonderful to have the opportunity to work from home (and to work!) these days. But I do love going into the office once a week to see colleagues, catch up on the weekly news and complain about the heatwave (today is an 8-day record of continuous tropical weather in the Netherlands with temperatures ranging from 32 - 38 °C. A.k.a. hair-raising, brain-numbing humidity and heat in a country where air-conditioning is virtually non-existent). 

And of course, to have the customary lunchtime exchanges in Dutch. This week we celebrated a birthday in the office and in certain parts of the Netherlands and Belgium, this means vlaai for everyone during lunch! 

Herewith a typical lunchtime conversation to describe the Dutch/Belgian dessert and the intricacies of the Dutch language. To simplify (or potentially complicate) matters, I'll use different colours for each language:

• English
• Dutch
• Afrikaans
• French
• German Let's keep it simple, we already have four languages überhaupt!

• Me (enjoying a slice of cherry vlaai): "Is vlaai always a tart with custard and fruit?"
• Colleague 1: "No, vlaai is this (while pointing to the tart) and is only found in the Limburg province in the Netherlands and in Belgium close to the Netherlands border. Taart is a bigger cake, you know, a gateau?" I didn't.
• Me (confused): "So taart is cake? Like a birthday cake?"
• Colleague 1 (trying not to confuse himself): "Yes.. no. We have three cake types: Vlaai (pointing to the tart), taart with icing (indicating what I presumed to be a cake) and cake, which is without icing.
• Me (feeling like I'm on the verge of a Dutch dessert-breakthrough): "Vlaai, taart and...? What is cake in Dutch?"
• Colleague 1 (looking perplexed): "Umm.. cake?"
• Me (getting it... or perhaps not): "Sorry, I misinterpreted cake as cake. It's confusing because in Afrikaans tert is vlaai, but koek is taart. Or cake... I think." Adding another language to clarify the matter, seemed like a good idea at the time. It wasn't.
• Colleague 2 (continuing like a trooper, after Colleague 1 had given up): "Ah, but in Dutch koek koek is a biscuit."
• Me: "Koek Koek is koekie. It makes sense." It really didn't. "Not to be confused with beschuit or beskuit, am I right?" Nobody had any idea anymore.
• Colleague 1: "Who wants more tert cake vlaai!" We all understood. And we all did indeed.

Now you know what vlaai is!

And if you don't - here's a picture of the tart with custard and fruit:

Excuse the Pun

Somewhere after your child’s second birthday, the realisation sets in that it’s high time your toddler starts learning manners. “Give milk. Now!” may be cute for a baby, but for a toddler the expectation rapidly changes to: “May I please have some milk, mommy”.
And so, you find yourself repeating endlessly: "Say please, please please! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
And especially: "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me."

I don't know if it's a South African or an Afrikaans habit, but we use the term "verskoon my" (excuse me) a lot and in various instances: When we sneeze. When we want to excuse ourselves from the table. When we want to catch someone's attention. When we accidentally interrupt someone. When we purposefully interrupt someone. When someone (accidentally or purposefully) interrupts us. When we want to ask a stranger a question. When we accidentally bump into someone (in the grocery store, not with a car.) When someone bumps into us (in the grocery store or with a car), although in the latter case it would become "ver-@#$%^%$#-skoon my!!", which is not (intentionally) taught to children.

Of course, literally bumping into someone in the grocery store was a privilege only for enjoyment in the glory days prior to the new normal "anderhalve meter sameleving" which we are now living. So really, these days we only use "verskoon my" in 46 cases, instead of 47.

Which explains why we, being South African / Afrikaans / parents, were particularly pedantic about teaching our toddler to say: "Excuse me".
"Verskoon my, verskoon my, verskoon my."

And then, of course, we arrived in the Netherlands. And Dutch is mos the sister-language to Afrikaans. So we will just gooi die taal lekker and learn as we go, and if we don't understand - no problem! We will just say "verskoon my, do you mind repeating your sentence?" ala Afri-Dutch, like the well-mannered people that we are.

Except that "verskoon my" suddenly has a whole new meaning on this continent. Verschoon mij literally means: Clean me. As in: I demand that you change my diaper!

Now if a grown-up, says: "Change my diaper, I am looking for the bus stop," you will get a weird look and be left with zero directions as the victim scrambles off. But you will be fine and eventually find the bus stop. You might have to re-evaluate your perception of the Dutch (and yourself, and your Dutch-speaking abilities), once you realise what you have demanded from a stranger. But life will go on.

But for a child, verschoon mij could be a very common thing to say. And it could therefore rapidly result in a catastrophe if not clarified or acted upon!
Say, for example, you are at the swimming pool for a family outing, your child sneezes and hollers: "Verskoon my!"
If your child is not immediately removed from the pool, these two simple, well-mannered and well-intended words could result in a swimming pool evacuation! Or worse - judgemental looks from other parents who speak proper Dutch and not Afri-Dutch.

And so, after months and months of teaching our toddler to say "verskoon my" for intended use in 47 or 46 scenarios (and him finally perfecting the art just as our plane touched down on Schipol airport), we agreed that it was just safer to replace "verskoon my" with the Dutch alternative: Sorry.
Which, when used in an Afrikaans sentence, really just seems like a linguistically incorrect word, lazily thrown in.

Therefore, sorry, if you will excuse me. I need to go and think about the 20 000 new words (languages!) we could have taught our toddler, while we were frantically repeating words which he can no longer use.

I also might need to tell my neighbour that I eventually found the bus stop.

Cycling Culture

The Netherlands must be the only country where your child's cycling abilities and habits are requested upon school and healthcare registration. And the questions don't simply stop at "can your child cycle?", but also whether said cycling is done a) on two wheels, or b) with side-wheels. Transportation options which include three or more wheels, fall under c) my child does not yet cycle (note the "yet"!).

There are also questions related to protective gear and whether this is worn when your child is cycling on their own bicycle or on their parents' bicycles (note the "when", not "if"). Though it is interesting to note that helmets follow the same rule as Covid-masks here: They are available and a safer option, but not mandatory and therefore rarely worn.

Luckily my husband immediately identified cycling as a crucial developmental area for our toddler upon our arrival in the Nederlands in March. Probably after seeing a three-year old wheelie past unsupervised on a bicycle with a) two wheels. Two months and a markplaats bicycle (which didn't even come with the option of side-wheels) later, we were ready for any cycling-related registration lists which we might encounter.

It is fascinating to watch children grow up on bicycles all around us: Newborns are introduced to the cycling culture by means of a bakfiets and are transferred to a baby seat in front of their parents' bicycles once they can sit up. Then, to the back of the bicycle, often while the front seat is occupied by baby #2 or #3.

It seems like children skip the customary South African plastic three-wheeled bikes and immediately start cycling on their own two-wheeled balance bikes just after the age of one. They then progress to pedal bicycles without side-wheels somewhere between the ages of three and four.

Primary school outings don't commence with a bus-ride, but rather a mass cycling expedition where the children cycle to the museum / park / event by themselves, accompanied by a few teachers and parents. Of course, most children also cycle to school, which they start at the age of four (thankfully, initially accompanied by a parent).

Most of this might seem quite overwhelming if you are not used to such an all-encompassing cycling culture and if your child cannot yet cycle a) on two wheels, but luckily the whole country is well-equipped to support this culture.

Here are a few cycling-related innovations which make it easy for us to cycle to 70% of our daily outings (we walk to the rest and I only use a car to drive to work):

• Cycling routes, which I have mentioned before, with traffic lights dedicated to cyclists:

• On steep paths or bridges, there are bicycle grooves in which you can push your bike to the flatter surface at the top or bottom:

• Bicycle parking facilities in front of shops and restaurants: 

• Double decker bicycle parking areas at stations or bicycle parks:

• Apartments and houses usually have a basement or storage area where tenants can park their bicycles. Bicycle parking is an essential part of an office or apartment design: 

Now, if only I could keep up with our toddler cycling a) on two wheels...

Local Lawnmowers

Although we live in a city, it often feels more like a town - or even farmland!
Especially on a day like today when I just happened to pass a flock of sheep, right in our neighbourhood!

My husband was the first to spot them in the area while he was running errands. The flock is the local lawnmowers from a nearby town, who visits our city three times per year to maintain the overgrown public areas. A temporary fence is setup where they then freely roam around to snack on the long grass, until they are moved to the next area.

This is one of many unexpected and clever innovations which we have observed in random places over the past months. 

More to follow soon...

Bags and Flags

This past week, we had noticed several school bags and flags, some decorated with the words "geslaagd", being displayed outside the houses of our neighbourhood.

This is a Dutch tradition to indicate that children have passed their "middelbare" school exams - similar to the passing of Matric at the end of high school in South Africa.

Normally the flags would appear once the final examinations have been completed and the individual results have been announced, but this year the exams had been cancelled due to the closure of schools. 

For children of all ages, this school year must have ended on an anticlimactic note, but especially for "middelbare" school children, since the end of the year is often accompanied by school concerts, dances and school trips to other European countries. (The image of hopping across to Paris for a weekend of "pain au chocolat" with your school friends, somehow seems very far removed from the Plett Rage a.k.a. the 'Margate Matric holiday' prior to 2005.)

It is nice though, to see that throughout all the changes and disruptions of 2020, some traditions and excitement still remain.

Cherry Blossoms

It is 9 pm at night and I'm gazing out of our apartment window to the clear blue sky, dotted with light clouds. It has been another amazing spring (summers!) day. And a holiday. AND the Horeca industry (hotels, restaurants, cafés) reopened after a 3-month closure due to Covid-19. Therefore truly a magical day with people lining the parks, streets and "terrassen" to soak up the sun... albeit in small groups, keeping the "anderhalve meter" distance.

And this day will continue for at least another hour before the sun will slowly start setting.

The only downside to a day like this is convincing a toddler that it really is bedtime, when the sun is still shining with all it's might.

Due to the amazing weather over the past months, we have spent many a day cycling. We have bought another bicycle soon after the first one, when we realised that:
 1) You can cycle everywhere on dedicated cycling routes,
 2) If the routes are not dedicated, cyclists mostly have right of way, and
 3) Chances of getting a parking/driving/speeding/licensing/<add random reason here> fine is smaller.

During March and April, we encountered the most beautiful pink and white cherry blossom trees around every corner - inside the city and throughout the countryside. Whenever we went cycling during those months, I would constantly shout to my husband and toddler, who were cycling up ahead, to "look at those amazing cherry blossom trees! Look, a white one! And a pink one! There! On your left."

Toddler: Looking in the opposite direction, right on cue.
Husband: Staring straight ahead, not hearing (or pretending not to hear) my shouting.

At least I had managed to take a few pictures along the way (accompanied by moans and groans of having to stop for yet another cherry blossom tree - and this after they had missed the other twenty we passed on route!)