Colonialism, Speaking Dutch, and Market Purchases!

This is a massive post. Like so many of the others.

It begins like this:

Dutch people are really funny, but sometimes in strange ways. For instance, they're well-aware of how impractical it is to learn Dutch. It's so useful!, they say. They know it can be a bit ridiculous to learn--and if you tell them you want to, you can receive shocked reactions. (We come to more of that later! :) ). Then they begin to tell you all the marvellous places you can go speaking Dutch--well, Nederland, for sure, and of course lots of Belgium. But wait! There's more, they say, and then they begin to sort of non-chalantly, and also self-deprecatingly (you'll see why this casual, light nature is a bit disturbing) list the other places: their colonised regions. That's right. Well, there's the Dutch Antilles to start with, which they still have under colonial rule and there's debate right now in the Netherlands about whether it's incorrect to still have colonies, and if they should do away with them. Also, it's illegal by EU standards. Then there's South Africa. Ha-ha!, and if you learn Dutch, you can probably understand Afrikaans! That's cheating, of course, because they're so closely connected. Oh, but there's also the formerly Belgian Congo, now its own republic. Too funny. So many places for Dutch.

I can't really understand the way they refer to it--so relaxed, like it's funny, even, sometimes. This is colonialism. No, no, this isn't just colonialism--this is colonialism in SOUTH AFRICA, and *THE CONGO*!!!! These are like, the worst case scenario examples of colonialism. This is like, not just normal bad colonialism, but like *really really* bad colonialism! And yet the Netherlands is so relaxed, and so liberal, and so progressive, and yeah, you know, right? Yeah, you can speak Dutch like...all over the place! Just go to South Africa. Yeah.

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Portion II: SPEAKING DUTCH. I feel like I should have had a good label for Portion I but I don't really want to go back and be witty.

Commencing:

Wellllll yesterday was a big success! It started off like this:

9:55am I'm outside the designated NY Bagels place where a friend of mine and I are supposed to meet for (what became) brunch. By the way, it was SOOOO ridiculously good, but we won't get into that right now. I had planned on being early, because I'm always late meeting her, and so I'm outside and decide to go buy measuring spoons at the Blokker right next door.

So, I go in:

It's just opened at 9am, and I forget it's almost 10am, so I'm thinking I'm being rude by coming in 5 minutes before it officially opens. This guilt follows me. I'm wandering the store, searching, searching, scouring the place with my eyes, really looking for these measuring spoons. I'm sort of doubting they have them, since our "measuring cup" back in the apartment is all in mL and grams and it's more like some sort of large cooking/baking beaker. I'm examining all the cooking-ware (AHH! I love cooking ware!) and inspecting the place, and I'm going over everything inch for inch in the kitchen section for the next 6-7 minutes. Finally, down-hearted, I resign and go over to the cashier and ask, in English:

"Hi; I'm sorry...do you have any measuring spoons here?"

Cashier: "Yeah...I think we do. If we did, we'd have them back in that corner [where I had just been], right by where the back door's opening now. On the left. I think we have them."

I thank her and head off to look again. Sure enough, they're there--but they're SOOO tiny it's easy to miss them! They're beautiful and metal, really smoothly and finely crafted; slightly heavy and perfectly rounded. They're €2.99 for the set, which is ridiculous, but I need them and I decide to take them home with me at the end of the semester anyway, since I like them and I'll need them in the future. I know it's selfish, because that's probably what everyone did at the end of every other semester, which is why I need to buy some for our apartment right now.

I pick up some candles and a tupperware, too, and I'm ready. At the cash register, a little old womyn gets in line behind me: she's the type with a yellow flower print shirt that's slightly wrinkled from age, with a bent back, weary skin and a shaking mouth. I wonder if she can speak. She is nudging behind me in line to put her load down on the edge of the counter, and I obligingly move in. She drops her items on the floor, and I pick some up. I figure she really can't speak because she just makes a sort of noise when I help her.

To the cashier, I say: thank you for your help! (Her: oh, you found them! Good to know). Me: I had really hoped to come into this store today and pretend to only speak Dutch, and then I had to ask for the spoons, and I didn't know the word!

Cashier (het spijt me, "kassier"): "Oh, maatlepels."

I repeat. She repeats. I repeat again. "Maatlepels."

The elderly womyn behind me in line starts speaking to me, and her eyes are earnest and bright, and she is looking right at me, talking in animated, enthusiastic Dutch. I feel awful for not speaking Dutch.

Me: "Ohh...ik speek geen Nederlands."

Cashier: (laughs) "No, she's complimenting your accent!"

I'm overwhelmed with feelings of kindness emanating from the lady, and gratitude, of course. "Oh, dank u, dank u!" I say with feeling.

The cashier tells me my bill and change in Dutch, which I appreciate since I know the numbers (although it gets more complicated when there's the euro dollar, and euro cents part put together, so I get a little confused). I say "Alstublieft" as I give her my money, and she laughs kindly, and she returns my change, and I say, "Dank u--Dag!" She laughs warmly and says, "Dag!" My day has begun!!!

Then my friend turns up and we go into the Bagel store. I have planned it out: I will order a bagel (bagel pindakaas of bagel met hummus, sla, en tomato?) and koffie met soja (which type, I have not finalised), and I review in my head how to formulate sentence: modal verbs mean the second verb remains unconjugated at the end (we learned this last class). So I head in, and we're speaking softly in English together, and I go up and say:

"Kan ik en bagel met hummus, sla en tomato hebben?" The cashier replies in the affirmative and says some more things which I don't understand, and then I realise she is asking which type of bagel, and I say with a (maybe?) Dutch accent, "Oh, onion! Alstublieft." Suddenly I remember, and in my panic to include my drink on the bill, bubble into English: ah, a chai latte, please, with soy! Okay, is the response, and I'm frustrated and ashamed about my lapse. I receive my latte and confess sheepishly, "I'm trying to learn Dutch." The cashier laughs and says she noticed my strange switch between languages. I ask how my sentence formation was? She says she could understand it, which means it was good. She tells me my bill and gives me my change in Dutch, though she short-changes me €1. Apparently it happens a lot here (why are full euros in coins? It's just wrong).

The bagel is AMAZING. It is swimming in hummus, topped with paprika, with a side salad of fancy greens and two fresh tomatos. It's like, the single best thing I've had on a bagel since veganism began for me. Seriously. Absolutely. It's been a day and a half and I'm still crazy over it.

Then to the natural food store, where I don't speak any Dutch, and THEN to the Dappermarkt! It's an outdoor market with ridiculously cheap fruits and veggies (3 little overflowing containers of fresh delicious amazing blackberries for €2. It's real. A good-sized eggplant for €1). In the market I try to speak Dutch several times! I ask, for instance, "Is dit twee euro voor dree batje?" and, when I try to speak English to someone as my friend buys eggs, in order to clarify his egg prices & types, he just speaks Dutch back as if we understand, so she buys and we leave. I say, "Dag!" and he responds back. My friend is impressed. At the smoothie stand, I order in Dutch. Except, I say the smoothie name in English, and fumble/lapse when altering the order, so the guys inside the kiosk as if we're from the UK and I'm tempted to say yes. They always assume you're from the UK here. And on the websites, if you want them in English? No little American flag, my friend--but the British flag! Get used to it. Other tinier more European nations speak English, too. By that, I mean, English can be associated with England, and not just the U.S. Surprise, surprise. I've been shocked.

I should say, for the record--EVERYONE SPEAKS ENGLISH HERE. That's why you either have to initiate Dutch conversations (and then explain that you don't actually speak Dutch, so you can't tell what they're saying back), OR you need to actually learn and understand it so you can pick up when they speak to you. EVERYONE speaks English here. Iedereen spreekt hier Engels, I mean. I may have had to Google Translate that. (Best invention, EVER).

Okay, that was actually Portion II and Portion III: The Marketplace collapsed into one section together, so I guess I'm done. Going to go hang out, do some homework, and maybe play some guitar.

Love you all! Autumn is beautiful here. Oh! One more thing--when wandering along Herengracht to find a Bank of America-affiliated European (but not Dutch) bank in order to save myself some withdrawal pains and woes, I end up meandering down Keizergracht for a while before class, walking back to my bike. The "grachts"--by that, I mean, the 4 main canals circling the central part of the city, Singel & Spuistraat, then Herengracht, then Keizergracht, and then Prinsengracht--are the really nice (and expensive) parts. This part of the city is still central, but well-planned (not like the chaos of the Dam-square area), stately, residential, and maybe a little corporate. Not that I like corporate, but I mean polished, and non-touristy business-y. It's turning to Autumn here. As I walk down the street / canal, there are yellow leaves on the ground, making semi-circles and guarding the little European cars along the water's edge, and all around me are large, old, darkly and regally painted stately old homes and buildings. There are wrought-iron lantern-like lights, and of course cobbled streets (it's Europe...), and then the sparkle of midday light on the water, and...the light-coloured leaves. It's so beautiful I forget to be afraid of biking, or of being out doing errands on my own, and of the congested traffic that's around the Vijzelstraat / Muntplein area. I remember again later, but it's so beautiful that I decide I have to return and make this a special trip: someplace to go, alone, with friends, with a notebook, with homework, with thoughts. Maybe with a camera, but I'm resisting. I also want to shut off Facebook. I don't find I need it now. I'm still on it, but I feel...free, sort of like it slides off me, like oil. I guess I'll still want it for photos and all that, for remembering the European experience (via the Internet?), but I'm also inspired by Adam Jacobs's words: "The internet is ick for the animal." Maybe I'll shut off the comment feature. I don't want to respond any more. The purpose of going abroad is to forget the life you lead back home, no matter how much you love it.

And then later in the evening (yesterday, not while I was meandering along Keizergracht), I got lost going to the squatter house for €3 vegan dinner with lots of friends, and an old lady helped me. She was really nice. I plan on speaking Dutch. I'm going to do it.

As I promised myself I would write: "It's a fact about my life."

xo.