Outside of our house, which is in a relatively new development of rowhouse type structures next to a high school, occurs
the coolest trash pickup. There are two big metal boxes near the curb, one marked for paper recycling and the other garbage. These boxes serve the entire complex of maybe 20 houses. It seems like everyday, a big truck comes by and lifts the boxes up out of the ground, revealing that they are just the top of a large tank holding trash. And then it gets dumped into the truck. (see photo) It’s the kind of thing that gets children excited to see and I can only imagine how my 3 y/o nephew, Jasper, would freak out about these trash “up trucks.”
So, progress is happening here. In baby steps. I made another trip to the grocery store, this time decreasing the level of awkwardness. There is something about getting through the grocery store without revealing foreigness. It’s kind of a litmus test I use. Day 1 – disasterous. Day 2 – much improved. First, I went through an arduous process of getting a new loyalty card. I had to sign us up (hubs and I) through the Albert Heijn website. Alber Heijn is the signature grocery store of the Netherlands. The familiar blue “ah” bags are probably the most common site in this whole damn country. Honestly, it’s one of my great annoyances that people think about Amsterdam and immediately conjure images of wild Red Light District partying and coffee shops with pot smoke billowing heavenward. I’ve spent a lot of time in this country (probably 10 months total over the past 11 years) and this typical view of Amsterdam is like saying that New York City is completely defined by Times Square. The average Dutchie has little to do with it and the Red Light District area (along the Damrak) is so tourist-ified it’s like the Disneyafication of the Las Vegas strip. What was once so edgy with sex and drugs is now a neon playground of cheap souvenirs and overpriced Heinekens.
But I digress. So, I navigated the Dutch website (who needs Rosetta Stone when we have Google Translate?) and activated our cards. They really are important as most everything can be bought cheaper on the card. Look for the “korting” stickers, which indicate a discount or sale. I really can’t explain what makes me so anxious about the grocery store, but there are generally 2 elements. First, finding what I want. I really stink at the Dutch language. Honestly, it is a puzzle to me. Husband is convinced that the Dutch are actually telepathic and they just make up grunting sounds to feign verbal communication and plot world domination via bicycles and pannekeuken (pancakes). To date, I have found no evidence to disprove this theory. So reading labels is a big challenge. To further complicate things, I try very hard to find familiar foods for the girls to get them comfortable here. I’m not sure why because they generally reject my elaborate attempts at cooking (at home and abroad0 and just eat spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar. Nonetheless, I keep trying. You know, because feeding your offspring seems like the motherly thing to do. Anyway, all the usual bullshit is there, but with different labels and in smaller portion sizes (it’s true, Super-Sized America). So I located some eggs, milk, bread, apples, store brand Nutella, etc. BTW – eggs are marked in some kind of strange price per kg or something. It appears as though a dozen eggs are 13 euro, but really they are only 1,45 or so (yeah, they use commas). I have no idea what kind of metric and monetary conversion voodoo this shit is and I’m too tired to try and understand. Brown eggs – check. Oh, and there is something here called “filet Americain.” It’s basically a steak tartar with the option for spices and onions, etc. You can by different varieties in pre-packaged plastic containers just about everywhere. So weird, because isn’t raw burger like illegal or something at home? Anyway, the American adults in this house are big fans and we practically live off the stuff upon firs arrival (until the novelty wears off). And so forth and so on finding “normal” groceries is one of those daily challenges. Just remember, kip = chicken. Which husband thinks is onomatopoeia.
But the most distressing part of the trip is definitely the check out. It is at this point that I am most likely to be exposed. First, I pay by cash and this poses issues with finding correct change, etc. Keep in mind that coins go up to 2 euro, so that’s actually a lot of cash compared to a quarter in the U.S. We can discuss monetary issues; why American credit cards don’t have pins and how this is a disastrous problem, and the ridiculous Dutch chipknip, at another time. You might think the payment is the hardest part. But you would be wrong. The real challenge is bagging the groceries. If you’ve ever shopped at an Aldi, you may understand a bit. They don’t bag groceries for you here. It’s up to you. Also, you bring your own bags. They have this divider thing running the long way down the counter after the checkout scanner (you know, where the groceries slide down toward the bagger kid back home). This system allows a maximum of 2 grocery bagging shoppers collecting their goods before inter-grocery shopper mingling occurs. How do I explain this? So the lady in front of me is bagging her shit while my stuff is getting scanned and sliding down the counter on the other side of the divider. I fumble through payment and forget the phrase to ask for a receipt. Done. The lady ahead of me is finishing up and calmly taking her bags away to go on with her merry Dutch life without a second thought. Meanwhile, I head to my bagging station with sweaty palms and an increased heart rate. There is a 20-something guy behind me buying like 3 items. So he has paid and bagged his crap before I get much past untangling the damn fabric bags I had stuffed in my backpack (I use a backpack because I now have to haul these groceries on foot back to the house, about a 10 minute walk away. Although anyone in Holland will tell you it’s a 5 minute walk. Everything is a 5 minute walk away in this country. They are lying. Don’t believe them!). So the woman 2 shoppers behind me is now getting her stuff scanned. The checkout lady didn’t bother touching the divider because Speedy von Young Guy was in and out quicker than a Kardashian marriage. So, I’m stuffing bags. Vaguely trying not to crush the freshly baked bread and keeping in mind I bought eggs, but mostly just trying to git ‘er done before this lady pays and someone else’s groceries begin slipping down my side of the Great Divider. On my first trip to this store, I failed miserably after an epic battle with a cloth bag caught in a zipper pocket of the backpack. This time, I make it! I drop the organic stroopwafels (at delicious Dutch treat for the kiddos) in just before the next shopper’s box of hagelslag (look it up, it’s wildly popular here) comes sliding my way. I coolly walk away out into the sunny street.
It’s a pretty big victory, until about 10 seconds into my walk home when I realize I had put the heavy stuff in the fabric bag as opposed to the backpack. ‘Tis much more comfortable to bare the burden of weighty groceries on one’s back than hanging from an arm. So the journey homeward was painful, switching the bag back and forth from one sore and weak arm to another. It probably took more like 12 minutes.
So, anyway. That’s all the news I have the energy to share right now. We wore the kids out with a shopping trip, playing in water fountain/wading pool things and a nice stroll through Vondelpark (it’s like Amsterdam’s version of Central Park). Side note- Vondelpark is the only place in the world (I believe) where you can legally smoke pot and have sex. I know I’m contributing to the annoyingly badboy rep of this city, but it’s true and interesting. Personally, I love this park because it’s filled with people lounging on blankets, street vendors and musicians, and mostly young lovers or groups of friends picnicking with cheese platters and bottles of wine/Heineken. The atmosphere is part summer picnic, part college music festival campout. But I do worry about the kids getting a contact high. Alright, I have to stop. I’m becoming part of the problem of bad Amsterdam assumptions now.
Oh, and the luggage finally arrived. And the kiddos ate ice cream (ijs). And remember that news over here is much more graphic, expect images of dead bodies from Israel, etc. Better go feed those kids now. Tot Ziens.