I have been in the Netherlands for almost two years now, and it’s been wild.
I’d like to say it has been easy, but there have been moments while facing down a bitterballen that I’ve missed fish and chips more than anything.
You don’t know what a bitterballen is? It sounds nice, but is just… not.
Here is the description for you:
Bitterballen (plural of bitterbal) is a Dutch meat-based snack, made by making a very thick stew thickened with roux and beef stock and generously loaded with meat, refrigerating the stew until it firms, and then rolling the thick mixture into balls which then get breaded and fried. – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bitterballen
Whatever, they have some tasty fucking stuff here as well. Raspatat. Joppie. Cheese. Oliebollen. Anyway, as I was saying…
You know the fish and chips from the chippy.
With the crumbly bits of batter that smatter the bottom of the paper wrapper fat slathered carbs?
Or the crunchy end of the fish that has little to no fish in it; it is instead just batter.
I don’t even eat meat or fish, but I would ruin a chicken Balti pukka pie, roe and curry sauce.
Things you don’t really think about, until one day in August, when you remember sitting on a hill eating a 20p potato scollop covered in vinegar. Memories are funny things.
Even stranger than the moving country, is moving during Brexit and then having a pandemic come and fuck you up.
I’d like to say it has been easy all the time, but sometimes it’s just a bit like what in the fuck is going on.
In a way, it was good that there was an overriding force, making me stay and ride it out. Though I wish it has been something less destructive than a pandemic. I would easily throw money at an airline to head back for 12-24 hours.
How I would fit in all my people in that time no idea. I’d make it work.
A lot has changed, and then not much at all—what a strange place to be in.
Y’know, I’ve been driving longer here than I did in the UK. One thing I don’t miss is potholes and a million roundabouts. That often pops in my mind, fuck UK roads – they are trash.
The UK setup for freelancers is a lot less complicated; straddling two countries and trying to navigate Brexit with taxes has been a clusterfuck. I’m almost done wrapping everything up, and my UK bank account is being closed due to Brexit, like many other immigrants (or expat if that is what you want to call yourselves).
If you are Dutch or live in The Netherlands and reading this, you know the absolute fuckin heart-shitting annoyance of those blue envelopes.
People always ask – what is different there? And the answer is both everything and nothing at all.
I’m not yet sure what I have learned, unlearned or what the next year looks like. I’m currently waiting for a covid vaccination, just like millions of others here.
The things you miss don’t turn out to be things in the end. It’s people. Wow… such a surprise.
A revelation one might say! It’s not just the person it’s the connection, actually. The tiny idiosyncratic things you do together.
It’s the ease of grabbing wine and going to your friends. Ordering two coffees in the morning and swinging by at 8 am to chat shit.
Catching the train at 4am to London to look at deer in a park.
It’s the being in a bar and bumping into people you know, sharing five minutes with, and not seeing each other for another 6 months.
It is standing halfway up a hill in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon for no reason, wondering what in the fuck you are doing.
Listening to an unknown (to you) playlist with a friend that can drive (and literally takes you everywhere). I can drive now; I’d still let them drive, though.
The shopkeeper always said your name slightly incorrectly, but you didn’t care.
The ease of saying yalrightmate in one breath, and it could literally mean are ‘you alright?’ in a friendly way, ‘good morning’, ‘hello’, or ‘fuck off’ – depending on the tone.
I have been asked countless times if I am homesick, don’t you get homesick? Have you been homesick? I WOULD BE SO HOMESICK!
It turns out I don’t really have a home. Not in the traditional sense. It’s not a roof and windows with a garden. It’s not the bricks for sure. So I didn’t really get homesick. I don’t miss a single brick.
Turns out, in fact, that my home is some very specific people. And I don’t even fucking like people. Finding interesting ways to remain connected, and if not closer has been fun.
I mean that in the most genuine of ways. The sending of memes has seen an uptick, my voice note length has increased exponentially (both getting and giving). I’ve sent random gifts like books, flowers, and hamper boxes.
I don’t really know what happens next. Ik weet het niet.
It’s been almost two years, and it’s been wild as fuck.
