This news is almost 2 weeks old, but I just realised that I haven’t told you. I am now officially a resident of The Netherlands, with permission to work and love the colour orange. I now have an identity card and everything.
Everyone who lives in NL has to register with the government at every address they live, whenever they live there. This includes foreigners. A very good portion of the population is registered at a false address. Due to the perceived housing shortage, no-one wants to give up their lease, so when they move out they sublet the place. If the sub-lessee were to register at that address, the lessee would have to pay tax on that income, so for most places it is impossible to register. And so I am registered at the address of my ex-GF Kirsten’s parents’ house in Zutphen, on the other side of the country.
So I caught the train out to Zutphen to see Henk and Bea again and to pick up my residence permit. The trip only took 1:20 but I saw some changes in the landscape as we went inland, specifically SNOW. That’s right, everywhere was white, covered in 30cm of snow. I have been snowboarding but this was a new experience. This was where I lived. Henk picked me up from the station and took me back through the snow to his house. I was a bit reluctant to climb the scary staircase with snow at the top, with severe risk of death from slippage, but due to extreme bravery I managed to do so. It was nice and warm inside.
Henk and Bea were pleased to see me, it wasn’t weird at all, considering that I was staying with the parents of my ex-girlfriend. I fixed Henk’s computer and Bea took me into Zutphen to the Stadhuis, on the way stopping at the Albert Heijn, I took the opportunity to get a tasty broodtje kroket from the little shop nearby. Bea led me through twisting, seemingly random medieval streets, i was almost lost until I saw the big kerk and realised where I was. Armed with my folder of every piece of paper possible, and steeling my heart for the ordeal to come, we entered the stadhuis to get my permit.
I took a number and waited. My number was called within a minute. I went to the desk, careful not to say anything so they don’t hear my non-Dutch accent. I handed the lady my letter and she told me she was going out the back. I prepared myself for a long wait. Less than a minute passed and she was back with my permit, which she handed to me. I signed a form, and was free to go. Bea and I were in shock. How could it be possible? I was a foreigner, coming here to steal their jobs and women, and yet she had done nothing to impede me. Is it possible that the dat kan niet attitude is not universal?*
To help cope with our shock, Bea took me to get some sugar, in the form of spekulaas, a seasonal Dutch baked good, a kind of soft, sweet, almondy treat. Lekker. It is a bit full-on, you can’t eat too much at once, there is a risk of cyanide poisoning from the intense almondyness**. I ate it all within 24 hours though.
Back at the house I was treated again, for dinner Bea prepared erwtensoep met rookworst, which is one of my favourite Dutch meals. It is a kind of thick pea soup served with a smoked pork sausage. It is a great and hearty winter meal (Stevige!). After dinner I opened my Sinterklaas present from Henk and Bea, unsurprisingly it was a giant chocolate letter ‘D’. It is a Dutch tradition that everyone gets a big chocolate letter for sinterklaas, being the first letter of their voorname. So, ‘D’ for ‘Darryn’.
I slept well, despite the cold, and got the train back to Amsterdam after lunch. I got the #5 tram from Centraal and got off on my block at Keizersgracht stop (only 2 strips!). I carried my bag the 100m to my new front door, and moved in to my new house. I was home.
* no it is not possible. Exception proves the rule.
** not really (probably).
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