Someone actually took the time to build a Dutch and American house next to each other.

The differences strike me at a few points. First of all, houses in the Midwest are generally bigger. If you’re Dutch and under thirty, nine out of ten times you live in an apartment. If you’re married, this apartment could have more than a living room, a bathroom and a bedroom; just don’t count on it, though. Although this isn’t the worst adjustment (I can imagine the other way would be worse), I still have to get used to the idea of someone my age actually living in a house that’s big enough to play hide and seek in. Also, I never thought I would ever be worried about something the novelty that is school districts. Not since I was picking one of three high schools on walking distance (that’s also really special over here) did I care about what schools were in the area, but now I find myself ticking of boxes that relate to elementary school, middle school and high school. Aside from other things that are new when buying a house, the school districts are something that are hard for me to wrap my mind around, as I’m used to the idea that you have a choice. You could say I’m actually pro-choice when it comes to schools. I don’t know how these differences will shape my life later on. In the end, I think what makes a home doesn’t really change between cultures, but what it takes to get there certainly does.

Does anyone else feel that middle schools are really the middle child of the school system?

I’ll start with a mandatory Eiffel tower picture

As you’ve all seen last Friday, miss Missouri came to town. Or, as she would see it, to Europe. Even though the Netherlands has been voted most picturesque country in the whole world* time and time again**, she feels too much contained in the 16,000 square miles that is my home country. So, as Americans do, we went to France (and she went to London while I was in class; I’m really committed). More specifically, we went to Paris. Early morning, we got in the high speed train, only to arrive in Paris three hours later. As we spent half the night not printing our tickets and had a mere four hours of sleep, those three hours were spent sleeping by miss Missouri and her dad (who joined us for the trip), and studying by me (again; commited).

Once we arrived, we went to our hotel in the middle of Indiatown. Nothing French yet. We had seen nobody walking around with the mandatory paper shopping bag including baguette, we had not seen even one part of the Eiffel tower, and every street corner had Bollywood music playing. We checked in at our hotel and started walking. Actually, we didn’t stop walking until we were at the edge of our beds and ready to fall in. The weather was beautiful, and I was thrilled to explore a new city. For some reason, it’s never the bigger moments I remember. For me, Paris wasn’t exploring the Eiffel tower and seeing the sun set over the city. It was sitting at the bank of a river, looking at Japanese tourists in a boat floating by, while having lunch in the shade of a tree. It’s the joy of being in a metro and seeing how daily life in Paris looks the same as in any other city, but with the small differences that make it fun to be part of. It’s walking along huge boulevards that make you imagine what life was in the high days of French grandeur. Climbing stairs that are just a tiny bit too long, but make up for it with the view in the end. It’s the little book stores along the river, that create a different atmosphere (and they know it, too). I was in Paris for only one afternoon and a little bit of evening, but there’s something about walking in a new city that never gets old.

*Not an actual contest
**Not an actual statistic

This is not a stereotype. I’m pretty sure she is watching her husband do the laundry outside.

American airports, or at least the ones where I tend to show up (it’s not that many), have a habit of showing football games every time I am going back home (late summer and mid-January). As I am preparing myself for Missouri in many ways, including writing papers on Lincoln and the Civil War in the context of my study, I see it as important to understand American football. Another important factor in my choice of watching football is that I’m always at least five hours early at the gate and as there are more hours of travelling ahead than my books are able to cover, I position myself right under a speaker and at a convenient distance from the television. As more and more people drop in, I have seen a tendency among many men and women. If National Geographic is ever planning on mapping out the habits of the American people, an airport gate would be a great place to start.

Can someone explain to me why that man on the right is actually holding a football? Also, what is he wearing when he watches the Olympic figure skating finals?

Whenever a new couple walks into the seating area, the man looks around. His intuition tells him there’s a game going on. His well-developed senses then spot various groups of men wherever speakers are placed in the ceiling. They’re watching the television with an intensity that doesn’t appear when the regular CNN coverage is on. All women are either absent or turned away from the television. The man looks at his wife, she is faced without a real choice and wonders off to the newspaper stand down the hall. The newcomer now positions himself as close to a speaker as possible and joins all other men in a silent gaze.

Do you have a travel ritual? Any gender-related habits that come to play?

It has a button, too.

Today is the last day to play, so if you’re bored and looking for a way to vamp up your Friday, feel free to click the button above. I hope to win (and if I don’t, it’s because English is my second language), just to see how a box of apple muffins will make it here. Below, you find my entry:

Exodthem
1. Exodus
2. Forcing grammarly handicapped people to leave the building.
3. If them would speak proper English, them could stay a while, but now I’d rather exodthem.

Bettheyen
1. I got nothing
2. Ponder upon what to eat for dinner.
3. How about pasta? That’s okay, we can still bettheyen.

Conclthemion
1. Conclusion
2. Coughing up that green stuff that had been blocking your throat for days.
3. ‘Hold on, I think I may finally have my conclthemion.’

Constitthemion
1. Constitution
2. When a bus or train is so crowded you cannot pass easily.
3. ‘Let’s take the next one, this one is constitthemion.’

Ththem
1. Thus
2. A minor, unplanned surprise.
3. ‘What a ththem, there’s a $10 bill in my pocket!’

Theyre
1. Still not a clue
2. Archaic English for ‘deer’.
3. Shan’t we be humble, lest we stumble; thyself thy heir, evermore thirsty, like a runaway theyre.

Theme (pronounced as something between thumb and tomb; don’t ask why, I didn’t make the rules)
1. Use
2. When your little toe slams the door.
3. I feel a little lame, maybe it’s because of the theme yesterday.

Themurp
1. Usurp
2. In a family with many kids, themurp is almost the youngest.
3. ‘I have one younger sister, that makes me themurp.’

Like this one.

What’s worse than my accent, however, is that sometimes it’s not really English any more. It’s replacing normal Dutch with Dutch with English words. This means a shift from ‘we’ll all pretend he doesn’t have an accent, just smile and nod’ to ‘what did you just say?’ (I found a wikipedia page on Dunglish; I found myself guilty on all of listed symptoms, although not as bad as the most colorful examples). Below is a great video, because of three things: a Dutch man faking a Scottish accent, an American speaking Dutch (two sentences) and then bursting out in a flawless Dutch accent.

Sometimes, it’s a little subtler than downright wrong. When miss Missouri is trying to learn Dutch and getting ‘nice to meet you’ right (‘Aangenaam kennis te maken’), I tell her to ignore the whole sentence. People don’t say that, especially not in the robotic way the cd will teach you. There is a downside to this, though. I must have met quite a few people who now think I did not take any pleasure in meeting them. Also, I must seem rude every now and then, because the Dutch use of the word ‘please’ is for toddlers that wanted to be lifted only. Americans use it for passing salt, ordering coffee and asking for amnesty alike. Maybe this is the reason I get a dirty look along with my salt all the time…

What’s your best accent?

I didn’t want to give away any spoilers, so here’s a very happy woman doing groceries in Holland, Michigan.

You see, in the States there is a certain luxury when you’re doing your groceries. You get your basket, walk up to the register, pile your stuff on the belt and pay while someone else packs your bags. The confusing part in the Netherlands is that it sneaks up on you. You get your basket, walk up to the register, pile your stuff on the belt and pay while you’re at the same time supposed to pack your own bags, that you should have bought before you got to the register. No one is packing your bags for you. I feel a lot of sympathy for those tourists that go through this the first time. As a teenager, this was the worst part of doing groceries. By the time I started packing, a big line had formed behind me. I would get nervous by having all these people wait on me, packing bags and getting my wallet out at the same time. Of course, the nervousness would cause my wallet to burst open and spray coins all over the place, so after picking them up, I’d carelessly pack my bag, throwing the eggs in first and piling cartons of milk on top of them, getting more and more nervous by the minute and walking home with broken eggs, leaking cartons and enough to cry about for the next two weeks. That’s why I feel sorry for those who didn’t even see it coming.

It didn’t help either that half my basket was filled with the stuff you use to fight acne.

The banner that you can’t read says ‘customer appreciation day (my photo skills are the reason I don’t believe in the idea that a picture can be a thousand words).

Because it’s American, that’s why. The picture above shows a small town in Illinois that my train went through. It announces an upcoming customer appreciation day. I don’t know what they actually did on that day. Probably not aligning cars and trucks, because that’s more of a daily routine job. It’s one of those things that does make you wonder why there’s a special day for that. Like Mother’s Day, it seems just to serve a commercial want. Even worse, somewhere in the back of your head you suddenly feel okay ignoring your mother for the rest of the year. You did bring her breakfast in bed, after all. So, you won’t see me on customer appreciation day. I want to feel special every day.

What do you appreciate?

A great reader will let me know when they enjoyed a blog post, and more importantly, what they liked about it. I really like how I can see the great readers here join me in watching (mostly their own) American culture through the eyes of someone who never had to make it his own, but is now finally trying. They understand that a different culture always comes from your own perspective and provokes amazement, rather than a condescending tone (even when the two can be hard to distinguish or sometimes even come in a hybrid form). If you’re looking for examples, my great readers are to be found in about every comment section.

It’s not the fourth of July, it’s the Wonderful Team Member Readership Award; that other occassion to have fireworks.

I would like to celebrate some sort of ‘reader appreciation day’. Don’t get too excited, this is not going to be an annual thing. I’ll list five people who stand out in appreciation. Actually, make that three. I’d like to give an honorary mention to Jenn, who I can’t give back the award, because that seems kind of rude and non-appreciative (I would). The second honorary mention goes to Orange Spice Drop, who was always a faithful commenter, but seems to have deleted her blog, so I cannot link to her. Finally, I’d like to mention that I appreciate every comment, either on here or informal. But then again, protocal requires me to list five readers. I happily announce the other three mentions:

Maria Thermann, who is without a doubt my most loyal commenter. She knows  her cultures, her migration stories and her fantasy writing. Please go and check her out.

This is a funny one, because I don’t know her actual name. I hope she never mentioned it. Let’s CUT the Crap! No, that’s her blogging name. One of the things I really like about blogging is how you come across people from all sorts. She is a very talented writer and funny, too. I love reading about a world that is quite different from my own (yet).

Daniel Mitchell. It seems I’m steeling ideas and mojo here, but he actually contributes a lot to this blog and is not afraid to call me out when my ideas have gone too far. His sharp insights and witty nature are evident on his blog, too. He’s a good one to have around, even if just virtual.

What makes a good reader to you?

First of all, you have to be 21 or over to enter. It’s not that anything really funky is going on, but it eliminates high school sweethearts looking for a very gross place to make out in the corner, little kids that get bored or young parents that bring their little ones to a movie so inappropriate, your replacing shame prohibits you from enjoying the movie, condemning it in the young-born soul’s place instead. This creates a unique  atmosphere. Behind the desk, you feel elected into a club that actually keeps people outside. It must be what it feels like going into an airport lounge, but I wouldn’t know, because every time I try, I get shooed away.

I made this picture myself. The quality explains why I don’t put up more pictures and maybe also why we decided to hire a professional photographer for our wedding. 

Only 29 people fit in the theatre. Big lounge chairs make you feel like a little kid (unless you’re the guy next to us, who actually needed that seat). The full hour of commercials flies by, because you’re overwhelmed with the exclusive atmosphere, the private waiter that comes by and playing with the buttons that make your chair even more laid-back. Unlike everyone else in the theatre, we actually ate a meal before going in, but our beers and brownie (even though the combination sounds absolutely terrible) were surprisingly good. We saw Django Unchained and I even provided a mini review as a bonus. After the movie, we had quite something to talk about. The whole concept gives a feeling of a night out, as if you’re going to the theatre again. If I’m really honest, our seats, service and experience were far better than our one time visit at the opera.

What’s your favorite night out?

*Bonus: mini review for Django Unchained.
I give it *** (that’s three stars, not a covered-up dirty word) out of five. Not that I disliked the movie, it was just too much Quentin Tarantino. One of the reasons I am not suited to actually review movies is that I have never watched one of his movies (fully). I’ve heard rumours about his style, they were all true and had someone else directed the movie, it would have been much better.