365 Days in the Garden

An American in Holland

Becoming Dutch is not as easy as I hoped.

I wasn’t expecting the challenges that have popped up recently. I’ve been living in the Netherlands for three years, and the bloom is off the rose, or in this case, I suppose, of the tulip.

There have been several challenges, but all of them have seemed surmountable until recently. The food is boring, the weather is so rainy that there are scores of words to describe bad weather, and I can’t ride a bicycle. Of course, I can cook my meals, and use an umbrella like the people in the photo above, and my three-wheel van Raam takes me anywhere I two-wheeler can.

There is one challenge that is not so quickly resolved.

My biggest challenge to date has been learning to speak the language. I started making an effort soon after arriving, even though it was the height of COVID, and therefore all in-person classes were canceled. I learned quickly that it was all for naught without people to speak with in Dutch.

Eventually, the lockdowns ended, and I took my first course. I learned some basic conversational skills, but not enough to do anything more than “praten over koetjes and kalfjes” (small talk). It was good, but not enough. Consequently, I recently made a plan, and, like so often is the case, things did not go as I planned them.

A bump in the road forced me to regroup.

Not long after writing the piece above, I was diagnosed with cancer and had to put my plans for the immersion class on hold. The program I had enrolled in was quite expensive, but fortunately, the owner of the training organization agreed to give me a refund even though I was past the date when that usually would have been allowed. I asked him to hold the money instead, and I plan to enroll next summer.

However, I wasn’t ready to give up, and once I had the surgery and was declared cancer-free, I made a new plan.

I enrolled in a class that would meet weekly and in person. I was convinced this would be the right choice. The first night, I encountered an unexpected challenge. While waiting for an Uber, I was harassed by someone who said he was homeless and experienced fear for my safety for the first time since I moved here. Later, I learned from a neighbor that the neighborhood where the classes are held is known to be problematic.

I was unwilling to give up.

Rather than allow me to be defeated, I took my bike this week, and although I was worried about how my departure would go, I was able to leave that night without a problem regarding my physical safety.

Sadly, I wasn’t expecting my emotional security to be violated to such a degree that I decided that night I would not return. When the instructor used a right-wing conspiracy theorist meme attacking Joe Biden multiple times, I felt unwelcome in the class as an American.

Considering the fact that the class opened with a flattering story about the Dutch king (who seems like a good guy, but still), it felt even worse to have to listen to mean-spirited jokes about my president. I may not be a flag-waving fan of Biden, but I voted for him, and frankly, I believe he stood between us and the apocalypse in 2020.

I was on the verge of giving up anyway.

Maybe I was feeling particularly fragile that night, but the feeling that I was risking my life to go to a class where I was not wanted put me over the edge. On the ride home, through tears, I decided I wasn’t returning to that class, even if it meant forfeiting the nearly $500 I had spent and never learning to speak the language of the country where I now live.

Fortunately, the people who run the school had a solution. They offered an option for me to take an online class. Although I had specifically wanted to go to lessons in person, this was a good choice, and it turned out to be an excellent one. The teacher is friendly and very competent.

Whereas I constantly felt lost in the other class, that is no longer the case — this teacher speaks more slowly and loud enough to be heard, unlike the previous guy. He seems smart enough to know that tasteless jokes belong online or in a bar, not a classroom.

In the end, it all worked out well.

The man who made me so nervous the first night did me a favor. Some of my Dutch friends felt the teacher’s use of the meme was a lousy attempt at Dutch humor, and I wonder if the school would have taken the joke all that seriously if it hadn’t been coupled with the safety issue.

Now, my new challenge is to learn to understand Dutch humor.

I’m a retired community organizer and grandmother of two delightful children. I’ve been gardening organically for over 50 years, and I plan to publish something every day this year about growth-related things, using the kicker “365 Days in the Garden.”

So far, I haven’t missed a day. I hope you will join me in this new venture by subscribing to receive emails whenever something I write gets published. You can do that here.