25 years

In the land of Rembrandt

It was cold, gray and drizzly when I arrived in the Netherlands on October 22nd, 1997. Typical Dutch fall weather. Back home in Hudson County, New Jersey, it was still warm and sunny, so I guess you could say that I really wasn’t dressed for the weather in my Brady Bunch T-shirt, flared jeans and no coat. In those days, the weather report was either on the news or in the paper, certainly not on your phone. In fact, I didn’t even own a mobile phone back then. Only a beeper. Do you remember those things? They were all the rage when I was in high school. We used to clip them to the waistband of our plaid skirts, sort of like a status symbol. Mine was aquamarine blue and cost me an arm and a leg. Funny that the nuns at Holy Rosary – yes, I went to an all-girls, Catholic private school – never complained. But oh goodness did we hear it if our hoop earrings were too big!

Back to that October day, my first in the country I would call home. My sister-in-law and her husband, who lived way up in the north of the country in the province of Drenthe, had offered to pick us up from Schiphol Airport. A trip of a little more than 200 kilometers. We didn’t have a place of our own back then, but Hans’ mother, who lived in Borger, Drenthe, had kindly offered to take us in. Strange as that may sound, I lived with my (soon-to-be) mother-in-law Miep for two months. But I knew I was a lucky girl when she welcomed me with open arms and her freshly baked appelflap (apple turnovers). That same evening, she took me shopping, for what would be my first Dutch lesson. Guiding me with love and patience from day one. She really was the best mother-in-law.

I was only 19, and those first few months were rough. The language barrier, the way of life, the weather, the loneliness. Even the silence of the Dutch countryside unnerved me. Where were the fire sirens in the middle of the night? The cars honking their horns? I grew up a stone’s throw from New York City, and the rural life wasn’t sitting too well with me.

But like Sinatra once said, “Each time I find myself laying flat on my face, I just pick myself up and get back in the race.”

And that’s definitely what I did. I spent hours trying to learn Dutch from a self-study course I got at the library. I drew, went for long walks in the woods and wrote (rather dark) poetry. 

When we finally got our own place two months later in December of 1997, I was elated and scared to death at the same time. Where would life lead me next? One of the hardest things was dropping out of college to move to the Netherlands. How would I manage to go back to school without a seriously good command of the language? Luckily, I was accepted to an expat program at the journalism school in Utrecht the following May; a precursor to what would become my career. Even though the school director wasn’t so convinced. When I completed the program and went to pick up my diploma, I asked her if there was any chance I could return once I had learned Dutch. “If I were you, I’d go into something like nursing,” she replied.

To this day, I wonder if she’s read the articles or columns I’ve written, in Dutch… 

The next stop was Webster University, an American school in the heart of Leiden – a godsend, I thought! Being able to really resume my studies was amazing, but at the same time, I didn’t have the feeling I was really integrating. Suddenly, I was in an American bubble, and for some reason, after the first few semesters, I felt like I had made the wrong choice. 

One afternoon, however, we took a trip to the library at Leiden University, the most prestigious university in the country. Founded on February 8th, 1575, it was a reward given to the city by Prince William of Orange for the citizens’ heroic defense against the Spaniards during the Eighty Years’ War. Leiden University’s motto became ‘Praesidium Libertatis’ meaning ‘Stronghold of Liberty.’ It is the oldest university in the Netherlands, and from its very beginnings, it attracted many wealthy intellectuals who settled on Rapenburg, building beautiful mansions which can still be admired today. I was in awe of what I learned about the university during that visit and made up my mind right then and there – this was the school for me! And what’s more, they had a study program offering international students the chance to obtain an academic degree not only in the Dutch language, but also in its history, culture and society. After taking and passing my entrance tests, I was accepted. Five years later, I graduated, a master in the language, with a specialization in the art history of the Golden Age. I felt Dutcher than the Dutch!

Tomorrow, I will be celebrating 25 years in the Netherlands. A country where they have a political party that stands for animal rights and the welfare of the planet. The first country in the world to legalize same-sex marriage. A country where women have control over their own bodies. Basically, one of the finest countries in the world to live in. 

So what about France?

I was supposed to put my house up for sale at the beginning of September. After an exhausting year of searching and planning, we were going to take that one last step and finally head south. But only a week before the for-sale sign was set to go up, I had a change of heart. Shocking as that may sound. The realtor told us that due to the current economic situation, not only would the price of our house be less than what she had estimated six months prior, but that it would take longer to sell. In a way (and not really financially) it was a wake-up call. Here I was, living in a perfect little house. A warm, charming house with lovely wooden floors, a fireplace, a beautiful garden full of huge hydrangea bushes, close to a big city yet surrounded by plenty of green – almost everything I was looking for in a house in France (with the exception of the proximity to Bergerac). The latter was also gnawing at me. Knowing that my husband would have to fly back to the Netherlands once a month for work didn’t seem right in so many ways. There were other factors that played a role as well, among them mental and physical exhaustion, but to make the long story short, we’ve decided to stay put. Who knows when we’ll resume our plans again. For now, I am just very grateful to be where I am.