The Sint

The Netherlands has some pretty unusual holidays.

We have Queens Day, where everyone celebrates the Queen’s birthday by wearing orange and selling items in a flea market. We have Second Christmas, where everyone shops for furniture at Ikea.

And then there is Sinterklaas.

Much has been written about St. Nicholas.  Many cultures celebrate him calling him by names such as “Santa” or “Father Christmas”. But no one, no one, comes close to the imagination and creativity of the Dutch.

In Holland, Sinterklaas arrives well before his feast day, usually in mid November. Does he arrive by sleigh with elves from the North Pole? Don’t be ridiculous. He comes by boat, from sunny Spain, with his white horse, and his troop of Swarte Piets (read here, white Dutch men in black face).





Swarte Piet

 So starting in mid-November, Sinterklaas and his troop of “Black Peters” travel from house to house at night. The Piets jump to the rooftops and climb down the chimneys checking on the behavior of children in the house. They may leave a small treat in a child’s shoes left by the fire. Or, if a child is bad, they may leave a small bundle of sticks, a reminder of the beating that Piet may give that child if the offending behavior continues.



If a child should meet with the Sint at school or at a party, he will read from the “Big Book of all the Children in the World”. In that book, the Sint has a list of all behavior good and bad. The Sint will lean into the kids a little about what needs to be done differently and praise the child for what has been done well.

On the eve of December 6th, Swarte Piet comes to the door, rings the bell, and throws in a burlap bag of gifts and poems, along with a shower of ginger cookies.

If a child has been bad, so the legend goes, Swarte Piet will grab that child, throw him in the sack, beat him with a switch, and carry him off to sunny Spain. Personally, I wouldn’t mind the sunny Spain part, I haven’t seen the sun since August.



Gifts wrapped to identify the recipient

 I love this holiday for many reasons. First, in Dutch style, it is family oriented not gift oriented. A Sinterklaas celebration is a time to gather the family. Even families with older children have fun writing poems that tease the recipient. Gifts may be disguised as almost anything. If a person loves the guitar, the gift may come hidden as a giant paper-mache instrument. Or a gift may be hidden in the house with only clues given for the location. A meal is shared. Traditional songs are sung. Families with children of all ages look forward to this night all year.



The Piet Band

Second, it is NOT a politically correct holiday. In the United States, traditions are frequently so politically correct that they have all of the texture and diversity of oatmeal. The Dutch know that Swarte Piet is shocking to many people. But they value the tradition over political correctness.  This mischievous character is the Ying to St. Nicholas’ Yang. He is foolish and playful. At our church service on Sunday, a Piet amused himself while the priest spoke by walking along the altar rail like a tight rope. The children love him; and the children within the grown-ups love him as well.

Third, as David Sedaris wrote in his essay “Six to Eight Black Men”, the Dutch have the very best bedtime story.  I have personally had the privilege of telling my 10 year old son, “Well, The Sint is coming tonight. He might bring you presents, or he might throw you in a sack, beat you with a stick, and drag you off to Spain. You might want to pack a few things, just in case.”



A gift tagged with a poem for Jack

 So now we've moved on to decorating for Christmas. My three year old Audrey is thoroughly confused as to whom Santa might be versus Sinterklaas and if any Swarte Piets might be coming down the chimney to fill her stocking with candy. 

All is well, though. My children have learned a little about a completely different kind of holiday, cultural diversity, and bonding as a family over a few small gifts tagged with a poem from St. Nick.

This is Halloween

Halloween has never been my holiday.

I’ve never been one for dressing up or planning a big party. Even getting the kids their costumes was a chore. But living abroad changes things. I’ve realized that Halloween, although a Celtic holiday in origin, is part of my American identity.

The Dutch, being Dutch, do not celebrate Halloween. The closest thing they have is St Martin’s Day. On eve of November 12th each year Dutch children carry lanterns in groups and travel door to door. There they sing songs about St. Martin, a fourth century saint, in return for candy. This has not happened at our house yet, but I’m waiting.

St. Martin's Day in NL

In most of Holland and the surrounding Netherlands, you will not find jack-o-lanterns or spooky decorations. Candy corn is a rare and valued commodity. This is mostly procured by families associated with the American Embassy who have access to the commissary at the US military base in Germany. Lucky sods.

Because I live in a bit of an ex-patriot community, the local shop owners try to cater to American tastes. Last year a tiny costume shop opened in our village. Now, for the first time, it is possible to get cotton spider webs and scary masks without making a special order to England. Even the candy shop now has a limited selection of skeleton licorice and ghost shaped marshmallows.

My children’s school makes Halloween happen here by sheer force of its will. They organize candy donations, petition hundreds of families to open their homes, make a map of participating households, and distribute bags of candy to each open house. Each participating family must be registered on-line and then donate 2 ½ pounds of candy per kid to the school collection site.

Our local cemetary

Expats come in from all over the area to trick-or-treat in our village. The street parking disappears. As evening approaches, hundreds of ghosts, fairies, and witches appear out of nowhere. On some streets, you could lose your children in the crowd. The line at the doors can be 10 children deep. Two families I know kept track of how many children came to their door this year. One family told me they had 420. Another said they stopped counting at 500.

 Although Halloween is not uniquely American, it seems the tradition of the adult Halloween costume party is. My German friend is fascinated by the psychological need of adults to create another persona, an alter ego, through costumes. She believes that since Americans do not celebrate Marti Gras or Carnival, they attach their need for an evening in costume to a holiday otherwise reserved for children. Our American need for an alter ego must be very strong here. There were many costume parties and the adults came out in the most amazing array of thoughtful and creative disguises.

This year, we had a wonderful Halloween! Jordan designed her own costume. She and I spend a few afternoons making child sized butterfly wings out of discarded cardboard and construction paper. Audrey spent a happy hours in our dress-up box choosing items for her princess costume, only to change her mind a the last minute and dress as a ballerina.


Walt and our lovely hostess in costume



For the first time in years, Walt and I went to a costume party in costume. We spent the week before Halloween planning and ordering accessories. Walt even bought face paint and started viewing tutorials on youtube.com about applying makeup.

It has become meaningful to me to decorate with pumpkins and jack-o-lanterns, to give time and thought to costumes, and most importantly to participate. There was something so comforting about celebrating this holiday. More than Thanksgiving or Fourth of July, this holiday has come to mean home to me. And I am so proud to share it.

Queen's Day Weekend

We’ve had another action packed week here in Den Haag. The kids are making friends. We’ve had our first set of play dates. We experienced our first Queen’s Day. We’ve again had a chance to learn more about the Dutch.

Jordan and Jack are quickly making friends here at the American School. We took Jack’s buddy Tanner to the beach at Wassenaar after school on Monday. It had rained all day, but just as we left for the beach, the wind picked up and the clouds blew away. It was my first time at the beach where I could see the horizon. In one direction up the beach we could see Den Haag, in the other we could see Amsterdam. It was windy and beautiful with quick moving clouds racing across the sky. The kids built a sand fort in an attempt to hold back the tide. We stayed to watch the ocean wash it away.

Jordan has made friends with a sweet little girl named Norah. Her mother is Spanish, her father is Dutch, she was born in Germany. That means that Norah can speak and understand Spanish, Dutch, German, and this year, English. I am humbled.

Queen’s Day is a huge national holiday here. It celebrates the Queen’s Birthday. At 8 am on Thursday, every bell in Den Haag started ringing in honor of the Queen. Around our house there are at least four medieval bell towers. The bells continued ringing for 15 full minutes. The kids and I went out on the balcony to listen. It was amazing and overwhelming. I’ll never forget it.

Later that morning we went to the children’s flea market. Every Dutch child is encouraged to sell old toys or baked treats to make some money. We picked up a Chinese yo-yo for Jordan.

We spent the afternoon at the carnival near the parliament building. I should have known that something was wrong when I could not find anyone wearing orange (the Queen’s royal color) anymore. The lines for the rides were very short. The trams were empty.

It wasn’t until that night that a friend let me know that a maniac had tried to crash his car into the Queen’s caravan on parade in the town of Apeldoorn. In the process, he plowed his car through a crowd of onlookers, killing five instantly and seriously injuring twelve more. The driver has since died. No one really understands the reason why this happened. It is all so very sad. Please keep the injured and their families in your prayers.

The next day at the school, I spoke with three different American families. None of them knew anything about the incident. The expat community here seems to be very insulated from local news.

On a lighter note, Audrey and I have had a great time riding the trams this week. Walt being away has forced me to go and get things done for myself. I am becoming much better at getting around by public transport. At one tram stop a Vietnamese man started a conversation with us. Using his extremely limited English (better by far than my Vietnamese), he asked if we were from the United States. When I told him we were, he smiled a HUGE smile, gave me two thumbs up, and said “OBAMA!”.

I’ve seen lots of interesting things along the way. Did you know the Dutch love dogs? Dogs are welcome in restaurants (of course!) but not butcher shops. People carry their dogs on their bikes in large milk-crates in front of their handle bars. I’m not talking about little dogs, either. I saw a full grown golden retriever carried this way. Fancy dogs have little dog trailers that tag along behind their owner’s bike. Dogs are welcome to ride the trams and busses, too, if they have their own canine ticket (no joke!). They are not allowed to take a seat though. I guess they have to draw the line somewhere.

We are still keeping track of interesting things seen on a bicycle. This week’s prize winner was a portly sixty year old man riding his bike wearing nothing but a speedo thong bathing suit.

It is time for me to go. The kids are making paper airplanes and sending them down the two story stairwell. I need to help them with some design work.

Easter Morning

It’s been a good week here. We’ve learned a whole lot about The Hague and the Dutch.

The first thing to know is nothing here is done without coffee. If a plumber comes to fix the sink, offer him coffee and expect him to drink two or more cups. Walt says at work every meeting involves several cups regardless of the time of day. The coffee here is very good and very strong. Luckily they put it in very small cups or I would drink myself into a complete caffeine delerium.

The next thing I have learned is that if you are driving “Big Brother” is always watching. They have speed cameras EVERYWHERE: every intersection and every quarter mile on a stretch of highway. There are frequent speed traps where an officer stands on the side of the road and records your picture and speed. He does not need to pull you over. Every time you are recorded speeding, you receive a little purple envelope in the mail announcing that you have been fined 120 euros or more. Parking tickets are 60 euros. You also receive these in the mail. Unfortunately, I am expecting to get a lot of mail….

My next big lesson was Dutch laundry. They have little tiny washing machines here. The inside is about the size of a bread box. Because all of the instructions were in Dutch and once you start a cycle you must wait the 2-3 hours before the cycle completes, my first load of laundry took 12 hours to finish successfully. Last Sunday we were unable to leave the house because all of our clothes were dirty and I could not get the washer to work properly. I have not yet washed sheets. I am living in fear of the time it might take. We may all be sleeping on the couch that night.

The food here is wonderful. The produce is garden fresh. The meats and fish also have a fabulous amount of flavor. Junk food is hard to find and expensive. There are no drive-thru restaurants. This put me in a panic at first wondering what to buy for dinner and how to cook it, but things have settled down now. Every ex-pat I meet who uses a bike claims to have lost between 10 and 30 lbs since their arrival.

Oh, get this, national dinner time is 6:30 pm. Everyone everywhere has dinner then. Very strange.

Walt has been my hero this week. He bravely tackles all things written in Dutch. With his laptop under his arm and Google Translate open, he completes all tasks from filling out the bonus card application for the grocery store to relighting the pilot light on the heater. I don’t know what I’d do without him

Walt is off to Malaysia at the end of the month for an 8 day trip and then Sakhalin Island (1000 miles north of Japan) in mid May. Look it up on Google. I think Siberia is more inhabited than this little corner of nowhere. Although there is a town on the island, he will be flying to the far northern part of the island. There is nothing there but a pipe coming out of the ground.

He is loving his job so far. It seems interesting and challenging without seeming like it will swallow him whole. He was told he was coming in too early when he arrived at 7:30 am. He was told it was time to go home by 5 pm. On holidays like Good Friday, the building is like a ghost town. No one uses Blackberries or checks e-mail at home. Home is where you spend time with your families. Go figure! Although his job involves international travel, it will be no more than 50 to 60 overnights per year. This works out to four or five nights per month. We both think this is a good deal.

The school has been a very soft place for us to land. Jack and Jordan are quickly making friends from many different countries. Jack has taken up playing soccer and rugby at lunch and after school. He’s amazed at all the different cultures represented in just his class. Jordan has made many friends and has playdates scheduled for the week after break. The other moms have been very supportive of me. I cannot have a conversation with a person without her offering her phone number and an invitation to get together again. Easter week is slow for us. The kids have off from school and a great many of the school families are off traveling. We look forward to hearing their travel stories when they return.

Walt, Audrey and I went out house hunting on Thursday. We saw nine houses and one was more than we had hoped for. It’s nicely situated between the school and the village center. It has five large bedrooms (ok, large around here) and a little tiny back yard.

Last night we took the kids to the beach. The water was cold, but it was a great night to be out. The kids played in the water for an hour. We watched crazy people bungie jump from a crane at the end of a pier. Audrey didn’t fall the water once She’s become quite good at listening to me in the last 10 days.

This morning Jack and I went to the English Catholic Church for Easter services. The mass was a full 2 hours, complete with baptisms of butt naked babies in a large font and an African drum choir. Jack and I both had a blast. (Does that sound strange? We had a blast at church?). We arrived an hour early by mistake, but it worked out well. We became friends with the family in front of us (also an hour early) and Jack has a playdate scheduled with their sons next week. It seems that “Age of Empires” is a universal language of 8 year old boys.

I should wrap this up. The house is a mess. Oh, but one more thing. Before we came I had heard that Dutch women wash their windows every day. I did not believe it. Now, unfortunately, I do. I am completely humbled by how clean and tidy everything is around here. Everyone will know that my house is not Dutch. Maybe I will find out their secrets…