Tristans Travels - Holland

I still get that little buzz of excitement every time I fly - I still always ask for a window seat! And it was probably because of this that I miss-heard the stewardess' question. I asked her to repeat what she said. I hadn't miss-heard it at all, I just didn't have a clue what she was asking. For all I knew she could have been asking if I wanted to join her and enter the mile-high club - which, from where I was sitting, would have been a fantastic offer. For safety sake I asked her to repeat it again, and was a little disappointed to discover that all she was offering was a choice of either cheese or ham in my roll. Never one to waste good food, I put the tragedy behind me and had cheese.

As I collected my luggage at the airport I found myself pondering the same old question - whose luggage is it that comes out on the conveyor belt first? It never gets collected, and mine is always one of the last. Do they put on dummy-bags so passengers don't feel like they're waiting for ages?! In the main part of the airport I was met and taken to a waiting Mercedes. After a brief and fruitless conversation between myself and my driver, we concluded that neither of us could speak each other's language, and that the next two hours were going to be spent in silence, looking out of the window. This did, however, enable me to check out the scenery. Though, to be honest, about ten seconds would have given me ample chance at this. It is flat, I mean really flat. There was the odd undulation in the road - but I could have sneezed bigger than that. I got terribly excited when I caught my first glimpse of a hill, that is until it turned out to be man-made to enable one road to pass over another.

OK, so no hills then. So what was there? - Greenhouses. Only one conclusion can be made from this - boy, do these guys get through some weed! Well, what did you expect - I was new to the country, my stereotypical expectations had not yet been washed away.

Apart from the greenhouses, the countryside was like the airport - sparse and uninteresting. Which brings me neatly to the music now being played through the stereo. This was seriously middle-of-the-road stuff. We're talking white lines, cats-eyes and armco barrier. It was all English..................OK, let me re-phrase that; it was all in English - I didn't recognise any of it. There I sat, in dreary silence, listening to dreary music, whilst looking at dreary countryside that was being subjected to dreary weather. I longed to reach our final destination. I did, however, find one piece of amusement to pass the time, and that was lane closures. None of your English 'steadily cone off one lane and find half a dozen rep's at the end trying to barge their way back into traffic' here. Oh no, in Holland they give you one warning and then block the lane with a trailer showing a large arrow. Can you imagine that in England? There would be piles of crumpled rep-mobiles everywhere..........what a fantastic idea - I think we should adopt it immediately!

Finally we arrive at the office. This was awkwardly placed in an unfinished 'Enterprise Zone' (for those who don't speak fluent Ron Dennis read 'industrial estate'). I left the taxi driver outside, oblivious as to whether he needed money or not. I stood in reception waiting to be met. I worried about more half-conversations (or less) in different languages. The bright eyes, warm smile and fluent English of Corona Vermolen were like a warm hug from a close friend, and made all the travelling worthwhile, finally I felt welcome. She explained that Stefan, my new boss (whom I had worked with previously), wouldn't be in the office for a few more hours. She took me upstairs and introduced me to everyone, including Lisette Figaro - little did I know how my life would change meeting these two women. The offices were odd. Very quiet, very open-plan and airy, with radios all playing the same station. The radios were fantastic, until I found myself writing lyrics in mails rather than what I wanted to say, they then became slightly annoying. But I must say, it was a pleasant relief from the stuffy, hectic UK offices. Every male worker here had the same screensaver, Tatjana - a beautiful, buxom Pamela Anderson look-alike often pictured with her top off - fantastic, now this is what Holland is meant to be all about! The women didn't seem at all bothered about it. Whereas it is fairly sexist in England - women are allowed calendars and posters of topless men, but if blokes have the equivalent, they are instantly frowned upon. Why is this? The oddness didn't stop there. When I needed the toilet I found myself peeing into the porcelain equivalent of a builder's crack, or a woman's cleavage - depending on your inclination.

Stefan finally turned up and took me to my hotel where I checked into a very dingey room where later that night I would be extremely annoyed to discover that out of the 50 channels available to me through my TV, not one was showing porn, hey-ho. We went out to dinner that night and I discovered the odd Dutch quirk of staring. People would just stare at you - now, I'm used to this being such a good-looking lad, but if you look back at them they don't turn away. It becomes slightly off-putting and you start to feel like you're the main character in an elaborate trap.

The next day was back to the office, but using artistic licence I'll spare you the details. I managed to see just how a conversation is conducted in Dutch by an Englishman when it came to ordering lunch. It involves pointing at what you want until eventually someone picks it up and puts it into your sandwich, then you give them a heap of cash and hope you get some change. Stefan had been there over six months and had perfected ordering beer, saying hello and nothing else. That evening it was decided to meet with Corona and Lisette for drinks. On the way to town they pulled up next to us in traffic, Stefan said that they would ask us for sex, and sure enough a piece of paper with 'Sex?' written on it was shown to us. Odd, these Dutch folk.

We chose an Irish bar. I ordered Pimm's and lemonade - of course. This is where Lisette and Corona came into their element. Every time my hand so much as moved they would shout 'cheers', 'sköl' or 'prost' and I would have to drink. Five Pimm's later I was stood up doing visual religious jokes (never a particularly good idea in an Irish bar), and finally discovered why it is that pissed rugby players lean their heads against the wall whilst peeing - it's to stop themselves from falling over. Being almost tea-total this was a revelation to me.

Corona decided that enough was enough and took me to get a sandwich. It was here that I demanded to to see the chef and congratulate him on creating a masterpiece of a cheese and ham roll, and then promptly fell asleep with my head on my wallet (apparently. I'm still dubious as to whether this happened or not as I have no recollection of it) . From here we went to another bar, just myself, Stefan and Lisette now. We discussed how much alcohol was needed to sleep with each other - apparently only a good glass of Chardonnay for me, not bad I thought. This conversation was had over Bailey's and tortillas. Then we moved to a Mexican bar for fajitas and frozen margheritas (quite revolting). Then a late night bar for Southern Comfort.

I can only apologise that my observations and insights into Dutch life died as of that evening, nothing else seemed to get my attention. But that was Holland - a fantastic place that I would love to visit again. Stefan, Lisette and Corona all ended up working in England. I have since moved from Fujitsu and miss them all dearly.

Yours, Tristan.

Back to the Iainp home page