Advice to a foreigner: don’t be surprised, just be amazed (Dutch saying)

Last week, Julie asked me:  ‘Have you read the Undutchables?’
‘Well, yes of course.’ Immediately the birthday party and the small toilets as two of the strangest Dutch peculiarities came to my mind.
‘And were you able to laugh about it?’
Of course, indeed. I think of myself as a person with a lot of self-reflection and self-criticism, and I’ve always doubted whether my ancestors were really Dutch.
Julie: ‘I met a lot of Dutch people who didn’t think it was funny at all.’

The reason for that is explained on the first page of The Undutchables, where  Dutch people are characterized as self-conceited, idle, judging, jealous, rude, stingy, tactless, undiplomatic  and generally impolite people. In short: narrow-minded people in an even narrower country.  

Julie went on: ‘Maybe you can write for you next assignment a piece on how ex-pats can survive strange Dutch customs.’

That put me into a difficult situation. Simply because I just can’t imagine how a foreigner must feel when he or she sets foot on our clay or moor grounds.  

When I read The Undutchables for the first time, every sentence hit me like a knife. I didn’t need any more conviction; this was a hundred per cent true. But I couldn’t have noticed it myself. I never felt like I lived in a doll’s house, everything being so petite, crowded and crammed, and I never questioned the our public transport manners. The only way to get a proper seat in the train is to join in with the pushing and shoving. 

Only from a foreigner’s point of view, we are sitting in a ‘circle of death’, a doctor’s waiting room, at a birthday party, ordering coffee and cake from the person who is celebrating his birthday by working his ass off. I always had a hunch it was kind of strange to say ‘gefeliciteerd’ to every guest already in this circle (I heard from an expat that he thought a girl introduced herself as Felicity and he was very confused when all the party guest seem to have the same name), but I never made that a point of discussion either.

I never thought of our toilets being claustrophobically small, and I never had any trouble to finds the thing that flushes it. 

I never realised that the bicycle is a nationwide conducted mascot, and that we derive our identity from it. Actually, we are busy making Holland a safe place for cyclists and it never occurs to us that non-cyclists could experience them as  dangerous high speed vehicle driving aliens. 

To make fun of a nation, foreigners are needed. They help us question the customs that we can’t even comprehend ourselves. For instance:  Carnaval and Sinterklaas. Need I say more? (I’m working on a piece that describes the customs, backgrounds, and history of the latter convention, but I can’t find synonyms to avoid the words ‘slavery’ and ‘dirty old man threatening little kids’.)

But due to the national character of the Dutch, it is difficult to laugh about ourselves. We are haughty and proud-hearted and we tend to patronize other cultures.  We are full of unsolicited advice and have an opinion on everything, as long as it has no consequences. And the few who thought Holland was too small, founded a new Holland in a bigger country, a painful remembrance of our colonial past.  

If you keep in mind how the Dutch think about themselves, it is really hard to believe that there is no country in the world that has the same unintellectual, shallow-brained,  sordid, distasteful, rancid, mouldy reality TV like Holland. For instance: Oh oh Gerso, The Villa, Brabantse Nachten. Even Booze Britain is civilized compared to these programs. Apparently, millions of people like to watch eight singles in a luxurious house with gallons of alcohol and camera’s everywhere. Let’s call this the Dutch paradox. 

I come to the conclusion that we are not the glorious nation we want it to be. My advice to foreigners? Have a big laugh. Find nationals of your own. Make fun of the Dutch. Write a bestseller. And after that: just blend in. To reassure you: it is possible to survive Holland without dying. Or maybe better: teach us your tricks. Because I can tell you: if you invite Dutch people over to the pub, you’re making friends. That is: if you pay the bill.