Dutch immersion class #1

As some of you may know, my year kinda looks like this - 3 months KL, 3 months Asia (somewhere), 6 months Amsterdam. So it was quite nice to be working with a fully Dutch team for the first 3 months to slowly ease me into the Dutch way. And p/s I've never been to Amsterdam.

One of the stories my colleague Ms. C told me was the story of Black Petes and Sinterklaas. A twisted remake (I think) of the traditional Christmas story, this story has Sinterklaas (St. Nick) travelling to Netherlands from Spain sometime in early December... on a steamship

Me: Why is he from Spain?
Ms. C: I dont know. I think its supposed to be more exotic like that.

So Sinterklaas comes a little earlier to Netherlands and spends about a week there doing... pretty much nobody really knows what he's doing. But then he travels around on a horse. And in case you were wondering, no Im not really sure how big Sinterklaas is supposed to be, coz I mean poor horse right?

On the eve of celebration (December 4th) Children everwhere leave out their shoes by the chimney and sing a song (in Dutch). If they are good, they'll come back the next morning to find their shoes stuffed with candy... or even better, presents. Otherwise... well I dont really know about you but Im not sure if candy stuffed into your old shoe is a real present or not.

Me: So if he's from Spain, why do the children sing to him in Dutch?
Ms. C: ...
Me: I mean, its not like he would understand Dutch right?
Ms. C: Well, since he spends a few weeks in Netherlands before he gives out gifts, he must have picked up Dutch
Me: True, I guess otherwise how is he supposed to order his food and drinks right?

Sinterklaas is helped out by 6 to 8 helpers known as the Black Petes to get his gifts around

Me: So are they elves?
Ms. C: No... theyre.. how do you say it.. black men

At this point I thought we were having a language barrier

Me: Like ... golliwogs?
Ms. C: No no, like.. well not African men, but like men who comes down chimneys, and thats why theyre black. Its not racist.

And all of them help him out at one time. i.e. all of them are in the house together. I dont know, maybe its harder to navigate Dutch chimneys, so they may need a few more guys.

Ms. C: But of course, nowadays most houses dont have chimneys, so you just put the shoes at the back door.

So there you have it my friends, the amazing Dutch story and how they celebrate Christmas. I cant wait!!! to head on over there.

As with many fairy tales like this, there are quite a few versions out there. Click here if you wanted to see David Sedaris' version

And early Vrolijk Christmans!

Bombay calling

I land in Delhi and am immediately disoriented. The airport is spiffy white, clean and pristine. For a minute I wonder if I am still grounded in KL, or have I perhaps been re-routed to another airport; another city. I walk outside and am hit by the memories of India. I turn and see an area of white taxis, all guaranteeing the use of metered taxis. I am even more disoriented. This is not the India I remember.

(Delhi's new airport)

Perhaps it is only Delhi, I remind myself. Maybe the beautiful memories I had of Bombay's chaos still reigns. But no. I land in Bombay a day later to muted sounds, muted colors. Nary the hordes of people I remember being on the streets. Standing. Sitting. Idle. Instead, the city moves (faster than Jakarta too I might add). There are no longer cows standing in the middle of the street munching random things as random people walk around giving them a pat for good luck and the crowds of cars maneuvering around them.

The cars still carry with them the crazy colorful signs - honk please. Begging for the sounds of the streets to carry the conversations home

(Honk OK Please)

*honk* = Hello!

*honk* = get out of my way

*honk* = I see you

*honk* = hey! I see you too!

*honk* = isnt it a good day today?

*honk* = its time for lunch!

But some things remain the same. India's brutal honest truth in your face. Never covering up who they are, never pretending to be something they're not. They wear their whole lives on their sleeves or on their streets. Every cliche you have heard of India true, all your senses will be overloaded by the smell, the sounds. Your eyes flooded with the sights of people sleeping by the side of the roads. Random children coming up and tapping your windows, touching you, holding you, begging for something. For everything.

                               
                                              (Old Ambassadors still being used)