Vor etwa zwanzig Jahren beobachtete ich in einer Strandtaverne in Ierapetra (Kreta) mit wachsendem Unbehagen zwei ältere Deutsche, die gerne Spiegeleier haben wollten. Der Kellner streckte ihnen die Speisekarte hin, zeigte sie ihnen von allen Seiten, sie war laminiert und mit Bildchen und Beschreibungen der Gerichte in diversen Sprachen, doch die Herren wollten Spiegeleier, »Spie–gel–ei–er! Zwei!«, was sie immer deutlicher und lauter wiederholten, der Kellner zuckte hilflos mit den Schultern, schließlich zogen die Herren frustriert von dannen, dass jemand mit dem schönen deutschen Wort »Spiegelei« nichts anzufangen weiß, lag offenbar außerhalb ihres Vorstellungshorizonts.

Liebe (Mit-)Deutsche: Lautet denn bei uns das Sprichwort »When in Rome, keep doing as you do at home«? Wieso fehlt sovielen von uns, von Euch dieser gewisse Leisegang, der Respekt, die Rücksicht und Vorsicht, die andere mitbringen, wenn sie fern von zuhause sind – und das Bewusstsein, dass unsere Sprache für andere eine Fremdsprache ist und deren Kenntnis optional?

An die »Spie–gel–ei–er, zwei« werde ich seither immer wieder erinnert. Wie heute auf dem wunderbaren Antik- und Büchermarkt hier in Den Haag: Die lauteste Sprache, die man hört, ist Deutsch, und das wird dann mit einer Selbstverständlichkeit allen an den Kopf geworfen, Verkäufern wie anderen Gästen, als wäre Deutsch lingua franca, als gehöre einem der Ort – was ich hier angesichts der noch nicht so lang zurückliegenden Besetzung ganz besonders unangenehm finde. Wie mir der nette Herr, von dem ich in schüchternem und ziemlich wackligem Niederländisch eine schöne Delfter Kachel kaufte, erleichtert sagte, könne ich zumindest schon mehr Niederländisch als er zum Beispiel Deutsch; was viele deutsche Touristen allerdings nicht davon abhielt, ihn auf Deutsch zuzutexten, ohne schon nur auf die Idee zu kommen, vorher zu fragen. Ich finde sowas unverschämt. Und beschämend. – So.

• Dutch people can do any (or, presumably, all) of the following while riding a bicycle: “walk” their dog, talk to their kids (seated in front of them or behind them or both), talk to people riding around them, talk on the telephone, type text messages, smoke, hold a bag of groceries, dodge any traffic that comes their way, sound pretty bells, sing songs, and pick their nose. All while keeping their back straighter than straight, and looking entirely unfazed and very serious.
• People do like club music here. Like even normal cozy little cafés can sometimes be found playing trance. It’s funny. They also like hair gel.
• Apparently it’s true that the dairy is responsible for making them so tall (and slender and beautiful). I feel like a walking antithesis. Since my stomach and lactose are not so good friends that I could hope to compensate by drinking my body weight in milk each day from now on, I shall compensate by learning Dutch:
• I’m in an intensive Dutch course and so far it’s great. For people who know English (and in my case, German and a bit of Danish), Dutch is nicely friendly to learn at least in terms of grammar; and many words are cognate with English, German, and/or Scandinavian ones (although the meanings often [and irritatingly] differ), which not only tends to make them easier to memorize but also offers ample chances for my beloved little language epiphanies (of the ah *that’s* where that word comes from!! sort). What makes the course extra cool so far is that we get some language history, history, culture, and general discussion on the side, and the group only consists of 5 students so I’m learning a lot. They’re also nice people so I’m also having a good time.
• A very nice moment in the language class was when during introductions, the teacher was not at all confused when I answered the feared what are you going to study here? question with letterontwerp (type design). “Oh, yes, cool. Does everyone know what that is, yes? Zij maakt een A, bijvoorbeeld.” Wow, Nederland, land of letters. I don’t think it’s ever happened to me outside of the type scene proper that I didn’t immediately have to explain to puzzled faces what type design is, and why anyone would want to do it.
• I’m a bit sad that the love of the Dutch for oranje only extends to the color but not the fruit. They don’t even call them oranges (but sinaasappel, as in “Chinese apple” because that’s, uh, where they come from?). It seems like a missed opportunity kinda. On the other hand, now that I picture partycrowds throwing oranges, maybe it’s a good thing.
• Incidentally, fruit is spelled identically in Dutch, but finally sounds really badass. Just like Duisburg.
• Basic utilitarian anatomy of a fish: Dutch people eat the whole thing, save for the tail (the end of the fish counter-intuitively called staart) and head.
  
  
• This is true, very much so in my case: Dutch staircases tend to be closer to vertical than anything resembling normalcy for non-Dutch people. (“It’s really more like a ladder”, my mother said.) The worrisome implications for moving become clear if you try to picture carrying boxes of books (or other heavy stuff) up a ladder without having any hands free to hold on… right. Next time I’d: make the boxes smaller; and try to make sure I’d have more than one person helping me.
  (I do wonder if Dutch people aren’t tempted to just throw their stuff out of the window when they move out … Or each other’s stuff, perhaps. Has any ingenious Dutch person invented a furniture life net yet?)

• I need to update my “best fries I’ve had in my life” statistic (until now, the award has been held by a tiny hole in the wall – actually someone’s kitchen – somewhere in Derry, Northern Ireland, 1996). I get the feeling I may have to update it multiple times in the coming year, but right now the award goes to the first fish stand from the north end on the boulevard in Scheveningen. I don’t know that it has a name, but it’s round and they use a lot of Helvetica and Comic Sans, and some amazing spiced salt (I think) on the fries that makes them even better, fresh chunky fried things that they are.
• OMG kibbeling! I love kibbeling. Crispy on the outside and super tender on the inside. (Oh, and it goes really well with fries. Did I mention how good the fries are?)
• Generally, I’m not entirely tired yet of only having a minimally functional kitchen (all my pots and stuff are still in storage). For one thing, readymade salads from Albert Heijn are way better than those from Coop in Switzerland. Sorry Coop. Predictably, my favorite is aardbeisalade, mixed salad (feat. spinach, I think) with strawberries and creamy goat cheese (I just wish they wouldn’t put entirely flavor-free overcooked pasta in the bottom of the bowl, presumably to make it more filling).
• To switch over to the non-food department (phew): I’ve always enjoyed hearing church bells through the window (nothing religious, I just love the sound, it probably connects to home/childhood somehow). De Grote Kerk is a real treat to live near – it plays lovely chimes and little tunes, and at midday there’s some veritable music coming from its bells. I’ve started looking forward to hearing it every day.
• I generally enjoy having the windows open when I’m home, and let the sounds of the city in. Voices, some traffic. The occasional clop-clop of horse carriages with happy tourists; the (seemingly sterner) clop-clop of riding police(wo)men. The cries of seagulls. A semi-sax-savvy neighbor across the street recently practising “Take Five” over and over. The guys renovating the restaurant downstairs hammering and talking and playing funny music, including Nirvana and Rammstein (one band I wasn’t necessarily expecting to hear here).
• The other side of the apartment, where my bedroom is, mostly features the (very) nearby cooing of pigeons, which usually wake me in the morning & hence aren’t quite as popular with me as the horses and seagulls and Rammstein-playing hammering men.
• I had forgotten how unfunny it is to get suncream, mixed with sweat, in my eyes. Note to self: Going on a bike trip? Just risk the damn sunburn.
• Generally, I have not made the (often deplored) observation that foreigners instantly get spoken to in English here. I usually try to speak my current brand of kindergarden Dutch, and unless I give in and say that I’ll have to continue in English because I haven’t understood a question or something, the conversation will carry on in Dutch. I like that. I like Dutch, too. I don’t necessarily find it a “beautiful” language, but it’s really fun to learn, and it’s cool how it teaches me things about my own language (and English) too. For instance, I would like to thank the Dutch word gordijn for making me realize that German Gardine and English curtain are related. (Little language epiphany at IKEA.)
• They sure like letters here. Interesting lettering pops up in the most unexpected places (like this railway underpass in Delft). Buildings in town also often feature interesting lettering, much of which has already been documented tenfold among my Flickr peeps, but I’m taking photos anyway, looking voraciously. Then returning home to draw type. Can’t wait to enter letterland for real.
• I just realized that I used the word “home” without even thinking about it. See? I’m arriving.
• Overall, life has been getting a bit more “life”-like (feat. stuff to take care of, health insurance, rental cars, other people’s whiny kids at IKEA) and a bit less exclusively “omg omg awesome vacation”-like, but I’m happy here – my current view is that I wouldn’t mind if the rest of my life was an endless summer in The Hague. This summer in The Hague.

• My brain will need more than the four days I’ve been here to process that I live here now. With a bike, near a beach, amid Dutch people, a soon-to-be-student. I’m constantly half expecting to wake up. I hope I won’t.
• Having a bike is awesome. I know you all know that, I was just in denial. Also, this here is Fietsers’ Paradise (feel free to sing to the tune of Gangsters’ Paradise if you must). Not that I didn’t in theory already know that, but, you know, it’s rad that it’s flat, and there are bike paths everywhere (including bicycle roundabouts and bicycle traffic lights complete with buttons to push), and drivers respect riders as other traffic participants rather than annoying slow things that should be crushed. So far, I’m not missing the helmet.
• The Dutch appear to be a remarkably healthy bunch. It boggles my mind (especially since they also appear to eat their fair share of fried foods), but I’ve seen very few blobby people, few who seem unhealthy or unfit or in bad shape or not looking after themselves. It’s impressive. This recovering couch, er, desk potato can learn a lot here. (I know, the bike’s a start.)
• My downstairs neighbor’s definition of “speaking English” is starting a sentence with 2 English words and then reverting to Dutch. Funnily, that is exactly the way my grandmother used to “speak English”, just with Swiss German instead of Dutch. She’s rather communicative, so by the time my Dutch class comes around (in 2 weeks) I might not need it.
• I was really weirded out (and slightly disgusted) by the Dutch word for body, lichaam – it reminds me either of lichen or of Leichnam, the German word for dead body; but then I realized the German word Körper isn’t exactly pretty and sensuous either. We’re even, Dutch.
• Current favorite Dutch word: kippenvel.
• I’m reaching some of the limits of minimalist living. Today I gave up on having just 1 pair of pants. Tomorrow I’ll get a second towel too. One towel just doesn’t do it, especially once it’s full of sand and because I haven’t yet figured out the laundry situation (no washing machine in building).
• The large supermarket around my corner has: no pencil sharpeners and no non-lined paper (which surprised me); bicycle repair sets (which should not surprise me); a little bit of decent chocolate (but not my favorite kind, so I’m hopeful I can ignore it); spiced kroepoek (which I hadn’t known to exist and will now attempt to forget again, because it’s even better than the “naked” kind); an exhilaratingly rich selection of dairy, milk, yoghurts, buttermilk, etc etc that has caused me to experimentally re-evaluate my supposed slight lactose intolerance; and a respectable palette of cheeses too, which have led me to decide that I’m not going to look down on Dutch cheese by default anymore. (When you’re Swiss, disdain for other countries’ cheeses comes as a factory default.)
• I’m so far keeping my disdain for the bread on offer here, but I haven’t looked further than the supermarket yet. Next stop will be de Bakkerswinkel which is not far from my home (“my home”, whoa) and appears to have good stuff (and, perhaps more importantly, two cats).
• I still, invariably, suck at foosball, especially when challenged before coffee.
• Most importantly: Yes; I like it here. More than I expected, in fact.