Today is a pretty important day in the Netherlands. December 5th is the eve of Sinterklaas, or “Loot Day”, as I like to call it. December 6th is Saint Nicolas’s birthday, and every 5th of December he and his “helpers” travel through the Netherlands to deliver gifts to all the boys and girls. In yet another example of the many ways the Dutch have shaped American culture, Santa Claus is derived from the Dutch name for Saint Nicolas, Sinterklaas. We gave you the best holiday of the year. Take that, beeyatches.
Although the tradition of a saint delivering gifts to children across the land is shared by both the American Christmas and the Dutch Sinterklaas, the style of the gift-giving is very different. I can’t really speak first-hand about how a typical Dutch family celebrates, but I am to understand it’s fairly similar to what my family did.
The evening starts off with singing various songs, among them “Zie Ginds Komt de Stoomboot” (”Look Here Comes the Steam Boat”), “Zie de Maan Schijnt Door de Boomen” (”See the Moon Shines Through the Trees”), and the all-time classic, “Sinterklaas, Kapoentje” (”We Made Up the Word ‘Kapoentje’ to Rhyme With the Word ‘Schoentje’”).
When we were children, my dad would leave the room after we sang to go work on the car, which always had engine trouble on Sinterklaas. Shortly thereafter, Zwarte Piet would throw pepernoten into the living room through open doors and windows. This had the effect of sending me into terrified hysterics. Most of my memories of this activity involve me hiding behind the couch crying. And, as far as I can remember, I never connected the engine trouble with Zwarte Piet’s arrival.
After the pepernoten, we sit down to fresh-baked rolls for dinner. To our “surprise” and “delight”, we each discover a small, rolled-up note inside our roll when we cut it open. Upon the note is found a riddle, the answer to which reveals the location of the evening’s first gift. We all scurry off around the house to retrieve our gifts and return to the table to open them. We finish the meal before festivities continue. As a child, this felt like standing in front of the toilet after drinking seven strong cups of coffee and being unable to get your pants undone.
After dinner, the real festivities really kick in. This is where it gets to be really fun. Traditionally, the Dutch make what are called “Surprises” (pronounced “sur-pre-sus”) which consist of a gag gift and one or more clues which lead to the actual gift, or a poem. A Surprise with a “gedicht” (poem) makes as much fun of the receiver as possible; no holds barred. The harsher, the better. The receiver then has to read the poem aloud while everyone else listens.
Due to my dad’s position as family alpha-male, he has always been a prime target from all sides. Anyone who knows him knows his lifestyle does not leave a paucity of ammunition. My grandmother has always been particularly good at this, writing such clever poems that we would usually have to take breaks while he read it to catch our breath from the laughing fits. Let me put it this way: sarcasm is not lost on the Dutch.
A Surprise that involves a gag-gift usually needs to be disassembled in order to find the riddle that instructs the receiver of where to find their real gift. A classic example of this was Michelle’s first Sinterklaas with my family. At the time, she was working in a medical research lab as a lab scientist. Michelle received her Surprise from my mother: a small, low dish filled with a green slime with a slip of paper at the bottom. Accompanying it was a note that read, “There’s something fishy in this here petri dishy.” Michelle had to dig through the slime (Jell-o) to get the note out and retrieve her gift.
What is particularly nice about this style of gift-giving is that it really encourages the giving of thoughtful gifts. There is usually less gift-giving, but everyone waits their turn and pays attention to the others while they open their gifts; everyone joins in the enjoyment of each gift as it is being given.
Here is an alternative perspective on Sinterklaas:
I’ve been back from the Netherlands for about a week now, but have been too busy to put together the photo album from the trip. Thankfully, I had some procrastinating to do today and was able to get right to it.
Apart from us both getting sick, we had a great time running around my home country. It is always a pleasure to be in Europe, but to have the chance to show Michelle my favorite places and spend time with family that we see all too infrequently was a real privilege.
Here is a high-level overview of our trip:
Day 1: After delayed flights and the usual confusion brought on by being in UnAmerica, Michelle and I finally met up at our hotel in Amsterdam. Thrilled to see each other, we popped out for dinner and enjoyed a nice bottle of wine. After dinner, I brought Michelle over to a Snackbar that I had spied with my little eye while trying to find a parking spot. Michelle was introduced to the almighty Croquette. And it was good.
Day 2: My cousin Jochem, who lives in Amsterdam, met up with us in the city center and took us around to his favorite places in town. Amsterdam is a wonderful city and, although it is a small city by many standards, it has so many distinct neighborhoods and such a diverse culture that it feels larger than it is.
Day 3: We traveled a sixth of the way across the country (about fifty kilometers) to Delft, my favorite city on Earth. We started the day by popping down to the market to score some fresh stroopwaffles. Michelle’s life will never be the same. After that, my Uncle Gijs and Aunt Vibeke took us to the Kinderdijk, which is a windmill museum in the province of South Holland. We had lunch in Schoonhaven before returning to Delft to have dinner with my cousin Barent in Leiden.
Day 4: We kicked around Delft and took Gijs and Vibeke out to dinner.
Day 5: We went to Amsterdam to meet my cousins Deborah, Folkert, and Coen and spent the day walking around town, visiting cafes, and shopping. The big event of the day was taking a boat tour of the canals in Amsterdam with a racist boat captain who was so thrilled to have actual Dutchmen on the boat that he spent the boat ride spewing racist jokes at us.
Day 6: We had a ‘rest’ day at my Aunt Doortje and Uncle Max’s house in Utrecht. My dad is knowns as a bit of an over-packer, and traditionally takes up a minimum of three rooms while repacking suitcases. Not one to disappoint family, Michelle and I arrived with the maximum number of suitcases allowed by the airlines, and proceeded to occupy the requisite number of rooms while trying to figure out how to get all our things packed into the right suitcases (this goes to India, this goes to Seattle, etc). My cousin Welmoed, who has since moved to New York City, Jochem, and his girlfriend Anette all joined us for a wonderful dinner in town.
The Dutch are not known for being “warm” people. My grandmother still prefers to shake my hand over having me give her a hug. I think it has to do with nearly our entire country being 10 meters below sea level; the strategy centers on the assumption that being cold will make you float better when those dikes break.
On top of that, I was raised in Minneapolis, MN. I always thought Minnesotans were a friendly lot; people even use the phrase “Minnesota Nice” to describe us. I didn’t realize until I left Minnesota that “Minnesota Nice” facetiously means “Minnesota Ice”.
Given this background, I’m not exaggerating when I say I have a large personal bubble and I become very uncomfortable when someone invades what I like to call “Franktopia”. It’s like what they say about Grizzly Bears: if you can see one, you’re probably too close. (As I write this I realize the analogy goes a little farther; you would probably feel better if you had a can of mace on you, as well. It is also not advisable to make direct eye contact. The sign of a good analogy is that the farther you take it, the better it works.)
To the point, the client where I’m working right now is on the third floor of a building whose elevator is powered by two gerbils in an exercise wheel. As I was returning to the office yesterday afternoon, I noticed a woman running towards the elevator as the doors were closing. Since I was raised with good Dutch manners, I held the door for her. She thanked me as she entered and proceeded to stand directly next to me, nearly pushing me into the corner.
Since most people are clever enough not to take the elevator and use the stairs instead, we had the entire elevator to ourselves and I was already standing on the far left. I’ve been in the elevator with eight people and didn’t feel as crowded as I did with just me and this woman. I don’t appreciate being able to make an educated guess about what conditioner a total stranger is using.
As soon as someone invents a Personal Bubble Force Field Generator (PSFFG), I will be the first to order one. And, since I’m guessing that once we invent one of those, light sabers will be right behind it, I’ll pre-order one of those, too. With a green blade.
The Dutch aren’t know for being a courageous people. In fact, it isn’t uncommon for Americans to refer to alcohol as “Dutch Courage” - implying that the only time the Dutch are courageous is when they’re hammered.
But the truth is that the Dutch are simply a practical people. The Dutch freely gave New Amsterdam to the English not because they didn’t dare fight, but because New Amsterdam was run by an evil corporation which treated the settlers on Manhattan Island very poorly. The English guaranteed the Dutch that they could continue to live as they had before, without loss of status or possessions. It was much more sensible to maintain the status quo than to die fighting for a company that had no respect for their lives in the first place. The English honored their commitment and the Dutch continue to have a strong presence in New York City today. (The term Yankee is based on the Dutch name, “Jan Kees.” Even the American word “boss” comes from the Dutch word “baas”.)
The point is that we’re not likely to get into a fight when it doesn’t make sense. But we can fight like Bruce Lee on eight shots of espresso if we have to, and that is exactly what we did when Spanish invaded the lowlands in 1568.
I’m sure some of my history is a bit off here, but I’m not about to do any real research and get this 100% right when going from memory will get me about 80% of the way there.
The Spanish were a major world power during the 1500’s and routinely invaded other countries. Compare Sixteenth Century Spain to a modern-day United States, if you will. The Dutch rose up and fought them for 80 years. And I’m pretty sure they weren’t drinking.
During the occupation, the Spanish Duke of Alva was Governor General in the Netherlands. The areas he controlled were densely populated lowlands, protected from flooding by dikes and windmills. (Few people realize that the reason the Netherlands have so many windmills is because they ran the pumps that kept the lowlands dry, as much of the Netherlands lie 10 meters below sea level.) He controlled by force and laid siege on any city which resisted his rule.
One of the major cities in this region is Leiden, which happens to be my parent’s home town. Leiden resisted Alva’s rule, and Alva besieged it in October 1573. It was a difficult city to besiege as the city defense works were very strong (and still stand today) and the soil around the city was very poor and difficult encamp. The leader of the Dutch rebels, William the Silent, tried to help Leiden by sending an army to help. Alva halted the siege in April 1574 to defeat the army of Orange in nearby Mookerheyde before returning in June to continue the siege. The city thought of surrendering because the defeat of their army meant there was nearly no chance of relief, but held on because they knew that the Spanish would kill them all to set an example, as had happened during earlier sieges of Naarden and Haarlem. Thousands of inhabitants died of starvation as a result.
But in September 1574, the Dutch decided to cut the dikes in the south to let the seawater in and flood out the Spanish. As it happened, due to a paucity of storms, it took months before the water rose high enough to lift the siege. On 2 and 3 October, the storms finally came and flooded the lowlands. The floods caught the Spanish by surprise and they lifted the siege and retreated.
The city was on the verge of collapse due to starvation. According to legend, an orphan boy named Cornelis Joppenszoon crept out into the flood plains in search of food after the Spanish left. He found a pot of Hutspot which had been left behind.
October 3 is celebrated every year in Leiden by eating Hutspot. It isn’t known exactly what ingredients were in the Hutspot found by Cornelis, but the typical recipe is to boil equal parts potato, carrots, and onions and mash them up with butter and serve it with sausage. This year, we celebrated a few days early and had our friends over to, as Michelle put it, “all be Dutch for an evening.” Keep dreaming. We had a great time and all pitched in to put a bit of a modern twist on the traditional recipe. Jess graciously made the recipe available on Hogwash.
Being bilingual is really nice, but it does have some disadvantages. Since I grew up in the U.S. speaking Dutch at home, my handle on both Dutch and English is weaker than native speakers. Not only is my Dutch vocabulary a snapshot of 1970’s pop culture when my parents immigrated, but my English is full of expressions translated directly from Dutch - expressions which I think make perfect sense but make American’s look at me like I have two heads. Things like “from thick wood one saws many planks”.
I also struggle to say various English words and expressions correctly, often mixing up the more subtle details. For example, something like “he can’t tell his ass from his elbow” or “he’s got his head up his ass” might become something like, “he’s got his head up his elbow.” I really feel the burden lies on everyone else to show some flexibility and “get” that.
I get called a lot of names. A lot of them get recycled, like “Old Dutch”, “Dumbass”, and “The Windmill”, but sometimes an original one comes along. For me, it’s an interesting exercise to see who has any creativity and can come up with something new. Just last week, I was chatting with Jim up the street, and he came up with one that I hadn’t heard before. We were talking about building some chairs, and I was having a hard time saying “Adirondack.” It’s a hard word. I even had to go to the spell checker just to type it right, so I don’t have to tell you that saying it wasn’t a picnic either. As I stood there stumbling over “Adree-on-dack…Adeernokdan…Abercrombie….”, Jim jumped in and said, “It’s ‘Adirondack’, you Dutch Putz.”
But being Dutch really pays off, too. For example, we know how to make a totally awesome bike. A bike company just opened in Ballard which specializes in importing and selling Dutch bicycles. The company is called Dutch Bike Seattle and they sell a good range of bikes. There’s a lot of distracting crap on the website like “facts” and “information”, so I don’t recommend you go there. Just stay here, and I’ll take you through the relevant details.
Bakfiets. Get rid of that gas-guzzling SUV. This baby will carry anything you need. In fact, get rid of your bathroom, too, because you can fill this bad-boy up with water and take a bath. Check out the kickstand on this thing. You can also use it to give people rides home from the bar. It’s literal translation is “tub bike”. I can’t wait to test drive one of these babies and check out how she corners. Plus, it has a headlight.
Kruisframe. You may think that means “cruise frame”. That’s not a bad guess, because I’m sure you can seriously cruise on this honker. It’s actual meaning is “cross frame”. I think the extra crosses are to make it heavier to justify the motorcycle kickstand on it. It’s not nearly as versatile as the Bakfiets, but this baby is designed to go uphill fast. They outlawed them in the Tour de France because the Dutchies were kicking too much ass.
Oma. Means “grandma”. There’s a model for dudes called the Opa which - not surprisingly - means “grandpa”. Don’t let the name fool you. This sucker is made for quick getaways. Most of the Dutch Mafia uses these suckers for hits. The saddle is spring-loaded for ejecting into lethal Dutchfu maneuvers.
Comes in 5 sizes: 57cm, 61cm, 65cm, 70cm, or Huge.
My only question regards the sizing. I’m six foot five and my racing bike is a 59cm. Who is the “Huge” size built for?
December 6th is Saint Nicolas’s birthday, and every 5th of December he and his “helpers” travel through the Netherlands to deliver gifts to all the boys and girls. In yet another example of the many ways the Dutch have shaped American culture, Santa Claus is derived from the Dutch name for Saint Nicolas, Sinterklaas. We gave you the best holiday of the year. Take that, beeyatches.
had some procrastinating to do today and was able to get right to it.
me give her a hug. I think it has to do with nearly our entire country being 10 meters below sea level; the strategy centers on the assumption that being cold will make you float better when those dikes break.
implying that the only time the Dutch are courageous is when they’re hammered.
my handle on both Dutch and English is weaker than native speakers. Not only is my Dutch vocabulary a snapshot of 1970’s pop culture when my parents immigrated, but my English is full of expressions translated directly from Dutch - expressions which I think make perfect sense but make American’s look at me like I have two heads. Things like “from thick wood one saws many planks”.
Bakfiets. Get rid of that gas-guzzling SUV. This baby will carry anything you need. In fact, get rid of your bathroom, too, because you can fill this bad-boy up with water and take a bath. Check out the kickstand on this thing. You can also use it to give people rides home from the bar. It’s literal translation is “tub bike”. I can’t wait to test drive one of these babies and check out how she corners. Plus, it has a headlight.
Kruisframe. You may think that means “cruise frame”. That’s not a bad guess, because I’m sure you can seriously cruise on this honker. It’s actual meaning is “cross frame”. I think the extra crosses are to make it heavier to justify the motorcycle kickstand on it. It’s not nearly as versatile as the Bakfiets, but this baby is designed to go uphill fast. They outlawed them in the Tour de France because the Dutchies were kicking too much ass.
Oma. Means “grandma”. There’s a model for dudes called the Opa which - not surprisingly - means “grandpa”. Don’t let the name fool you. This sucker is made for quick getaways. Most of the Dutch Mafia uses these suckers for hits. The saddle is spring-loaded for ejecting into lethal Dutchfu maneuvers.
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