Watch where you drive, Man

On top of all the animals we already have in our backyard, we can now add the black bear to the list. I haven’t seen it myself yet, but he left us a rather smelly present.

I did a quick read-up on how to behave if you actually encounter one. Apparently, playing dead isn’t going to do you any good. Black bears are opportunists, so making lots of noise, big movements, and—yes, you read that right—hitting him on the nose should scare him away. Of all the things I never dreamed of doing back in the Netherlands, punch-deploying a bear is definitely at the top of the list.

Since my last post about relaxing on the porch, I talked to someone about the whole "unwinding" thing. His view was that I should do something with art.

I know, so many people suddenly start something artsy when they get older, and honestly, I’ve been contemplating it as well. Next to writing poetry, this blog, and a new project—all things I would have never, ever thought of doing when I was young—music came up. He even sent me some videos on how to learn the guitar.

"Heck," he said, "if I ever run into you again, I'll just give you one." Him being a musician, I guess he always keeps a few spare guitars in the backseat.

Weirdly enough, playing music, dancing, and writing never scored high with me when I was a kid, even though they made us do it at school. I played the recorder, which was the default instrument to choose if you didn’t want to do anything else. I managed to learn exactly one tune on it and then I was done. Same went for dancing; I learned a few basic steps and that was it. Back then, dancing was "for girls." If only I could talk to my younger self now and tell him he was missing out on a lot of fun stuff.

Sometimes I plan these blogs out—I know upfront what the main theme is going to be. Not this one.

Though I started out wanting to make some comparisons (again 😊) between our cultures, I got stranded on the very first one. Americans can be super friendly, and that triggered the first part of this blog, while Dutch people are usually just really friendly. A complete stranger here will let you into his house, listen to your stories, and tell you everything about his life. As a Dutch person, it can sometimes feel like oversharing, but there’s a deeply social aspect to it. They connect faster. And for me, I get to hear stories, learn new things, and see how the community works. And trust me, some things still baffle me.

The next point I was going to make was about how open-minded people here are about appearance. As extravagant, weird, or gross as some people might look—you only have to type “Walmart shoppers” on YouTube—they don't seem nearly as judgmental as Dutch people can be. It’s the classic battle of "it’s okay to be different" versus "doe maar gewoon" (act normal, that's crazy enough).

And on top of that, Americans are so polite to the point where it occasionally gets annoying. You know that old comedic scene where two people stand at a doorway, constantly gesturing for the other person to go first? It happens here, and if I ran into that, my Dutch side would kick in. I'd be the guy who steps right between them and just walks through the door, not even saying “sorry.”

Speaking of people walking around, pedestrians here would never survive in the Netherlands. They would be in the hospital or worse after their first few days in Amsterdam.

No matter where you drive, pedestrians here are entitled. They own the road, and they don’t care if you are driving a car or if they are standing right in the middle of the street. They will look at you with a gaze that says, "I dare you," if they don't completely ignore you altogether.

The first time I was driving here, I normally cut close to people on the street. As we Dutch say, we drive “de vouwen uit je broek”—which means we will pass you so close we will literally drive the creases right out of your pants. We expect you to know your place on the road and take care of yourself.

Here, as my wife kindly pointed out, it’s the exact reverse. As a car driver, you are expected to take care of pedestrians, no matter where they walk—people with shopping carts, bikers, cyclists, again no matter what... and other drivers, again, no matter what they are doing on the street.

Since I now have to get my American driver's license—a whole new story in itself—I guess I can finally join the horde of entitled traffic participants and shed my old Dutch habits.