Flabbergasted in a Haarlem B&B
I believe that regularizing travel memories can be good for Sue. This is one of my favorites. – And I’d love to hear some of your memorable travel stories too.
It’s the summer of 2008, and I’m hanging out with my hosts Hans and Marget in the living room of my B&B in Haarlem, a suburb of Amsterdam. Reaching for my Heineken, I noticed it was sitting on a handbook produced by the Dutch government to teach prostitutes about safe sex. Thumbing through it, I tell Hans, “It’s both artistic and obvious.”
“It’s Victoria’s Secret without it,” he whispers with a laugh.
“Isn’t that going to shock a lot of people?” I ask.
“Only for the British and the Americans,” he replies. “Remember, this is Holland. Last night we saw a local TV documentary. It was about body piercing, in full graphic detail—breasts, penises, everything. Last week there was a special on Kama Sutra. Sexual gymnastics like I’ve never seen. For us Dutch, it was just two more documentaries . . . it wouldn’t be a big deal on American TV.”
“I don’t know,” I say, realizing that I find the handbook more interesting than Hans. “But you know what the most viewed page of my website is? A silly little article comparing two sex museums in Amsterdam.”
“Sex isn’t clickbait here. It’s not taboo in the Netherlands,” says Margaret. “But we’re not careless about sex either. The Dutch teenage pregnancy rate is half the American rate.”
Staying in a B&B saves money. As a bonus, I find that B&B hosts are often excellent students of cross-cultural human nature and love to share their findings. They give me a deeper insight into a culture that I couldn’t get from a hotel front desk.
This is certainly true of Hans and Marget, who encourage guests to make themselves right at home. And it’s easy to feel at home in their living room, with its well-worn chairs, pile of books, funky antiques, and upright piano filled with ripped music.
Hans and Marget live in three rooms and rent out five. Hans would like some other place to live. Like his neighbors, he could plant glass in his tiny backyard, but he couldn’t afford to trade his lush but pint-sized garden. Bringing me another beer, he asked, “How long are you going to be here this time?”
“Not long enough” is my regular reply. I’m a goose’s pet yankee. He is on a personal crusade to relax me, to slow me down. To Hans, I’m the perfect schedule-oriented, goal-oriented American.
Hans provides further insight into the cultural differences of his guests. “We’re Dutch in the middle,” he says. “We are efficient like the Germans – that’s why there are so many American companies here in the Netherlands. But we want to be like the French.”
“And tell jokes like the English,” added Marget. “Everyone here appreciates a British sense of humour. We watch the BBC for comedies.”
Hans also notices cultural differences in the breakfast etiquette of his guests. “Americans like strict advice and direction. Europeans—especially Germans—know what they want. The French take three days to defrost. But Americans talk quickly and make friends. Europeans, even without the language difference, keep their private ritual island at the breakfast table.”
He moves on, pointing to two of their kitchen tables. “If there are Germans sitting here and Americans there, I break the ice. Introducing the Americans to the Germans, I say, ‘That’s right, they left their guns in the States.’ We are like Dutch-Germans – but with a sense of humor.”
Returning to our point about how different cultures approach sex, Marget tells Hans, “Tell Rick the story of ‘Dutch boys on an English beach.’ This physical stuff might be stressful for Americans, but it sends the British under their pillows.”
“As a schoolboy I traveled to England with a friend,” Hans begins. “We changed our pants on the beach without the hassle of a towel – no problem. We’re good Dutch boys. As usual, there was an audience on the beach: retired Englishmen full of benches enjoying the fresh air, suffering from their soggy sandwiches. Everyone turned their heads when my friend started to change into his swimsuit. The Englishman repeated the move, pleased with his strength. Pants down and all heads turned again.
“We don’t see much English on our shores,” says Marget, laughing as if she’s hearing the story for the first time.
“We get mostly American,” Hans says.
“We’d be happy to fill our house with just Americans,” says Marget. “Americans are easy to communicate with.” They are open. They taught me to express myself, to say what I really think.”
Hans breaks in with Tony Tiger’s tourist imitation, “Oh wow, it’s great! What a wonderful house you have here!”
“Americans are shocked,” Margett added.
“The British don’t know how to be surprised,” says Hans.
I think you almost surprised them on that beach,” Marget says. “When we got to Colorado, my trip got better when I learned to say ‘wow’ twice a day.”
“When an American asks, ‘How are you?’ We say, ‘okay’ means ‘good’. ‘That doesn’t sound very good,’ says the American. We explain, ‘We are Europeans.’
“Then the American replies, ‘Oh, yes — you’re honest,'” says Hans.
Fascinated by the infidelity of America’s smiley face, Marget says, “In America, even supermarket shopping bags have big ‘Smile and Conquer’ signs.”
“It’s true,” I agree. “Only in America can you find a bank that fines tellers if they don’t say ‘have a nice day’ to every client.”
Hans laughs, “Did you know that the Dutch are the most wanted workers at Disneyland Paris? That’s because most Dutch are open-minded. We can smile all day. And we speak our languages.”
“In the Netherlands when someone asks, ‘Do you speak your languages?'” explains Marget. They mean: Do you speak French, German and English along with Dutch?
Hans continues. “And it’s probably less tiring for us to be friendly than for the French. Can you imagine a French person having to smile all day?”
Hanes topped off my glass of Heineken. “God made the whole world. It was wonderful. But France … it was just perfect. So he put it in French to balance things out.”
“And Canada could have had it all: British culture, French cuisine, American know-how,” says Margaret.
“But they messed around and got British food, French know-how and American culture.”
As I climb the steep Dutch stairs to my bedroom in the loft, I reflect on the value of friends on the street. The most memorable moments of the day came after my sightseeing.
