Leaving Hong Kong
Slowly the house began to feel like home again. It had taken some time to find back his mittens and woolen hat again. After searching through the house, he had finally found them on the bottom of his grandmother's closet. The space! So much space around him, he could even walk around through the apartment. This is not hard to get used to again, he thought.
Not so with the biting cold. Yesterday it had even been snowing, prompting Gerrit Hiemstra of the Royal Dutch Meteorological Institute to issue a weather alarm. The whole nation was in consternation, people were leaving work early, so as not to end up in endless traffic jams, half of the train services were cut to avoid trouble, schools finished by 11 am. But in the afternoon, most of the six centimeters of snow had melted already, leaving a meteorologist behind with a lot to explain. He still tried to classify the weather alarm as successful.
A. was silently laughing, not recognizing his home country, which he left behind some six months ago. Was the Dutch society becoming as risk avoiding as the people of Hong Kong? How long would it take for authorities to put up signs with “Mind the gap”, “Hold the handrail” and “PLEASE MIND YOUR HEAD”?
Even though he liked to poke fun at Hong Kong, his dreams were filled with stories about what he left behind. The amazing people, the vibrant city and everything you can do there. As he was cycling on a deserted Haarlemmerdijk, he could actually see the sky looking up. A crow circled above the road.
When he turned onto the steep bridge leading to the central station, the road seemed to slide away under him. “Ayaa!” he exclaimed. The frost had left a treacherous layer of ice on the incline. Just moments before he was startled by the car coming from his left, because he had been looking to the right. The slippery surface was something else he had forgotten about. His pants were badly damaged at the knee.
He was the only one impatiently pushing his way into the train. “Klootzak!” the burly man getting off the train called him. That’s right, you are supposed to please let passengers exit first.
It was surprising to find out that he could understand every conversation around him again. And at the same time he noticed that he was not so annoyed anymore to hear people speak Turkish in the train next to him (or was it Moroccan?).
On Utrecht Central he had to go. He clearly remembered that it cost 50 eurocents. But what did a 50-eurocent coin look like again? (No joke!) He made his way to the restrooms, while going through his wallet. The stream of people felt like a charging herd of Goliaths. And not a single Asian face! Where had they all gone?
Back home he realized he was going to dine in again! He started to miss going out for dinner every night. “Fancy some dim sum?” L. asked. “Hmmm… how about fried potatoes?”
Labels: culture shock, Holland, home, potatoes, The Netherlands
posted by Arne @ 1:04 PM
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