Learning Dutch Part 1 - The process

One of the reasons we chose Alkmaar to live was to spend time away from expat hubs like Amsterdam, the Hague and Rotterdam, giving us a chance to really immerse ourselves in the Dutch culture. Our babysitter says we're living in the sticks, although aside from the cows, it doesn't feel like it. Anyway, as a result of our decision, it's quickly becoming apparent we need to learn the local language, which is fine that's part of the reason we came here.

The problem is trying to enroll in a Dutch class is proving the most difficult challenge so far, more than finding a house, getting our social security number and so on. After searching the internet for a school, we were told to contact an organization called INOVA for information. Um, okay, so we went there with our passports and the girl says we need a stamp of some sort to prove we intend to stay here. "Why?" we ask. "I can't tell you without the stamp," she replies and gives us a list of places to go.

We again turned to the internet in search of more information about this mysterious stamp and the closest offices to go for it. It seems to be something not legally necessary, but handy, which will allow you to open a bank account for example. It sounds strikingly similar to the first form we ever got, so on Monday, we'll see if that works. Stay tuned.

Banking & Bills in Holland

Holland is the first country I've lived in that uses the pin number as the basis for all commerce. Similar to the four or five digit number attached to a debit / credit card used in most countries, it differs because a) the number cannot be changed b) it only applies to Maestro Cards issued through Dutch banks. The first difference requires a bit more mental energy, but I can understand it providing better security. The second difference means you'll need to carry cash if you're visiting because I'd venture sixty percent of establishments won't accept credit / debit cards unless part of the "pin" system, whose existence, I have to admit I still don't get.

What it means, though, is that you'll need to open up a local bank account if you want to live here. Before that, however, you have to register with the city hall and get a social security number, because unlike in Spain, you can't walk into a branch with a valid European passport, a wad of cash and say, "I live here. Can I open an account?" Apparently, you could until 2009 but the law was changed to combat an increase in fraud which seems like a good enough reason.

The bank will play an important role the first month or so. To get the basic utilities (water, electric, internet, cable and the like), you'll need to call said provider and a few days later a letter will come in the mail. Not an invoice per se, you fill it out and then take it to your local bank who will process the initial payment after which I imagine it's deducted monthly or quarterly. And, it's just as well someone does this because trying to figure out online banking can be a challenge. First, there is the card reader. A plastic contraption that looks like a calculator, it reads the chip in your card providing one of the three numbers required for online banking. Once logged in, you're then faced with a screen in Dutch. Given that I live in Holland, not surprising, but the fact it was the only language meant scouring the net for a decent online translator.  The joys of moving to a new country where even a mundane task like banking becomes a new experience and a reminder to learn the language.

Sunday Cat Blogging - 9 May 2010

It's been a bit gloomy and rainy so not too many visits from Max or the other cats which makes today perfect for a guest appearance.

Meet Marcelo looking comfy in the cupboard.

Picture courtesy of Maria in Spain.

Our First Night On The Town

It was a combination of luck and circumstance that led us to find a babysitter within the first forty-eight hours of our arrival and it took us two weeks to settle in enough to call her. Anxious to finally spend a night out as a couple for the first time in months, we'd just tucked in the little one when our new favorite person arrived. Her eyes widened in shock at the size of the smiles across our faces as we welcomed in her with hugs and kisses, showing her a stocked fridge and instructions for the remote before heading off to the slam of the door. We truly do love the alien, but every couple needs a break now and then.

The light spring sky made nine at night seem like late afternoon as we rode our bikes past the pond, small pasture and windmill and onto the main street that took us into town. Not much wider than an alley and sided by busy bike lanes, it nevertheless carried two-way traffic, including a slow moving bus that was coming towards us. My heart beat with panic at the possibility of a head on collision, yet everything moved in an orderly fashion. The bus gently swerved to let us pass, avoiding the bicyclists and the car heading in the other direction as if guided by invisible rails and switches. The moment panic gone, we settled into a leisurely pace and felt the wind against our faces as we crossed the main canal that bordered the old city and went to a bar on the edge of town. 

 

Dark and smokey, the ban on tobacco seemingly didn't apply or was wantonly disregarded, which was why we'd picked it over a romantic dinner. Drinking and smoking were the two vices we shared and doing them with impunity was what we missed now we were parents. A chihuahua sitting on its owner's lap licking up beer from a glass encapsulated the bar in a single image, while the Spanish word cutre summed it up perfectly. Roughly translated as either seedy or cheesy, but encompassing all the adjectives in between, it was just the type of watering-hole for which we had this almost radar like instinct. And, as we watched off-duty prostitutes flirt with the burly bartender and listened to the shouts of men engaged in an intense game of Parcheesi, we reminisced about past drunken adventures. Although unlike in our stories, we neither smoked nor drank quickly or excessively that night, choosing to savor each drag and sip, knowing tomorrow there was no sleeping in, thanks to the main topic of conversation, the little alien.

Alkmaar

Known locally as "little Amsterdam," Alkmaar is about forty kilometers north-west of the Netherlands' most famous city. Considered a mid-sized municipality by Dutch standards, it comes alive in the summer months thanks to its famous cheese market which has been taking place since 1593. Held each Friday morning, it sees not only men dressed in medieval garb weighing cheese as they literally have done for centuries but also stands selling traditional souvenirs and other nick-knacks.

There's more to the city than cheese of course. One of the main shopping areas of North Holland, the quaint city center is full of shops and restaurants that cater to every need, while the chimes from the surrounding bell towers have a certain melody that make me walk with a pep in my step. It's also where the national beer museum is located and a great place to visit for a day or a weekend.

Sunday Cat Blogging - 2 May 2010

So Max is getting increasingly more comfortable coming in and saying hi, although he keeps a wary eye on the alien.

Where we live used to be his home turf, so it's only natural he misses it, especially since there's a much bigger cat that he now lives with. The problem is he didn't come with the house but belongs to the next door neighbor who wasn't too receptive when my wife asked if it was alright to feed him. I'm sure she could read the catnapping intent involving tins of tuna behind my missus' pleading eyes.  So chances are come September, we'll get a feline companion for the house in order to ensure the local sense of community harmony.