Going Dutch

What's the point of living in London if you can't hop, skip and jump your way off the island?

And so I did. Den Haag welcomed me with soaking wet arms.

There was something so alluring about going from one cold and damp climate to another. I could finally answer such gnawing questions as, what are the latest Dutch umbrella crazes? (answer: this guy and this guy)

Besides, my lovely friend was there living in a completely vacant flat that was begging for a midnight dance party.

The Hague so closely resembles an English town - fickle weather, cobblestone streets, brightly-colored doors - except for this pesky other language thing they have (strike). But I quickly caught on to the foreigners' just-getting-by-lingo and blended in with my fellow fair-haired friends.

Friday morning, for example, during the 30 minutes of glorious sunshine, I left Julia's flat for a jog. Just as I was closing her door the neighbor across the street emerged from behind his.

He smiled.

I smiled bigger.

He crouched down to unlock his bike.

I had myself a little stretch.

As he hopped on he yelled out to me - "BALLSY" - in a jovial man-on-bike-without-helmet kind of a way.

So I yelled after him -"Ballsy to you too sir" - in a I-totes-know-what-I'm-talking-about lighthearted manner.

If ballsy is not only what he said but a real Dutch word then I think it's safe to say I'm bilingual.

Just before the sky turned black and unloaded a helluva storm (even London would have been proud) I was able to have a bit of a wander around town.

I bee-lined for the coveted toilet-seat-cover shops (thank GOD they had one)


Couldn't avoid some trinkets.


Felt violated by a shop display


and learned a little bit about Dutch culture:

They live on the edge by carting everything from groceries to children in glorified push carts


Their Christmas is celebrated with symbols of a beared white man in red (OK…I'm there…) and, yes, golliwoggs (alright, you lost me).



My Friday wandering was limited since I couldn't see from under my umbrella.

But Saturday was surprisingly glorious. Julia and I, feeling already too big for our Den Haag britches, hopped a tram and traversed the Dutch countryside (honestly: sheep and windmills) to the even more quaint town of Delft.

We saw a church and said, hey there's a church


why don't we go up it!

and up and up and up and up and up we did.


But at the end there was a pretty kickin' view.




My weekend was polished off with the toasty-caramel-delights of a giant stroopwaffle (get some)


Say what you will about the Dutch (renegade helmet-less carbaholic closeted racists) they sure know how to make a pretty trash can.

May I present the Rubbish Receptacle stencil series:






Stunning.

xoxoL