There are only 61 days left until I touch down at Melbourne airport. Yes, my return to the Land of Oz is imminent.   In many ways I feel just like Dorothy.  I’ve had great adventures, made loyal friends, fought dramatic battles with wicked witches and had many moments where I’ve wanted to click my heels and wake up at home.   But now that I’m actually going home I wonder how it will turn out.  I’m not the same person I was when I arrived here 5 years ago.  Sure I’m older, a little wiser and have acquired a quiet confidence that I can handle anything.  Yet I’ve also come to know a darker side of the human psyche.  

I first witnessed it in myself.  The cringe worthy raw desperation I felt, the compromises I made for the acceptance that never came.   It was humbling but I learned from the experience and can (sometimes) look back and laugh at my own ridiculousness.   

It’s the ugliness I saw in others that still haunts me.  I’ve made no secret here of the conflicts I’ve had with some in-laws, one of Jarno’s acquaintances and even one of my own friends.   Perhaps it was that same desperation that lead me into relationships with people I would have avoided like the plague in a more rational time.  I try earnestly to write it off to insecurity, fear or just plan group behaviour yet even with the perspective of time it offends my basic sense of fairness. 

Even scarier, I now question my old assumption that whatever people do it’s coming from a good place.   

Are you scoffing right now?  Do you want to yell  

“Earth to Suze…  no life isn’t fair and people do suck. You are 29 how can you not know that?” 

To be honest with you I didn’t know that.  I came here young and innocent, looking for love and the adventure of a lifetime.  There’s no doubt I found that, I just wish I hadn’t ended up a little jaded along the way.

Can you believe this alien in my stomach is almost 30cm long?  In one hour I have an “Anomaly Ultrasound”.  The purpose is to see if the baby is developing as expected and to check for conditions like down’s syndrome and spina bifida.  Scary.   You can also see at this stage whether it is a boy or girl.  We still haven’t decided if we want to know……

I do hereby solemnly swear that I will never (ever) complain about Jarno’s lack of romantic sentiment.   

We celebrated our first wedding anniversary on Sunday and he whisked me off to a gorgeous French chateau for the weekend. 

Photos:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/supasuze/

Wow. 

My blog is blocked in China.  I’m not sure whether to feel flattered or outraged. Click below to check if a site is banned:

http://www.greatfirewallofchina.org/test/

“It is estimated that some 30,000 Chinese civil servants are monitoring Internet traffic and blocking content that is deemed undesirable. Typing in sensitive keywords such as ‘democracy’, ‘Falun Gong’ or ‘porno’ in a search engine results in an error message. Websites of a sensitive nature are being blocked. Internet service providers also (self)censor, as do individuals: many people do not express their real thoughts because they know these will be censored anyway.”

I’ve never enjoyed the Queen’s Day celebrations.  It’s sold as the biggest party of the year but has always left me cold.  There are massive flea markets, lots of beer, a sea of partygoers clad in orange and bands playing throughout the city.  It sounds great on paper but in reality it’s so crowded you can’t move, the stuff people sell is absolute crap and people are even more anti-social and obnoxious than usual.

This year we decided to sell our junk with Bas and Miranda.  With upcoming events we have to make some space so I said goodbye to a hundred books and other random bits and pieces.  We were well prepared.  The area where you can sell is small so in the lead up there were many heated arguments as people ‘claimed’ stall space.  We had anticipated this and brought out the deck chairs at lunch time to mind our spot.  By 7pm the streets were flooded with people.  It was a nice change to be comfortable behind a stall and not wandering around aimlessly in the crowd.  We made 400 Euro but it bore a heavy price.  People haggled shamelessly and meanly.  Well most people did.  You see I made an exciting discovery on Queen’s Day that not all Dutch people can be painted with the same harsh brush I use so often.     

The first group of Dutchies won’t come as a surprise to you.  The stomped over the stall, dismissively and impatiently flipped past Faulks, Coetzee and Munro until they reached Johan Cruijff’s autobiography (Jarno’s of course) or a Dutch culture book.  I watched the outrage spread over their faces as they saw the 1 euro stickers.  This was followed by some almost comical scoffing, eye rolling and ended with a fishmonger wife screech “That’s way too expensive, do you think I’m crazy? I’ll give you 10 cents”  

Several more appropriate adjectives came to mind. 

I wasn’t shocked.  I know these people intimately.  I expected them.  They just provided additional confirmation to my generalization that Dutch people are rude, insensitive, selfish and one dimensional.   

The other group I didn’t expect.  They walked in small groups or couples.  They wore stylish and funky clothes, spoke quietly and moved gracefully.  They made comments like, “I love your taste in authors” or “Only 3 euros? But this is a classic!”  We discussed redemption, satire, depth and darkness.  I felt locked doors open in my brain as I finally connected with Dutch people who understood and appreciated subtlety, people who were eloquent and gracious.   

It left me humbled. Humbled because I let the resentment I feel over the way Jarno’s friends and family treated me poison me against almost all Dutch people.  I closed my mind to the possibility that I could find like minded, warm people here. 

In effect, I built this island.  

Yet it also left me frustrated.  Could I really have been so blind?  Who are these people?  Where were they 5 years ago?  Why do our paths never cross?    I guess they are an endangered species, very difficult to find.   

The title of this post is misleading. If you are expecting a sentimental post about how beautiful Amsterdam looks during twilight you should click away now (or breathe a sigh of relief). I did go to Amsterdam last night but the only twilight I experienced was the joy of twilight bowling.

It was Colleen’s birthday so we went out for Thai and then bowled from 11.30pm until the early hours of today. The music was insanely loud, the shoes were dodgy and I bowled respectably. By that I mean the ball stayed in my lane, I didn’t throw it backwards or cause any serious injuries. The young gay girls in the next lane provided us with a constant source of amusement. Their out-there dance moves distracted the boys, but not enough for us to beat them.

Dutch men, stereotypically speaking, display a keen aversion to romantic gestures. Amongst friends who also have Dutch partners, it’s an endless source amusement and frustration.  I’ve heard of dead flower gifts, ignored anniversaries, forgotten birthdays and even inviting his ex along for a romantic night for three. Events like this would cause break-ups in other countries or at least the ‘silent treatment’ for a day or two. Yet here in Holland it’s fairly run of the mill.  Sweeping a girl off her feet is strictly left to the romantics down in Southern Europe, who the Dutch secretly believe are a little crazy from all the sun.      

So why do we all stick around?   Good question…

No seriously, if you speak to any foreigner who wound up with a Dutchie they’ll tell you that Dutch men make up for their unromantic hearts in the every day things.  They cook, clean, feed the cat, take out the garbage, rarely complain, never nag and seem to be in a perpetual good mood.  It amazes me how much pleasure they take in the simple things in life, how they try to make everything ‘gezellig’ (cosy) and how they still think we’re wonderful despite our temper tantrums about living in Holland.   

Tomorrow is Valentine’s day.  I wonder if he’ll remember?