Getting It

Friday, August 12th

The birds are chirping outside. I hope that means it’s going to stop raining. There is a soft to drizzle and grey skies. It’s a nice fall day here. It’s August 12^th.This kind of rain reminds me home in fall. It’s the rain you welcome because you need it. It provides the time to look out the window, take a much needed breath and reflect. It’s especially nice when you are as hungover as I am. Last night I was at Meppeldag and this morning I learned the phrase, “'s avonds een vent, 's ochtends een vent”  From what I understand, the translation is essentially this: Drink like a man at night then act like one the next morning. Whatever, I’m just going to type this morning.

Despite my hangover my eyes are wide open. These last three weeks have been like a whole summer for me. In that time I have done more than any one summer playing baseball in the Midwest. I have been looking back through the bits and pieces in my journal trying to make sense of it all. I read them and the feeling in my chest is something between, gratitude, appreciation, and the question of how I could be so lucky. I got to spend 8 days living with people from Spain, 10 days living with people from Czech, and the better part of a summer living with people from Holland. I have gotten such a perfect taste of Europe. I don’t think I would have it any other way. 

These three peoples are very distinct and represent very different perspectives and ways. The three countries came from different language families, religious backgrounds, climates, battles, and peoples. Whereas I am tempted to speculate on why they are the way they are, I think it’s probably best that I describe them based on my experiences. 

When I left Holland for Spain, I had questions about what I was doing in Holland. I had a hard time understanding the people and the place. When I got to Spain I was overjoyed. What a change! I heard the people speaking a language I could understand. The weather was dry and warm and people were out just enjoying it. I watched them and I got it in 10 minutes.

 In the week I spent with the Spaniards at the English immersion program, I found passionate people who were very open and expressive.  It reminded me of my life in Puerto Rico. I had a fairly good understanding of these people and their open nature makes them easy to understand. I spent a week smiling, sharing, talking, laughing, eating, and dancing. I got to act naturally and it was easy.

---

When I returned to Holland for a few days, I said to myself, “What the f*ck? La gente esta muy loca.” (This is a line from a popular dance song here now.) It was cold and wet again. I spent some days in my room, riding my bike to the baseball field and resting. 

When I went to Czech, as I said in my first post about Czech, I thought this place is very different. It was very different from anywhere I had ever been. I spent the first few days watching the people. I watched people watch each other. It seemed like people were always aware of each other and watching out of the corner of their eyes.  Sitting on a train is a great place to see the subtleties of non-verbal interaction. The people sat straight in their chairs and faced forward, eyes covertly observing the others. I can’t help but to think there is still a residual sense for the obligation for order from the era before. I watched them talk to each other. Their faces moved minimally as they spoke. Not understanding the language didn’t help me understand either. I thought it was hopeless.

Finally, I asked. It was the peak of my frustration. I saw a lot of pretty girls in Prague. A lot. My problem is, when our eyes met, their eyes would shoot directly to the ground or sky or just about anywhere else. I wondered what I was done wrong. Finally I just gave up trying to make sense of it and I asked a member of the sister baseball club in Prague why this was happening. He chuckled, “Maybe this is how they make you more interested.” “Oh, interesting,” I replied.  What I meant was, “This is lame.”

On the train ride home, my world turned inside out. A typically pretty Czech girl sat across the aisle and one row in front of me. I looked and she looked away. I watched without watching and then I saw everything. This description is for another post but I discovered a subtlety in the people that I previously could not have even imagined. By the end of the third day I got it.

I took my new insight and began to pay attention. The people talk with their eyes, barely. If you aren’t watching closely you won’t understand anything. If you stop making eye contact, a kick to the leg of the table, a clearing of the throat, a tap on your arm, or my favorite; batting eye lashes will bring you back in. As I write this I feel a little guilty to essentially bastardize the subtlety but for those at home, this is too good. 

So we ate, drank and talked. I was treated like a king as is the Czech tradition of treating guests. I spent a day a few days with a couple families and in their own homes they are some of the warmest people I have ever met. We ate and then I ate some more and was I offered more until finally I just had to say no. The delicious Czech beer kept flowing and the conversations broadened. Finally, I was exposed to insights to Czech and the real attitudes and real criticism of America. I love sincerity and honesty. That’s what makes the beer so delicious.

---

So I returned to Meppel. I came back with a cursory understanding of the relationship between the Czechs and Dutch that has developed since the time of communism. I thereby began to understand the Dutch. When I returned it was like somebody flipped the switch and there was light on the Dutch people. I began to hear the things that go unsaid. 

On the second night back it was Donderdag Meppeldag (Thursday Meppelday). This is a real Meppel party. Live music in every square in town and the beer poured more than the rain. The people came to life and I began to get it. Two and a half months later, I began to get it. 

I am beginning to understand the narrow bounds of what is normal among the Dutch. If you don’t walk inside them, they will know and you will too.  They will continue to extent a warm welcome to a visitor as is the typically Dutch way but an outsider will remain just that until they give a little way. I am starting to play inside these lines and it’s getting much easier.

The birds aren’t chirping anymore and the clouds look like they mean business. Well, I’m back in Meppel, but for some reason it feels different. I look out of my window at the world outside but now the only thing between it and me is glass. People asked me when I came back from Spain, “Are you happy to be home?” and I always returned a vague reply about being happy to be back but this was not my “home.”

My perspective changed while waiting to claim my luggage in the Amsterdam airport. I asked my host and my Czech travel guide, “Are you happy to be home?” He paused and he replied, “I feel at home in both places.” After 60odd years living in Meppel he had not fixed himself to the notion that home is a person’s origin. The answer is staring me in the face. I look across the living room to see a little decoration that says “Home is where the Love is.”

Ge

So I am back in Meppel with a different feeling because I think I am finally getting it. I’m living in the lines and spending less time trying to figure everything out (that is never going to happen) and more time enjoying the place and its people. The care from the people is there, maybe acceptance is next.