Some more notes on today
My not-so-Catalan-as-the-recipe-told-me-to-take-sausages are being fried now, and together with a genuine gesnipperde ui this creates a true aroma of home (yes, H&L!).
somewhat later...
I've just had a delicious dinner (like every day, really, which surprises me just as well as it does (some of) you: I can now justifiedly say that, albeit temporarily, I have been lifted from the status of Dining Hall Sucker); and dicovered how to make ordinary Tesco's bread taste like Kroepoek! (I'll give you the recipe if you like.)
There are still moments, just like in France, at which I apparently cannot realise I Am Actually Here. Followed by a moment of But Yes; Look: I Am Actually Here. Yesterday, for example, I watched a British sitcom. It was all rather wonderful and English and so on and so forth. After the broadcast came the familiar disappointment of finding yourself still in the Netherlands, in spite of the fact you can receive the BBC. Once again I thought: I really ought to go there myself some time... But wait a moment: I am already there, I mean here!
I assume you all know the feeling (except those who see nothing mythical in Abroad).
Back to today. Looking for an entrance to St Stephen's Church I stumbled upon something odd. It was two girls, sitting on a bench and chattering away. Now what's so odd about that? Well, it wasn't the fact that they were chattering: it was the way they did it: they did it in some language that was definitely not English. I stood still and listened. It did sound vaguely familiar. From deep down in me, something escaped to the surface: in fact, this was a language that was even more familiar to me than English, even though I had long ceased to speak it. Let me think for one more moment... of course, that was it: Dutch! I lingered for a moment to think whether I should approach them, because, in the end, we had something In Common. But immediately I knew it was a silly idea, because there was nothing to say, and, by the way, I didn't even feel like speaking Dutch, especially to perfect strangers. And so I entered St Stephen's Church. I had encountered my first two Dutchers.
On my way back through the park I decided to take a short-cut over a rather steep path. Not only was it rather steep, but rain and moss had made it a bit slippery. Actually, it was quite slippery. I was just pondering over the question whether I should walk a little slower when suddenly I sat right down on the ground, legs stretched in front of me, a rather surprised expression on my face. I sleighed on for some more feet, got up and wiped the soil from my red hands. Only my head got quite a blow through my spine, and is still pounding.
Anyway:
I'm off to choir!
somewhat later...
I've just had a delicious dinner (like every day, really, which surprises me just as well as it does (some of) you: I can now justifiedly say that, albeit temporarily, I have been lifted from the status of Dining Hall Sucker); and dicovered how to make ordinary Tesco's bread taste like Kroepoek! (I'll give you the recipe if you like.)
There are still moments, just like in France, at which I apparently cannot realise I Am Actually Here. Followed by a moment of But Yes; Look: I Am Actually Here. Yesterday, for example, I watched a British sitcom. It was all rather wonderful and English and so on and so forth. After the broadcast came the familiar disappointment of finding yourself still in the Netherlands, in spite of the fact you can receive the BBC. Once again I thought: I really ought to go there myself some time... But wait a moment: I am already there, I mean here!
I assume you all know the feeling (except those who see nothing mythical in Abroad).
Back to today. Looking for an entrance to St Stephen's Church I stumbled upon something odd. It was two girls, sitting on a bench and chattering away. Now what's so odd about that? Well, it wasn't the fact that they were chattering: it was the way they did it: they did it in some language that was definitely not English. I stood still and listened. It did sound vaguely familiar. From deep down in me, something escaped to the surface: in fact, this was a language that was even more familiar to me than English, even though I had long ceased to speak it. Let me think for one more moment... of course, that was it: Dutch! I lingered for a moment to think whether I should approach them, because, in the end, we had something In Common. But immediately I knew it was a silly idea, because there was nothing to say, and, by the way, I didn't even feel like speaking Dutch, especially to perfect strangers. And so I entered St Stephen's Church. I had encountered my first two Dutchers.
On my way back through the park I decided to take a short-cut over a rather steep path. Not only was it rather steep, but rain and moss had made it a bit slippery. Actually, it was quite slippery. I was just pondering over the question whether I should walk a little slower when suddenly I sat right down on the ground, legs stretched in front of me, a rather surprised expression on my face. I sleighed on for some more feet, got up and wiped the soil from my red hands. Only my head got quite a blow through my spine, and is still pounding.
Anyway:
I'm off to choir!
posted by Anna P.H. Geurts | 4:45 pm
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