I was chatting with a friend from Dallas a few months back
and her son (just a year or so older than my daughter) was asking if my
daughter could come over and play. My
friend regretfully told him, “I’m sorry sweetie, but she can’t because she’s in
The Netherlands.” His eyes apparently
grew very large and he became extremely excited, “I want to go to Neverland
with Peter Pan too, Mama!!!”
I love the fact that Europe is the land where fairy tales
were written. Hans Christian Andersen
was Danish, The Brothers Grimm were German, and Charles Perrault was
French. As my children and I walk
through the ancient streets of Leiden and enter churches built centuries ago,
my daughter will often shout “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Every building with a balcony or window far
above our heads is suspect to her keen assessment. We walk through Liedse Hout (Leiden Woods)
once a week and as the delicate trees loom above us I too, picture myself in a
fairy tale. I push the double stroller over curvy bricked bridges and rumble
along gravel paths and think that grandma’s house with the big bad wolf could
be around the next turn. Many streets in
Leiden remind me of scenes from Belle’s and Rapunzel’s visits into town,
complete with cobblestones, tiny passageways, and leaning homes. As I’ve mentioned before, my daughter’s
favorite movie is Rapunzel and I always smile as she packs her ‘mother’s’ lunch
for her journey which is to take “3 days time”.
She includes a fresh loaf of bread, a block of cheese, and an apple. My family purchases these things at our
market each Saturday. Growing up, I
never really understood the “This little piggy went to market” or the “Market
to market to buy a fat pig” pieces of the nursery rhymes. It was always explained, “Well, he went to
the grocery store.” This is the closest
thing America has. True. But in reality, “market” is very different. We participate in “market’ each Saturday and
have our favorite cheese, fruit, flower, and bread vendors. There are a hundred vendors with portable
trucks and stands that set-up every Saturday to sell their goods. They are lined along the Neiuwe Rijn canal in
Leiden, in front of our Stadhuis (Town Hall) parallel to Haarlemerstraat (the
shopping area). It is incredible that
I’m able to buy the freshest, well, everything
for my family (at ridiculous rock-bottom prices at that) while participating in
an event which has occurred amongst the canal in Leiden for hundreds of years.
So as the nursery
rhymes become clearer and the fairy tale scenes unfold before my eyes everyday,
I reflect on the position where have been lead.
I am half a world away from suburbia and corporate America. This is a dream I had, and choice I
accepted. My world has shrunk and expanded
in so many ways. I watch Elmo and Disney
videos with my children. (Bear with me here
and see me through, like I said, my world has shrunk. . . but they’ve got some good messages.) Elmo says I should “Walk with Pride” (along
with Beyonce) and “Believe in Myself” (a duet with Ray Charles). I don’t care how gangster you are, this is
good stuff. But another scene that gets
to me is in the movie, Tangled, about Rapunzel.
She and Flynn Ryder (the suave male character) are in the boat, about to
witness the lighting of the floating lanterns that she’s wanted to see in
person her whole life. “I’ve been
looking out of a window for 18 years, dreaming of what I might feel like when
those lights rise in the sky. What if
it’s not everything I dreamed of?” she worries.
He tells her, “It will be.” She
turns to him innocently and says, “And what if it is? What do I do then?” He says, “Well, that’s the good part, I
guess. You get to go find a new
dream.” We all have dreams, but
sometimes the day-to-day may get in the way of seeing that we are accomplishing
them. When we achieve our dreams, do we
even realize it? Are we scared to
acknowledge that fact for fear of having to let go and find something
else?
Reading storybooks and watching cartoons are some of the
reasons I like being a parent. It allows
me the excuse to return to childish ways, but coupled with that, The
Netherlands, in unexpected flair, allows me to return to youthfulness as
well. My friend invited me to a book
club meeting this past week and we were scheduled to meet, on our bikes,
outside the train station. (Honestly,
America, when is the last time you’ve met anyone on a bike? How youthful and fun is this?) I was excited and nervous. I’ve never been to a book club and had
visions of passionate people telling me what I should have gotten from the book
while I sat there speechless without thought.
But she reassured me that the people were cool and it didn’t matter if
you had even read the book. She
explained that book club meetings typically consisted of eating great food,
drinking some wine, and lively chatter.
Sounded pretty fun to me, but once I committed to attending, another
storm of stress hovered above my head.
Everyone was supposed to bring something (I love the idea, I mean, my
favorite party is the bring-your-own-brunch-dish event) so I anxiously perused
my cookbooks and tried to find something that would impress but not be over the
top. It was warm, so I wanted something
fresh and light and she told me most of the attendees were vegetarian. I really wanted to bring my staple
spinach-artichoke dip, but was unsure if it would stay warm, and I’d have to
carry it on my bike. I continued to
confuse myself: Perhaps it would stay
safe in the carrier, but did I want to drive my SUV of a bike to a girl’s night
out? Should I try to take off the
carrier and snap on the extra wheel to make it into a regular bike, where I’d
have to balance and hop off at stop lights?
My husband convinced me that no, I did not want the challenge of hopping
on and off while trying to balance anything on my bike and besides, fruit
kabobs and fruit dip would be a safe bet.
Plus, I could load it up in the carrier and it would be fine. In the end, I agreed. I am a mother of two and an American at
that. The SUV tricycle would suit.
I met my friend at the train station and she led
the way, google maps app on her phone, in hand.
We are talking, riding our bikes, I’m admiring the way she can handle
her phone and ride her bike simultaneously, and she’s explaining how, while she
lived in Amsterdam, she had accomplished the ultimate feat – riding her bicycle
while holding an umbrella. This is so
Dutch. I love it!
We arrive at her
friend’s house and I’m already enchanted.
One of the things I miss most about being in America is diversity. I know, it seems weird – you’re living in a foreign country, what do
you mean? Back home, my best friends are
Mexican, Puerto Rican, South African, and Indian. Here, I am amongst Dutch all the time, but
it’s just not the same. The hostess is
Finnish and the other attendees are British, Irish, German, and my friend, who
is from Minnesota (which might as well be a foreign country from my
perspective, considering Minnesota is nearly same distance from Texas as say,
The Netherlands to Budapest). We talked
about the Secret Life of Bees, but more than that, we talked about life. We are all Expats adjusting to life in The
Netherlands. Each story was animated,
lively, and full of insight. The
fabulous vegetarian salads disappeared and the tea lights dimmed as the
conversation went on.
After many laughs
and thank yous to the host, the five attendees headed out the door and unlocked
our bikes. The mothers admired my bright
green bike that converts into a stroller and we started pedaling down the ‘fietspad’
(bike path) towards town. This is not
far from where I bike my children regularly to the local farm. “Turn left!
Turn right,” my friend and I called out to the others who live closer
into town and aren’t as familiar. We
pedaled our bikes under the dark night sky and shining street lights. It was near 11 p.m. and the air was crisp, but
not unbearably so, and trees and grass rustled in the wind around us. We playfully rode alongside each other
chatting, then gracefully merged into a line to let another group of cyclers
pass. I felt like Wendy flying through
the night air for her first time with Peter Pan. “I can bike, I can bike, I can bike!” It was fun and magical. I waved goodbye and parted ways from the
girls, up and over the steep bridge where my daughter always shouts “Go Mama!”
and sped excitedly towards home.
My husband texted me
as I was turning onto our street, not anxiously, but just a little worried,
wanting to make sure I wasn’t hit by a car or anything on my bike. I lightly tapped on the door and walked
inside our home. I excitedly began to
tell him about my evening. As I started
to illustrate the enchanting bike ride home with five other women, he
interrupted me. “Wait, wait. Honey, do you remember?” he asked. Blankly, I stared at him and responded,
“What?” shaking my head. He continued to
explain, years ago, while we were visiting Amsterdam we had wandered
hand-and-hand through Amsterdam’s largest park, the Vondelpark. I remembered the park. Amsterdam is not a particularly green city,
but Vondelpark, similar to Central Park, provides residents and visitors with a
tranquil space to enjoy the outdoors. I
remembered the rosy cheeks of the Dutch surrounding us. I remember the enchanting feel of the air,
and how everyone we saw seemed especially happy and enjoying the weather. But I was seeing only the bright smile of the
Cheshire cat. “Don’t you remember?!?!” he repeated. “When we visited the Vondelpark years
ago? You saw the pile of bikes and the
women picnicking on the grass. You said
to yourself, ‘I want to do that someday!’”
I gasped and my hand touched my lips instinctively. He was right, and the flash of memory, the
whole picture, like Alice in Wonderland seeing the entire cat sitting in the
tree above my head, its tail languidly waving back and forth, presented itself
before my mind with clarity. This was my dream. I wanted to ride my bike,
meet a group of girl friends, drink wine, eat dinner, exchange thoughts, laugh,
and cycle home. But this was even better,
because we had chairs and a table!
As I readied myself
for bed that night, I realized why
the evening had been such a success. We
have many dreams. Sometimes they’re big,
but sometimes they’re small. Sometimes
we just need the perspective to realize that we’re accomplishing them. And sometimes, like Rapunzel, we need a
slight nod to the fact that we have accomplished our dream, as perfect or as
imperfect as it comes, then find a new dream.
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