You may be wondering at this point why a post on cultural differences has inspired today's theme on Gidday. After all, I am an expat and consider myself to be a well-travelled kind of gal. But you see, Linda wrote about integrating into the Dutch culture and me, being half-Dutch, was nodding away through the whole piece, muttering 'oh yes', 'absolutely' and 'of course!'. And it got me thinking: why do I identify so strongly with this part of my heritage having never lived there?
First, let me create a bit of context. Dad is the Dutch one. Born in Amsterdam, he emigrated to Australia with his parents and older sister when he was seven years old. He married my Australian Mum (her lineage is English/Irish a couple of generations back but that's a whole other story) in 1969, the same year I was born. We lived two suburbs away from Oma and Opa until I was nine years old. We never spoke Dutch at home.
While we never learnt to speak the language, Oma and Opa taught us nursery rhymes in Dutch, (Klaps Eens In Je Handjes was a particular fave) and we all toasted special occasions with 'Prosit!' so the cadence of the language surrounded our early childhood. There was even an 'authentic' Dutch costume that was passed down from me to Lil Chicky and we still have the clogs despite growing out of them 'several' years ago.
Fast Forward - I first visited Holland (Amsterdam in fact) in 2000 at the age of 31. I have been back twice since: once to wander around Amsterdam on my own for four days in October 2008 and again just a few months ago for work, I visited Den Bosch. It felt comfortable and sounded like my childhood - no huge surprise there.
But there's a Dutch 'thing' my sister and I both feel (although not completely - after many a bruise-inducing attempt, I have concluded that riding a bicycle is not really my forte.) An affiliation if you like with their mix of aloof-ness and pragmatic blunt-ness. I found myself nodding furiously at this observation in Linda's post:
All part of a culture that believes strongly in a Calvinistic sense of personal responsibility. The door is there, of course one should be prepared to open it.
and then completely understanding (and seeing in myself if I'm honest) the blend of friendly yet aloof polite-ness (which creates space) and then, as fond feelings develop:
...the standard Dutch greeting of three kisses. Not two as in many cultures, but a full three! Hands holding the other person's upper arms to draw in for a partial hug and then left, right, left...
But there's more: apparently I have a Dutch 'look' and a Dutch nose 'to look down' (although Mum, I don't think it looks particularly Dutch, or any nationality really).
And to top it all off, a guy I was absolutely smitten with when I was 19, remarked to Mum in the early stages of our relationship that I was very pragmatic. This may have been true (and in fact, quite insightful) but my tender and romantic teenage heart was crushed.
So in between my 'get off your a***'-ness', 'give me space'-ness and 'I am fond of you' effusiveness, there's a romantic soul who believes in life's 'journey', an idealist who always looks for the best in others and a friendly Aussie lass who thinks a passing exchange of greetings in the street makes the world a nicer place.
There are plenty of times when these two opposing forces vie for attention - my desire to believe it will all turn out for the best constantly confronted by the voice saying that if I don't make it happen, it won't.
So how do I manage this dichotomy I hear you ask? Well let me tell you, I am a whizz at delivering tough news - direct as you like - with a smile. And if you happen to provide below par service to this particular customer, don't object in the face of my refusal to pay the service charge.
You'll only make it worse. And then, you will see...