I Need to Move.

Jan 8, 2008

I need to move. Now. The South of Holland, smack on the border with Belgium, was one of the only affordable areas left with a bit of open space, which was the reason why we moved down here in the first place. Along with a lot of Dutch people, I had surmised that Belgians were generally petit, friendly people who enjoyed long lunches and a relaxed lifestyle. But after a few years of living here, I've began to notice a few flaws with this region, flaws which are only now beginning to surface...

Let me try to illustrate my point.

Point 1:

Compared to 'De Randstad', it is indeed more spacious down here, but it's practically all farmland. I've never seen so much livestock in all my life as I have in the past three years. It's gotten to the point where I can see from a distance which cow is the better lover, and I finally understand why little girls have always had such a deep fascination with horses. But I've also discovered that, in these parts, the fascination is not just reserved for little girls, oh no. I was once told by a local farmer in all earnest that the men around here really prefer to look at a woman than a horse, but I got the distinct impression that the horse comes in at a very close second. All I could think was: God, I hope he means a female horse...

It's not that I don't love living outdoors, in nature, I honestly don't think I could live anywhere else. But I grew up in a totally different kind of nature. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest of America, in the forest, on the Pacific Ocean, bordering the Cascade Mountains, where it was wild, untouched and uncultivated. As a child, my playground was the forest, where I was convinced I could talk to trees and that I was a descendant of wood nymphs. We played under waterfalls, climbed on moss-covered boulders that were left there by glaciers and saw slugs the size of your arm, no kidding. 

My point is: there's nature, and then there's nature. A region shouldn't go around saying they're nature when they're just not.

Point 2:

Even though it was wild and woodsy in the Pacific Northwest, there was never any lack of culture or ethnic diversity. I cannot say the same for the area around Dutch-Belgian border, unfortunately. Museums, art galleries, theaters and people of any ethnic race other than Caucasian are few and far between. I just don't get the impression people around here are very culturally inclined. But, I guess when there are horses to look at, who needs to go to a show, right? 

Recently, when I was out walking with my daughter, I got all excited about a man of Oriental descent walking towards us on the street. I cried out, shamelessly, (I think I even pointed), 'Look honey! A Chinese man!' A couple days later, we saw the same man, and again I cried out and pointed. 

My point is: If we remain here, I fear my daughter will grow up assuming this poor man is the one and only person of Oriental descent in her little sheltered world, and the scary thing is, he would be.

Point 3:

Belgians can't drive. Now, this is not something I would ever explicitly say to a Belgian, for fear of being run over, but it is true. Fortunately, for those of us who have licenses which weren't purchased with three coupons from a box of corn-flakes, there is way to determine which Belgian drivers one needs to steer clear of on the open road, and which ones are perhaps slightly less dangerous. The way it works in Belgium is, you get a license plate along with your driver's license, which you keep for the rest of your life. The license plate isn't linked to the car, it's linked to the driver.

According to Belgian regulation (otherwise known as one of the greatest farces of the past two centuries) locals could walk into the city hall in the 1900's and simply buy their driver's license for a mere 200.000 Belgian francs (roughly €2,50 nowadays) without passing any sort of exam. They weren't even required to demonstrate any driving skills whatsoever! Maybe it was assumed at the time that everyone had experience driving tractors since that was all anyone had to do all day. And if you can steer a tractor over an open field, well let's face it, maneuvering a car is a piece of cake. They just forgot to teach these people about pesky little things like what traffic lights are for, and why it's sometimes a good idea to look in the rear view mirror.

So, these people were given a license plate with two letters and three numbers, unlike the modern license plates, which consist of three letters and three numbers. Now, if I'm driving along and I see a brand-new BMW up ahead which is sporting a battered and faded license plate with two letters and three numbers on it, I will most likely screech to a halt (but not before checking my rear view mirror, of course) turn around (using my turn signals) and drive back home rather than risk certain peril by driving behind one of these motorists. Sudden braking, switching lanes without using turn signals, fluctuating speed and distinct swerving over the road are but a few of the exciting maneuvers I have come to expect from the Belgian motorists I am forced to share the roads with.

But if you thought substandard Belgian drivers were only the elderly ones, you'd be sorely mistaken. Belgians still aren't required to take lessons with an official driving instructor, they can opt to let a family member or neighbor teach them. Well, this is just asking for trouble, isn't it? All those bad driving habits the more 'experienced' motorists have accumulated over the years simply get passed onto the next generation, who, in addition to having a more fast-paced and stressful lifestyle than their predecessors, have also developed a taste for fast cars and tacky accessories like tinted windows and pointlessly huge exhaust pipes. So what do you get: ridiculously pimped cars operated by atrociously inept drivers all suffering from such a high level of arrogance and adrenaline that there is no convincing them they really really need to stop driving. Forever.

Admittedly, Belgian drivers haven't been blessed with the best of conditions to drive in. Most of the roads around are so poor, you feel like you're driving a rally in Dakar.  Not only are they bumpier than most roads in uncharted Africa, they are often also layered with mud and littered with vegetables. Around here, when you cross the border into Belgium from Holland, you're sure the shocks of your car have just fallen off. But the condition of the roads is not just a problem in rural areas - you also have to watch out for open potholes and gaping crevices in the middle of the freeway as well, not to mention various obstacles and debris like shredded bits of blown tire and overturned trucks.

My point is: Holland, be warned - if you thought the worst drivers of Europe are restricted to the Mediterranean area, know now, the danger is a lot closer to home...

Point 4:

Belgians aren't sexy. In fact, they are not erotic in any way...unless you find yourself at a Tupperware party. Then it's no holes barred. Recently I was invited to a Tupperware party hosted by my daughter's daycare supervisor, a plump Belgian woman called Sofie.

I suppose when you spend every day with screaming and urinating kids, you try to find any means of release for your sexual drive, and Sofie had certainly found her calling in Tupperware. It wasn't her sales technique that impressed me though, it was her intense knowledge of the products and how she handled each individual piece of merchandise with the sort of expertise I'd only seen in porn movies that really blew me away. 

Of course, the other guests at this particular Tupperware party were in a similar state of ecstasy when they were finally unleashed upon the table of goods and started flexing the candy-colored silicone containers and fondling the latex baking forms. I wondered if they were imagining the delightful things they were going to bake as they handled the products, or whether they had other intentions in mind. 

My point is: women of Belgium,Tupperware isn't the only way to boost your libido.

Point 5:

The country itself is a mess. First of all, there's the tri-lingual problem. Some Belgians only speak French, some only speak Dutch, and there are even some who only speak German. Those who speak French generally refuse to speak Dutch, those who speak Dutch generally try to speak a little French, albeit insultingly inadequate according to most French-speaking Belgians. Those who speak German probably aren't even aware that anyone in their country speaks either French or Dutch. Who knew that Belgium was suffering from such blatant apartheid, for hundreds of years no less? 

Geographically, the country is a mess as well. The top part doesn't want anything to do with the bottom part, and vice versa. The bottom part wishes France would welcome them with open arms into its arrogant borders, which will never happen, and the top part has to live with the fact that they're neither French nor Dutch, and have just one crappy freeway that leads from the coast to Antwerp without any exits or a single gas station on it. 

Then there's the government. Well, why pour salt and lemon juice over an already gaping open wound? 

My point is: if you find yourself on the freeway to Antwerp, you'd better have a cup handy to pee in, I guess.

Point 6:

Belgians are depressed. I once read that Belgium has the greatest number of anti-depressant users in all of Western Europe, a fact that, after three years of living with its inhabitants, doesn't surprise me. What with all the industry pumping out tons fine dust on a daily basis and a huge amount of shoddy cars polluting the overcrowded roads, the atmosphere has sort of a constant grayish quality. Often, there's a mysterious odor hanging in the air that can induce a splitting headache and nausea in seconds.

But besides the miserable climate, the overabundance of industry, the well-endowed livestock (that local women have to compete with), the lack of culture, the atrocious drivers, the sexual appeal of Tupperware (the women's response to the well-endowed livestock, no doubt) and the country itself, what on earth do Belgians have to be depressed about...? 

My point is: I need to move. Now.

Dog People vs Cat People

I live outdoors, which means I am constantly encountering various types of foliage, wild animals and dog poop. In general, people who live outdoors consider it a requirement to get a dog, or so it would seem. All our neighbors have one. We thought about getting one, but as it turns out, we're Cat People.

It's a well-known fact that there are Cat People and Dog People in the world, and they have to live together on earth in peace and harmony. This is not always an easy thing to do when the fundamental differences in Cat People and Dog People are so substantial and numerous. Cat People essentially do their own thing, live and let live and enjoy a good cuddle once in a while. Dog People tend to say things like 'Oh no, my dog never barks' or 'Oh no, my dog never poops in your yard' or 'Oh don't be scared, he's just playing'. To all these remarks, I am supposed to feel ashamed. I obviously must have problems with my ears if I think the dog is barking, and problems with my eyesight if I see a pile of poop in my yard that I did not make myself. And, of course, I should know when a dog the size of a small horse growling at my crotch area is 'just playing'! You see, Dog People assume Cat People are also Dog People, which is partly where the problem lies. 

Because we live in an attractive, spacious area, people enjoy taking walks around here, and more often than not, they have dogs with them. These people believe the outdoors is a place where dog feces just magically disappears or instananeously biodegrades, so when their dog squats in our driveway, they make no effort to stop it since our driveway is just about the prettiest dog toilet they've ever seen. There's really no point in explaining why I don't especially want to tread through their dog's droppings when I get into my car, since more often than not these people don't even speak the same language as I do. Or they pretend not to. They must not be fluent in Cat.

But these are merely tourists, the Dog People we have to contend with on a daily basis are a different story alltogether. Our neighbor, for example, already had a dog when he moved in next door, which he mistakingly assumed would blend into the atmosphere, lose all its annoying dog-like qualities and become one with the quiet woodsy environment. When our neighbor left for work every morning at around 6am, his dog, a spunky little Jack Russel called Sita, would begin to howl and bark non-stop until he returned home again at around 6pm. 

After a few weeks of this sort of behavior, we realized Sita was not simply practising her dog scales and that it was time to speak up. To our surprise, our neighbour refused to believe us - he claimed his dog just 'wasn't the barking type'! Fortunately we didn't have to provide proof, he finally took our rather persistent word for it. So poor Sita was locked indoors while our neighbor went to work, and even then we could hear her tearing up the couch and scratching the doors to pieces. Not long after that, Sita moved out. We found out later she ended up with our neighbor's mother, the only one who could tolerate her, or perhaps the only one with indestructable furniture.

Our neighbor then became a Dog Person who lives outdoors without a dog, which wasn't really allowed in Dog People circles. So, it wasn't long before he got himself a new one, a Border Collie pup. This time, he was going to go to obedience school and was determined to do things right. Maybe he wanted to prove to us, whom he saw as representatives of Cat People around the country, that he could own a dog and that we would essentially never even know it exists.

Our neighbor attended obedience school for a little while, but the puppy was about as non-existant as hemmoroids on a truck driver. It barked, howled, destroyed, and tried to mate with just about anything that threw a shadow. It was clear our neighbor needed to find a solution, so he got another dog. It was a logical move for a Dog Person, undoubtedly, but we Cat People just couldn't comprehend. According to our neighbor, spending a few hundred euro on another dog, which was a couple years older and more experienced, was a good investment because it would 'teach' the puppy how to behave. Needless to say, neither dog nor neighbor managed to stick around for long. I personally believe both dogs probably tore up his furniture so badly he didn't have a bed to sleep on anymore. I felt sorry for our neighbor's mother, who had probably hoped her son would be bringing her grandchildren over instead of a variety of badly behaved canines...

Another neighbor and his wife are both retired and have bred every sort of animal known to man in the decades they've lived outdoors. They are tough people, who can deal with livestock and build things and chop things. Now that they're retired, they must have had a visit from the LPDPLO, (The League of Potential Dog People Living Outdoors) demanding to know why they didn't have a dog yet. They didn't waste any time in adopting one, a chihuahua called Luigi. I can't imagine a more unsuitable choice of canine in these parts. In the damp forest conditions, Luigi has to wear little sweaters all the time, shakes uncontrollably and is so rodent-like, you'd mistake him for a rat if you put him on the ground. Luigi isn't let for a walk, he's carried. I always wonder if, after he's put on the ground to do his business, how difficult it is to find him again. Or if a rat might try to elope with him one day when one of my neighbor's isn't looking. A Dog Person once told me, when you want to get a dog, you don't choose the dog, the dog chooses you. I guess that really is true. 

There are also Dog People living on the corner near us. We have to pass their property to get to our house, which means we pass it at least twice daily. They moved in a couple years after we did, and have a little white lap dog called Rakker. Although I am a Cat Person, I completely get the concept of a dog protecting one's owner, and yet it annoys me greatly when I try to go home, and Rakker appears out of nowhere and barks and chases me along his owner's fence until I have passed and supposedly am no longer a threat. In whatever mode of transport, the second I move into the vicinity of Rakker's owner's property, he sees me as the thing that could destroy his owner and render him as head security guard virtually useless. 

At first, I took Rakker's behavior personally, until I discovered he did this to everyone and everything that passed his owner's property. A bird, a rabbit, a cat, a pinecone falling out of a tree, all were seen as potential perpetrators, capable of inflicting harm on his owner. Sometimes, the owner is around when Rakker barks and chases, and when he approaches, I find myself expecting some sort of explanation. It's always the same: 'You're on his territory!' the owner will say teasingly. 'His territory, eh? Since when?' I want to ask. Sometimes the owner will suggest I pet Rakker, to show him I mean no harm. The idea of extending my hand anywhere near that snarling little thing is undeniably absurd, seeing as if he is capable of sensing my emotions (by means of telepathy, I assume), he would no doubt sense my pure desire to do him a great deal of harm and would probably chomp off my hand. Not a risk I'm willing to take.

Seeing as it's impossible to continue a conversation above Rakker's frenzied barking and jumping up against the chain-link fence, the owner and I don't usually stand around and chat. The fact that I am so close to his owner and could injure him at any moment is Rakker's main concern, so by that point I usually just get out of there. I want to say: 'I was here first, buddy', but this would make no impression on Rakker. Another battle lost. Dog Person: one, Cat Person: zero.

If you think Cat People think: 'We might lose the battle, but we'll win the war', you'd be mistaken. Yet another essential difference between Cat People and Dog People that will most likely remain so until the end of time is that Cat People tolerate and Dog People crusade. A Cat Person will never try to convince you that a cat is better than a dog, but a Dog Person will go to great lengths to convince you why a dog is next to holy. And they'll go even further than that by insisting a dog doesn't stink, drool or hump your leg at inappropriate moments. 

The war has been won, and Cat People around the world have succumbed long ago. They don't care, all they want is a good cuddle now and then.