In Which Our Heroine Hops to Vla Vla Land

One of the great things about being in London is that it is so close to the rest of Europe, at least in relation to America not being particularly close to Europe geographically (if at all in any other way). All of which allowed me to conspire over the last few weeks to actually head off to a friend's surprise baby shower.

In Amsterdam.

Just one of those things people do, you know. My friend (Marieke)'s sister (Annelise) had organised a rather excellent event, but knew that Marieke had friends all over the world from both her studying in the US and the fact that the Dutch do get a bit peripatetic. To include everyone, Annelise e-mailed all the foreigners, and asked them to e-mail a baby picture and a recent picture so that Marieke could match them up. I wound up being a bit slack on this as baby pictures had to be dug out, what with my mother moving house (kudos to Grandma for a bit of search and retrieve, and a very good quality scanning job on short notice, although she did in fact meet Marieke many years ago so that helps), When Annelise e-mailed me to politely say "where are the photos?" I said "oops, sorry, Mom's just moved house and can't find anything, and I just moved to London two days ago so I can't find anything either." Upon finding out that I was so close, conspiracy of great nature ensued. Marieke's husband bought me a ticket to Amsterdam for the party and it was all sent via e-mail. And as Annelise and I coordinated stuff, the one thing that wound up lacking was actually corresponding with Marieke, who would occasionally send these notes saying "Um, I haven't heard from you, are you all right? You seem a bit quiet at the moment!"

Not to worry, not to worry. A bag was packed, a bear was purchased (along with Yorkie bars and salt & vinegar chips for Marc and Annelise!) and courtesy of the whole "check in and print your boarding pass the day before you leave for the airport" concept, I whipped in and was in Amsterdam easily. I was pressed into service decorating anything above waist level, and then popped out to the shops to get some vla for the next morning (it is a custardy type thing. And tasty. It is also fun to say, as you sound like a vampire. Vla! I vant to suck your blood! Vla!) and stay there until Marieke got home so that first she could be surprised by her party and then I could surprise her with me.

The first problem that struck me was in the market. I can pronounce words in Dutch, as Marieke taught me to read outloud. The problem is that my actual vocabulary reflects how I learned to read, which was from reading aloud from Miffy books. Miffy (www.miffy.com) is actually a Dutch artist's creation named Nijnte and with all the books written in rhyming couplets, this helps learn the sounds of words. It also left me with a vocabulary not terribly suited to wandering around Amsterdam looking for vla, as I know such handy phrases as "Hij is een stoute rups. Hij at van de mooie bloem!" which conveniently translates to "He is a naughty caterpillar. He ate a beautiful flower!"

There are very few naughty caterpillars in the local shops in Amsterdam. In fact, there are very few caterpillars at all, regardless of behavioural standards.

Never mind. I knew where the shop was, I remembered where the vla was in the shop, I had some Euros, this was going to be easy. And indeed it was until the nice gentleman in front of me in the line turned and seeing I was just holding my little vla container, immediately said something terribly complex in lots of Dutch words, none of which seemed to be "caterpillar." Suddenly reimersed in that year when I didn't understand a word that I was spoken to me, and couldn't communicate back, I actually started to have a full on panic attack and hyperventilate. The nice Dutch man promptly said something else not involving caterpillars or naughtiness so far as I could tell, and I finally managed to gasp out "I don't speak Dutch." hoping all the while he wouldnt' think I had just escaped from the local mental institution.

Being Dutch, he promptly responded to me in perfect English with "is that all you have? Why don't you go ahead of me?" Crisis averted. I was equally handled with kid gloves by the teenage chap behind the till, who also addressed me in full English, asked if I had a card, counted out my change, and told me to have a nice weekend. All very kind of them, but I did feel a bit stupid.

But back for the surprise. It did occur to me that two surprises in 15 minutes might not be the best thing to do to a woman who was seven months pregnant, but there was nothing for it now but to go through the door. All was well, Marieke was happy and the party went off without a hitch. Except that I didn't understand anything that was said. To give me something to do, I read the little quiz cards. Marieke got asked questions, and if she got four answers right, she got to open a present. I read out the questions, and then she gave an answer and there was a bit of discussion. After four, I said "Ok, now you get to open a present. Huzzah!"

That was when she told me that in fact she'd gotten all the last questions wrong, so no presents for her. Sometimes, it does indeed help to understand things.

Silly silly Anne.

Lovely evening out biking through Amsterdam (yes, even at seven months pregnant - I love the Dutch way of biking everywhere!) and noshing on Indonesian food but unfortunately the next day meant a 7 am take off at the airport, so it was all too short. I've vowed to brush up on my Dutch before le bebe is born for my next visit, but I think that that age, he'll understand me perfectly anyway!

More later. So much work on at the moment. The things a gal does for an income.

Love
Anne