Author: Wes

Walk around a typical Dutch neighborhood and you’ll notice that the curtains are open all the time. As a nosy student passing by I would always take a cheeky peek — the kind that yearns to understand and learn, but still avoids any sort of eye contact.

The homeowners near the university college campus in Utrecht have impeccable taste in interior design. Decorations and books neatly arranged, dinner table perfectly centered with the chandelier and candles. Sometimes you’ll see a lively dinner party (gezellig!). But more often than not you’ll just see someone reading the paper or watching television. Those mundane activities people do when they’re alone or at their most comfortable — all of that is on public display.

(but even then it would be rude to stare)

The Dutch are the tallest people in the world. As an outsider, you get used to it quickly. It’s something you’ll only notice when you:

a) first arrive in the country

b) visit or return to another, shorter country

or

c) when you see an otherwise grown international student ride a children’s bicycle, because the regular adult ones designed for the Dutch are too big for them.

It’s a funny sight for the locals.

I stand at about 6 feet with shoes, or 183 cm rounded up. Above average in California, but average height in the Netherlands. I’ve never faced too many issues with regular day-to-day life in either place. I can ride a grown-up bicycle. I can reach behind the counter, and I can reach that tea-cup in the dark corners of the cupboard. I can lie on a mattress without having to scrunch into the fetal position. It’s all good.

—-

Iris is tall in that she has to bend down if she wants to hug most people. Even in the Netherlands she says she’ll notice people inching towards her not to say hello, but to compare their own height to hers (usually by standing side to side and expressing amusement at how their forehead only reaches her shoulders, and then casually walking away without a word), and that back in school people would go up and ask if she was a lighthouse. That must be annoying, I said.

“Eh, you just have to get used to it.”

What an exciting concept, greeting good friends and relatives with kisses on the cheek! I loved every second of it while living in the Netherlands. Three times when you say hello, three times when you say goodbye. Left cheek or right cheek, it doesn’t matter which side you start with first, so long as you alternate between the cheeks.

American prudishness led me to believe that kissing of any kind was for lovers and parents towards their children. In California I usually just go for the bear hug. But regular kisses on the cheek are second-nature to most European cultures as a greeting. (Maybe not the Germans, but they learn quickly). I like it this way.

Soon I’d be doing this as often as I could. When Elske was working behind the bar, I’d prop myself up on the counter just for an extra few on the cheeks.

~

Everybody has their own style.

Some people make these loud mwah noises.

Some people follow it up with a hug.

Some people leave it at just that.

You never really know. Sometimes there’s that awkward limbo period while transitioning in-between the cheeks where you try to avoid bumping each others’ noses and lips, so instead each of you jolt your neck backward like a turtle.

Uh, how many kisses again?
When it comes to small talk at a party among international students, the conversation often revolves around differences between everybody’s home culture. This kissing thing is no different. I never know how many times to kiss! you’ll often hear.

With the Dutch it’s almost always three, but the other nations can be more ambiguous. The Spanish go for two, the French go for two to four depending on the region, and so on. So one person will pull away thinking it’s done while the other is left hanging.

And what if the other person doesn’t want any part of this?

(Rule of thumb: if you have to ask, then you probably shouldn’t).

Marc and André, my Friday afternoon drinking partners, said that this three kisses thing was new, and that this never showed up in their generation. Silly kids, they said. André started making the kind of duck faces you’d see on Instagram selfies to make his point clear. Marc said he may as well be a kid.

~~~

I tried giving Mom three kisses when I saw her at the airport after a year abroad, but that just led to a lot of fumbling. Silly me, I’m in a different culture now.

The story goes that the architect Marlies Rohmer wanted even more colors on the Casa Confetti, but the city said no.

De Uithof, or the main science campus in Utrecht University, has a reputation for having lots of blocky, grey modern buildings. The Casa Confetti was a response to that. It’s got so many colors that it’s even called the “Smarties” building, after the candy.

It’s a residential building, but only for Dutch students. I’ve been inside twice — once for dinner and board games with my project partner, and once for a haircut.

~

“Do you like gambling?” said Sebastiaan from downstairs in the student bar. “The Casa Confetti has haircuts for only eight euros.”

That’s because the first floor of the Casa Confetti is actually a hairdressing school. The professor and the student take turns cutting your hair. I thought I’d give it a shot. I’m not a gambler, but like any good cloggie, the idea of a bargain had seduced me.

“I’ve never cut Asian hair before!” said the student hairdresser. (Apparently Asian hair is a lot thinner than the average European’s). The students there are nice and enthusiastic. Most are fresh out of high school.

I ended up getting an unintentional bowl cut, but it’s hard to gather sympathy from complaining when I only paid eight euros.

I used to be obsessed with the broodje rookworst. The HEMA next to the university library sold them for two euros each. I ate them as a good-luck charm before exams. I ate them as a reward after exams. I ate them whenever.

Ben, who lived right across the bridge from me, is a fellow broodje rookworst enthusiast. He used to say that he eats two of these each day after rowing practice. It’s easy to see why — they’re so simple, and so delicious.

The ingredients:

1. brood, or bread. Hence, the broodje, or sandwich/roll.
2. rookworst, or the type of Dutch sausage. One bite and all the juice starts squirting out. HEMA is famous for it.
3. [optional]: mustard sauce

It’s essentially a glorified hot dog, but I ate them so often that the women working at HEMA would recognize me in bars out in town (hey, aren’t you that guy?) and would know my order before I even opened my mouth.