Two years and about two hundred kilograms of eaten potatoes later

Someone asked me this week if Amsterdam feels like home, and I didn’t really know how to answer, because I’m not quite sure how I feel. It kinda does, but without the deep familiarity, roots, history, wider family and old friends that often make up a “home”. Practically, it’s home. We have our things, the kids know Dutch, I can kinda ride a bike from A to B, we drive our car on the “other side” of the road with familiarity and I’ve found my “people”, ie hairdresser, brow, waxing and nail salons (all the critical things, right?). I can speak a little Dutch – mostly enough to order a coffee, but not nearly enough to really feel integrated and like I truly belong.

It’s been exactly two years since we landed at Schipol with our masks on and alongside our 17 pieces of luggage, and it’s been a phenomenal ride (albeit with some falls and near crashes). There have been milestones and beautiful memories, and it’s wonderful to be celebrating special moments in our Amsterdam “anniversary” week – Max’s last day of primary school and Rebecca’s last day of “nursery school”.

It’s from our new home that we’ve been able to hop on trains and travel to other countries. It’s where Rebecca lost her first tooth and learnt to ride a bike, and it’s where we have played in snow, endured more lockdowns and eaten our body weight in Dutch potatoes (okay, maybe this was just me).

We’ve learnt the art of layering up in winter, that Dutch directness isn’t rudeness (it’s just direct), that salt and pepper aren’t commonly found on restaurant tables and that the Dutch love sending post. There’s even an app that alerts you when a letter or package is coming from the post office. We’ve learnt a new kind of freedom, who makes our favourite tampouche pastries and that there’s a system for everything. We’ve learnt (the hard way) that we always need to lock AND tie up our bikes at night, how to check the class for lice (not my favourite activity) and most importantly, I’ve learnt how to lift my hand to indicate a right or left turn without falling off my bike. Granted, these are the shortest indications in the Netherlands, and if you blink and you’re behind me, you might miss it and crash. I’ve learnt that at kids’ birthday parties, they eat the cake first and open the presents in front of everyone (the latter makes me anxious – what if a child doesn’t like a gift, and can’t hide their disdain?)

I’ve learnt that it’s possible to love a place and appreciate being in it, but also miss the things that made the “old life” easier. I’ve learnt that even when I feel misplaced or lonely, it’s not always about where I’m living or who I’m with, but about how I’m feeling with myself and whether I’m off kilter or steady. I’ve learnt that it’s okay to get by without ironing, and that’s there’s no shame in hating doing laundry and maybe shedding a tear at 10.30pm after a day of running, work, Dutch lessons and parenting.

I’ve also learnt that laughter has a firm and therapeutic place in this process of settling. I have laughed getting drenched in the rain, I have laughed when I’ve popped a toilet cube into the dishwasher because I didn’t understand the words, I have laughed at getting lost again and again, I have laughed trying to use my travel pass to pay for groceries, I have laughed at waiting at the supermarket teller for someone to pack my groceries and then realising that it’s my job now. I have laughed getting into the wrong side of the car, and I’ve laughed falling off my bike while it’s still stationary.

This sure has been one of my best chapters.