Space is the Plaats

My second weekend in, or near, Utrecht has drawn to a close and I am delighted to announce that I am still alive! That said, there is some confusion as to whether it’s my pulse I’m hearing or the seemingly endless high-pitched thud of a metronome endeavouring to take over as much of my life as it possibly can. To those other music nerd types out there: my weekly routine consists of a major and minor scale in thirds, fourths, fifths, sixths and sevenths, five studies and a repertoire list that sees me set for the whole year! Quite a mountain to climb, and one which is proving to take a great deal of determination and focus.

Enjoyment isn’t banished outright, though, and I guess I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t awaiting the hopeful end result with baited breath! Kicks can be found in less obvious places: I take great pride in my first trip to LIDL, which has enabled culinary sanctuary in the form of daily cheese sandwiches and rather curious rice/cheap sweet & sour sauce dish that is slowly being augmented with different ingredients each day. These little ‘mundanities’ probably don’t make for highly lucrative reading (sorry guys, I should be more like Perez Hilton) but I have genuinely found myself feeling a real sense of achievement for every step I take towards formulating some kind of normality amongst the veritable sea of mild difference that this fortnight has highlighted.

It is the mildness of cultural differences that make living the Netherlands and interesting experience. The shops are similar, the chart music is (regrettably) identical, and people still sit on trains in stony faced silence. However, just as I begin to glide into the delightful mental state of daydream, a ‘Dutchism’ comes along an hits me in the face. In the case of cyclists, I mean this literally (I am surprised that ‘Pedestrianism’ is not an extreme sport) as I begin to understand how the impossibly addictive pixelated blur, Frogger, must have felt trying to get to work. There are also a lot of V signs in conversation, employed simply – and entirely reasonably - to represent the quantity of two. Still, not all bad as it has allowed me to go into several bars and, by all English accounts, swear at barmen in order to attain enough liquid to satisfy a pint-drinker such as myself.

Another lesson today was followed by the purchasing 100g of 50cent Chocolate. It was terrible , so I felt obliged to consume it as swiftly as physically possible in order to prevent it from being unduly shared, and the misery spread, to expectant confectionary fans over the table. Other Dutch culinary experiences thus far have included Bitteballs and Krokets – both deep fried ‘meat’ snacks with a crispy outside. The overall effect isn’t unbearable, but the grey mushiness of the meat filling is a little disconcerting (none of the Dutch people I have asked have a clue what is in them either) and have led me to conclude that they probably using the cuttings that didn’t qualify for the gelatine put in Haribo.

And yes, all this bike riding has made my thighs a true wonder of nature, obviously. So you can all stop thinking about it.