Sylvia's Journal

Nothing could have prepared us for the New Year’s fireworks extravaganza that, apparently, took place all over Holland, including in the small town of Borne where we were staying. There may be an economic downturn but it did not prevent the Dutch from shooting 100 million euro into the air.

As part of the run up to the new year we were treated to raw herring on toast, old fashioned Dutch kale stew with various kinds of sausages and then the traditional New Year’s Eve staple called oliebollen (oil balls), the ancestor I have been told of the American doughnut. Willem had prepared a double dose for the four of us but we couldn’t even make a dent in the pile.

There is no Time Square ball here that tells you that the new year has started but some large event somewhere in Amsterdam was the equivalent and so the TV was turned on to tell us when it was time to kiss and wish everyone a happy new year. After that, the new Year’s celebration in Holland takes an entirely different turn than the ones I know elsewhere.

As soon as the new year has started everyone emerges onto the street and it is time to wish neighbors and friends as well as total strangers a happy new year. A drunken neighbor took advantage of the situation and covered me with wet kisses before I managed to struggle loose. Yuck.

All the while fireworks exploded around us and the whole place smelt of gun powder. Rockets were fired from the middle of the street and for once there was no room for cars. It seemed very risky to drive around. A few brave (or stupid) souls ventured out but frequently had to stop for oncoming rockets. This could have been a war zone but everyone was very joyous, especially males, from young boys to adult men – this is the time for adult sanctioned pyrotechnics. The women wisely watched the events unfold outside from their warm and safe living rooms, drinking champagne and commenting on irresponsible male behavior.

We visited Willem’s colleagues and their friends down the street, a short walk that took a long time as we twirled around watching the most amazing fireworks displays in every direction, occasionnally dodging the small firecrackers that zoom low to the ground. Part of their house burned down last year and I felt pity for people with thatched roofing. You can understand by the insurance premiums are so high.

The house of their friends is next to that of a millionaire who must have shot some 10.000 euro into the air, frantic fireworks that lasted for 30 minutes without a break. Hospitals are also on alert for eye and hand injuries; luckily Willem was not on call and we could enjoy ourselves.

Axel and I tumbled into bed one hour into the new year and slept for 12 hours on end. We woke up to a winter wonderland that is rare in Holland these days.

We started the New Year with a luxury that we soon won’t have anymore: a long walk in a large and very old estate (tracing back to the 1300s) with the most beautiful old farm houses scattered in a landscape that is called ‘coullissen’ terrain – a beautiful arrangement of foregrounds and backdrops, as if on a stage. It was even more beautiful because of the snow that was still covering branches, fences and roofs.

Now, inside, sitting by the fire, with the light fading into a pale pink before sunset we are listening to the occasional firecracker that remained and it makes me think about abundance. This is a country of abundance which is, maybe, why everything if working as well as it does.

If we had not known that it was the last day of the year and that we were in Holland we would have imagined that we were in Afghanistan. In this over-regulated country, fireworks cannot be lit until 10 AM on the last day of the year but then the explosions start as if there is no tomorrow.

It sounded like small arms fire and bombs going off – a little unsettling. People think that Holland is so very emancipated and the youth so responsible but we saw otherwise. Youngsters from one of the most God-fearing villages in Holland were lighting fireworks left and right while smoking cigarettes (dope may be?) and drinking alco-pops straight from the bottle, althewhile scaring the bejesus out of us with their gun powder.

We arrived, me rested, Axel not, from Northwest Airlines’ last flight from Boston to Amsterdam under the NWA label; the end of an era.

It took us forever to get into our rental car. First we needed coffee, then we went to get cheese sandwiches (broodje met kaas) from the Schiphol supermarket. Then Axel discovered we had left one of our suitcases on the luggage carrousel and so he had to get back into the inner sanctum of airplane travelers and retrieve it, just before it was put into the bin of abandoned luggage.

And then we realized I had emptied my Dutch bank account to help Sita scrape together a down payment for a house in Western Massachusetts, which required an internet transaction which required a few more activities on the computer. Everything was part of a chain of self-generating tasks that made we wonder if we’d still have a car waiting at the rental place by the time we’d make it to the Budget rental counter.

Armed with a rented Tom-Tom GPS system we finally made it out into Holland and to Barneveld to see my brother Reinout and his soulmate Joke. She kept feeding us, one thing after another, until we were driven out of the house for a long walk to shed some of the calories acquired, in weather as cold and frigid as what we left behind in New England.

We drove further east (and found Holland covered in snow and ice) to our New Year’s Eve destination, my other brother Willem and his wife Jet. They treated us to more wine and food than was good for us while outside the explosions continued. We couldn’t help think of Afghanistan at each loud sound but here it is about joy over endings and new beginnings; we’ll drink to that and the hope that all eyes and ears will be still intact when 2010 arrives. Happy new year!