Day 16: Zutphen

Being the the first weekday in the Netherlands, and a foreigner with a Working Holiday Visa, I had to register with the Vreemdelingenpolitie (Stranger Police). With my visa sticker in my passport came a letter telling me that I have to register with the Stranger Police in Zutphen, and then within three days of that I must register at the Town Hall in Zutphen. There I will receive my work permit.

There is no Stranger Police office in Zutphen so I rode to the police station, who had no idea what I was talking about. The officer went out the back and returned after five minutes, telling me that they used to handle this, but now they don’t and I should and I should go to the Stranger Police in Apeldoorn, a city about 20km away. We decided to go back home and call before making such a trip. On the way back we stopped off at HEMA, a department store. They are famous for their rookworst (smoked sausage) and so in the name of culture I ate one of these delicious, fatty treats. That’s three typical Dutch foods I have eaten now.

We got back home and Kirsten called the Stranger Police office in Apeldoorn. They did not know why we would need to report to them. Why would a Vreemdelingen need to report to the Vreemdelingenpolitie? I called their hotline in Utrecht and after pissing off the operator by asking to speak in English, she snottily told me that the procedure had changed and now I had just to report to the Town Hall and register there. There was an implication that the Dutch embassy in Australia, being in a backward country, was backward.

We rode to the Zutphen Town Hall (Stadhuis) and took a number. After about fifteen minutes it was my turn. I showed the papers to the man, who asked if I had registered with the Stranger Police yet. When I told him that , according to them, they were no longer necessary, he went out the back for about ten minutes. I could see him going from office to office, practically scratching his head. He returned with a package of thirteen forms for me to fill out, and made an appointment for me to return with the forms in eight days.

On the ride home, via the town centre, we went past a street vendor selling herring, another Dutch delicacy. They are served raw, whole (beheaded, gutted, split and filleted) in a little container with chopped raw onions on the top. They are eaten with the hands, and so I picked up mine and took a bite. Very fishy, very oily. The texture is very smooth but on the whole it was a pretty unpleasant experience. I took two more bites just to make sure and then slyly dropped the rest into his bin. My fingers stank of fish so I went to a nearby bathroom and washed them.

When I got back to Henk and Bea’s (home) I immediately washed my hands twice, once with hand soap and once with dish detergent. I could still smell it. I uploaded a few photos and posted again to my blog (up to Day 7 which was nine days ago). I washed my hands. Kirsten wanted to see her Oma (Grandma) in Eefde, a nearby town that was twenty minutes cycle away. We were warned beforehand that there was a big steep hill on the way and that it would be gruelling. The big steep hill turned out to be a gentle incline rising perhaps 10 metres over 250 metres that barely required a gear change. Another one of those perception things – to me it was practically flat, to them it is a mountain.

Kirsten’s Oma is a very small, very fit lady of 84 years. Her apartment is decorated with paintings that she made herself, and photos, including one of me! She served us coffee and biscuits, the coffee was pretty good, in fact all Dutch coffee that I have had so far has been good. I have been drinking it black, something I would never do in Australia.

The second round of coffees came out and this time I was given a chocolate. It melted a bit on my fingers, and when I licked them clean I discovered something unpleasant. The taste of herring stays on the skin for hours after touching it. Chocolate and herring don’t mix. I got up and washed my hands yet again.

Oma served us a little bit of tasty vegetable soup each, which tasted remarkably similar to my own grandmother’s vegetable soup. Then it was time to go as Bea was making us a special Australian dinner of lamb chops in a secret marinade. On the way back I saw something cool: the Dutch litter bins for cyclists are giant funnel-shaped nets on the side of the road that you can throw your rubbish into while cycling. I made a note to carry rubbish so I can use one next time.

The lamb chops were delicious, and the family retired to watch TV in the living room. Michel called me, he had received an email ad for an apartment to rent in Amsterdam at a good rate. I called the owner and set up an appointment to have a look at the place the next afternoon. I went to bed with tasty lamb on my lips and a sore arse from cycling.