Holy shit, we just moved to Europe!

After months of prep, moving abroad felt anti-climactic. From airport chaos to settling in The Netherlands, adjusting to expat life begins now!

It wasn’t easy.

It took a lot of work to get here.

We have spent the last three months running a marathon of apostilles, real estate showings, packing materials, and Craig’s Listings all with the sole intent of getting us over the ocean and living in the Netherlands…so, why did it feel so anti-climactic when we arrived?

We had a late checkout of the extended stay and spent the time drugging the cats for the flight. We spun around in circles fifteen times as we packed, weighed, repacked, and reweighed our suitcases over and over again until we were sure they were going to be under the limit because those fees are INSANE. Our Uber driver had a very overblown sense of how much his car would hold but thanks to William’s expertise with Tetris, we managed to squeeze four large suitcases, two cats, two backpacks, two humans, and the last of our worries about what we were bringing into Abu’s Lincoln Aviator.

At the ticket counter, the scale had to be recalibrated since it was showing +2 before we put anything on it. Even with the tipped scales, we were underweight on all four bags.

That particular ticket agent doesn’t do a lot of international flights so she was very deliberate in reviewing everything, including the documentation legally required to bring a pet into the EU. In order to travel with Guillermo and Bear, we had them examined by a specific vet, whose exam basically confirmed they are microchipped, vaccinated against rabies, and have a heartbeat. In true bureaucratic fashion, that vet can electronically apply their signature to the certificates but in order to travel abroad with said documents, the USDA must crimp them with one of those fancy things that some notaries use and send back paper copies.

Anyone who wasn’t planning to leave the United States with their pets in the few days before Trump’s second inauguration wouldn’t know that the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) website was down for several days in early January 2025. As it happens, the international law also requires the exam to be within ten days of travel. If you’re good at spotting clues, those are all the pieces that came together to result in our pet health certificates to be stuck in a purgatory from which no one seemed to have any idea about how to free them. Several phone calls to the USDA’s customer service line only convinced us that they had no ability to service their customers and we were pacing the hotel room in a panic.

Do we delay our trip a day?

Do we call the Dutch consulate and try to get their advice given the lack of website availability?

Surely, there has to be a grown-up somewhere.

After some hasty Googling, I found a USDA Veterinary satellite office not far from where we were staying. It wasn’t a sure thing, but I figured I would have nothing more to lose by trying - even if they couldn’t help, it’s not like I could have LESS pet health certificates in hand after a visit.

It was evident from the forlorn lobby that they don’t see a lot of traffic. The lights weren’t on behind the little plexiglass window, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. We had to get on that plane and we weren’t doing it without the cats.

So, I knocked.

I’m not sure what Joe’s position there is, but he was so sweet. He came out of the darkness to explain that they don’t do exams or certificates there, but that he would ask the director if there was anything they could to help. Close to tears, I sat in that sad little lobby while he vanished back through the locked door. He was so nervous about messing up that he printed two copies of the Wisconsin office contact information and wrote down every detail and said they would call when they could.

“Thank you, Joe. If it’s all the same, I’ll wait here for a few minutes just in case.”

Ten minutes later, I met Dr. Stephen.

A strikingly beautiful woman, she brought with her a wave of calming energy and a human connection in which I had been of desperate need. She apologized profusely for the runaround and explained how the system has been strained by budget cuts and staffing shortages. She then told me to stay put and returned another ten minutes later to confirm for me that she had spoken to someone in Wisconsin who said our certificates were all set and would be sent via the overnight FedEx we’d been waiting for. She gave me a hug and her cell phone number which I used to celebrate when her assistance did the trick and the delivery truck showed up.

The ticket agent at MSP looked at the certificates for about thirty seconds before giving us the okay to head to security. In all honesty, she was more confident charging us the fees than anything else. We made it through security without any feline-related incidents, despite having to carry them through the metal detectors.

I’ve spent countless hours waiting in airports all over the world but this was the first time that the three hours early passed in a blur. All the way up to the jetway, I kept looking over my shoulder, certain someone was going to come and tell me that this was all wrong and we couldn’t actually do this. But then the plane took off.

I’ve never flown with pets before, and I can safely say I understand why most people opt against it as a rule. Despite the myriad of little fiberglass boxes they have to make you prove your bag will fit, my plane seat had decidedly less room under it and Guillermo’s carrier was not going to work. Adapting to the challenge, we swapped whose cat was under whose seat (biting our thumb at the hand-written tags that clearly stated which carrier was meant to be under seat A versus B) and got a sotto-vocce confirmation from a flight attendant that if we just shut up and stopped fussing, they’d let us be.

A good rule of thumb for future.

Neither of us slept truly on the plane ride, both taking frequent breaks to eat, drink, pee, fuss with a cat, medicate a cat, calm a cat, or search for yet another something I had managed to drop from my seat. In regular life, I can keep my shit together but in mid-air, somehow I develop an incurable case of the dropsies…and there really ought to be some sort of way to tether your Apple Pencil to your iPad.

Now, it is important to know that my sweet baby Guillermo is something of a fussbudget. He’s talkative, curious, big-boned, and easily spooked. Both William and I were desperately worried about his ability to endure the flight. I personally had many stress-filled imaginings of the worst possible scenarios - would Samuel L. Jackson be there to shout about how I’d lost a motherfucking cat on a motherfucking plane?

Beginning our descent, I was watching the sky for the first glimpse of the Netherlands. All I saw was a wall of clouds and instead of passing through, we landed among them and began the march towards what I was sure was going to be the point at which this all went south: passport control.

We were fortunate enough to get confirmation of our residence permit applications before leaving so we had a printed letter from the IND to show that we had permission to stay for two years. We had the hard-won health certificates at the ready.

The Dutch being the Dutch, she sniffed at the letter and stamped our passports for entrance. We walked through to collect baggage and I thought perhaps that would be something but we continued through the “nothing to declare” with cats strapped to our chests and no-one had anything to say about it.

And so, with absolutely no fanfare, we arrived in the Netherlands.

Sighing with relief, we walked out of Schipol to meet our driver for the ride to Rotterdam (in a van large enough to easily accommodate our party). The fatigue was starting to cloud our judgement as we relished the first sight of Nederlandse schappen from the snelweg as a milestone to mark our first day. Navigating the very narrow Dutch stairs with the four very large suitcases, two cats, two backpacks and two bodies, we took stock of our surroundings before heading right back out onto the streets in search of a litter box.

“Holy shit, we just moved to Europe.”

Much like it was when I stopped telling myself I couldn’t be a writer, when we decided to expatriate, we were able to make it happen. All the doubts and fears about whether or not it would be possible weren’t in vain, because there were several points where we could have easily missed a big step we had to take. Having made so many arrangement to leave everything and everyone else behind, it was strange to be walking the streets of Rotterdam without each stranger we passed rushing up to tell us how glad they were we’d come or how proud of us they were for the effort we’d made to get here.

It was almost as if it were just another day for them.

Every other time I’ve been here, it’s been to visit. It has always been temporary, with the understanding that I would return to where I belonged after the time for my trip elapsed. On those voyages, I always took to the streets as soon as I could, eager to explore and soak up as much of the new environment as I could. William and I both have the bug, having gone several blocks out of our way just to see what else we could find, but we’ve said to each other more than once that we’re not in any hurry. We’re not going to “win” at moving abroad and, other than the remaining government appointments, we’ve made all the arrangements to stay here through 2026.

The pet store owner was glad for us and made a point to invite us to the Lunar New Year festival happening in the street nearby. We made a numb trip through Albert Heijn where we selected the most random assortment of necessities (tea!) and snack foods. After being charged seventeen dollars per person for greasy combo meal at two different restaurants at MSP Airport, I couldn’t believe that four large bags of food and paper products totaled less than fifty euros—the only item that cost more than five euro was the extension cord.

William and I have been fortunate enough to spend time in Europe together on multiple occasions and so being here feels comfortable, but the surprising part is my unconscious assumption that there’s a return trip imminent. On the plane, I thought of saving the headphones for the flight back but then remembered we intended to cancel our return tickets.

Setting the cats up with a loo and making room on the shelves for all of our things, we realized it was mid-afternoon and climbed into the very soft bed for a little nap. Waking up around dinner time, we ate the odds and ends we’d amassed and started on a list of items to try to find to make our little house more of a home.

After a full night’s sleep, we woke up and we were still living in Europe.

No one came knocking on the door to say it was a big mistake and we actually got the email confirming that the sale of our house was closed and funded. We made plans for the day, walking to a shopping center and returning to the pet store, before promising we would spend some time resting.

On the heels of weeks of letting things go, it’s energizing to be picking things out again. Having recently emptied a three bedroom home, I have no intention of picking up nearly that many things ever again if I can help it, but then I saw the little disco ball soap dish…and the slipper socks…

This is why they recommend eight hours of sleep for adults.

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