Culturele Verschillen

Adjusting to life in The Netherlands, navigating cultural differences, and experiencing unique local customs.

Before you say it, yes, I understand that we just moved to a new country on another continent…but did you realize how DIFFERENT things are here?

Yesterday, as I was stepping out to head for Den Haag to scout out possible rentals with our expert expat real estate agent, I saw a man peeing on a tree. It seemed a strange choice given it was broad daylight, we live along a very busy street, and there are two porta-potties facing that tree.

In fact, he was looking directly at them from his vantage point of pissing on the tree yet, one else seemed to notice.

In my life, I’ve been a tax-paying resident of—if memory serves, which it does less and less—eight different states. I know that I’ve had driver’s licenses from MN, OK, CA, CO, and MD! Everywhere I’ve lived, I have always noticed the little oddities. For example, New Englanders call those little single-serve alcohol bottles “nips.” Where I came from, that’s what you call what pokes out of your shirt when you’re a bit cold.

When I first moved to California, it was the “this might give you cancer” notices that were on everything from the walls of my apartment complex’s garage to the food on the shelves. In college in Iowa, it was the tarp covering the towers of beer cans and the rope locks preventing you from even seeing alcohol on a Sunday. Don’t even get me started on New Hampshire municipalities and their ink and paper approach to literally everything (still, through the lens of memory, I loved it there).

As much as we like to pretend that the United States is “one nation,” my experience has taught me that’s anything but true. It’s a vast swath of land full of several distinct biomes, each with wildly different ways of life. And that’s where I was raised, which says nothing of countries outside our own! From my own experience, I was taught to understand other cultures as monoliths, reducing the vibrancy of an entire country into an easily traded factoid - the “single story” so eloquently captured in this TED talk:

If I’d listened to the single stories about the Netherlands, I would have expected everyone to be gruff, unapproachable, and certain to view me with an air of superiority, if not condescension. Certainly, I’ve had a few of those moments but, by and large, most everyone we’ve met here has been warm, welcoming, and responsive to genuine asks for help. The woman in the swanky health store didn’t immediately switch to English when I asked if she could speak more slowly because I am learning. She repeated things twice in Dutch for me and it worked…except for the part where she asked if I wanted to join their loyalty program. I clearly haven’t gotten to that unit…

The experience here has reminded me of the first time I lived in another country and the expectations I brought along in my suitcase. When I planned to study abroad in Moscow, I remember so many people telling me what to expect: poverty, cruelty, corruption. As an American, my own view of that country grew out of Cold War ideology (though modern Russia’s official views of the West do seem to be back-sliding). Second only to the Germans, the Russians are the next “default bad guy” in American movies and TV. Much of that imagery was designed to bolster the national confidence post-WWII and establish an “other” against which the ideals of democracy and freedom could flourish (and yes, I realize 2025 is a terrible time to be making this point).

Ah, the more things change…

When I went to Moscow, I dressed in grey and black, not wanting to call any more attention to myself than I already would being a flamboyant American with hoops in his ears. I won’t lie and say that everyone was kind and accepting there, but the genuine welcoming nature of the Russian people with whom I did build relationships utterly blew me away. For a country portrayed as cold and heartless, I found immeasurable warmth behind the smog-streaked stone facades.

I lived in California for exactly one year before I was picked up as the star dresser for the first national tour of Jersey Boys. My years spent “on the road,” meant we moved almost once a month and gave me access to almost every major city in the US (and even Toronto!). The tour had core staff but then would take on local crews at every stop, meaning I worked side by side with actual people who lived in every city and gave me a lot of insight into different areas of the country.

FYI: it is exceedingly common for municipal arts complexes to be located in close vicinity to the city jail (meaning it’s not just your town, I saw them in Cleveland, Oklahoma City, San Diego and countless others).

My years on tour were also during the 2008 recession, allowing me to observe it from the relative safety of a salary plus per diem with the perks of rental cars and free transportation passes. In several cities, we had the good fortune to enjoy a “sit down” where we stayed for three months at a time. We did this in Boston (twice!); Washington, DC; and Toronto. My times in Boston were fantastic (a key part of why we ended up in New Hampshire) and I was fond of DC, though later discovered that living in the district on just salary is NOT the same as living on salary plus per diem and free transportation passes.

Speaking of Toronto: I really think they should put pictographic instructions on milk pitchers. It’s odd enough that the milk comes in bags (though more sustainable I suppose). Still, I couldn’t figure out why the refrigerator came with a little pitcher inside, nor what you were meant to do with the sacks of milk once you’d clipped the corners…

Everywhere you go, there are subtle changes in the ways of life. Flavors, slang, and laws all add to the idiosyncrasies of a particular place.

In Minnesota where snow is common, people view their time outdoors differently, dashing out in shorts in forty degree weather while those in Arizona can’t abide being outside for much of the year. In Nashville, the local ladies took us to the “meat’n’three” where you could get three sides with any sort of BBQ meat. They were lovely, caring women and I wonder how many of them might have been motivated by fear to vote against my right to exist in the most recent election…

Here in the Netherlands, you don’t see hundreds of Amazon vans circulating from the big warehouses they’ve secured (a big change from our last home in the suburbs of Saint Paul, MN). I’ve heard many different languages on the street; seen people of every shape, age, income bracket, and color; and gotten high off second hand smoke. Just the day before last, I watched in wonder at a man biking with a lit cigarette who was somehow also carrying an intricately designed modern chandelier.

Here the streets aren’t new, the routes aren’t straight, and the house numbers make no sense whatsoever. As far as I can tell, every building gets a number and every door to that building gets a letter. Sometimes every apartment has its own door but other times, if there are more doors inside the outermost door, those get another number.

Clearly, I’ve spent too many years living in the suburbs…

I’m only trying to understand that part because we have put pressure on the search for permanent housing because we are so eager to get started on all of our plans for living here. In this temporary place, we can’t really move much further forward and while the original idea was for us to sit here for three months, we’re too excited to bide our time. The cats could also use a bit more room to roam…and I would appreciate a little more space to prolong the metamorphosis of their shedding fur into clouds of dust bunnies—oh HVAC, where art thou?

Our temporary apartment overlooks one of the artery entrances to highways leading out of the city so a lot of cars, trucks, vans, and sirens whir by at all hours of the day and night. I suppose that’s what happened with the tree pisser: a long highway journey into Rotterdam and he was simply ready to burst. Perhaps, having heard of the town’s reputation, he was too afraid that someone might drive off in his still-running car while he disappeared inside the portable toilet.

I’ll be thinking about his reasoning for a while…

Feigning obliviousness or truly unaware of my gawking, he shook himself off, zipped up and dashed back to his car with the hazards flashing on the side of the road. He jumped behind the wheel and honked his way back into traffic as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do and everyone should be glad to let him merge.

As far as a single story goes, I’d never been told that the Dutch pee on trees as a matter of course; however, I remember the sign below from our trip to Amsterdam. Though I can’t speak for Rotterdam specifically, it does seem to be a problem at least some parts of the country are trying to curb.

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