Merging into Dutch Culture with a Bam!
As an international educator, I have lived in Zambia, Hungary, Morocco, Turkey, Kosovo and the Netherlands. As a human I can relate to the adventure of biking in each of these places... I learned to drive my first rented scooter in white sands with my teenage daughter on the back as we explored a small town in Zanzibar during spring vacation.... I bought my first used scooter in Casablanca and drove in the early morning to work past just waking and barking stray dogs... I biked in Prishtina over broken sidewalks, potholes, and crowded streets in a business suit to work and observers looked shocked... But these experiences pale in comparison to my first experience on the Groningen bikeways. Don’t be fooled by the calm stiff exterior of the Dutch humans; my experience is they are competitive and acrobatic. If you don’t believe me, you probably have never biked there! :)
I arrived in the North of the Netherlands on a mid-August warm day and checked into a hotel for a couple weeks while I sought out an apartment to rent for the upcoming year. I had been advised to “immediately buy a bike” by a respected expat who had lived in the Netherlands for a few years. Within 24 hours of my arrival, I did just that. I bought a perfect, safe, comfortable, 8-speed, city bike with double panniers, lights, and locks. With the enthusiasm I had riding my first green banana seat bike at 5 years old in the snow of Massachusetts with my father, I mounted my new bike and rode off towards the city. As a newcomer, I strategized my approach to learn as quickly as possible. I watched signs and people with eagle eyes. With keen alertness and confidence in driving previously more uncivilized terrain, I copied what I saw others doing. I instantly felt safe, even without a helmet, because of the clean flat pathways that were labeled with neat white lines, and because everyone, at every age was doing it. And then...bam!!
Out of nowhere, a man pushing children in a front-cart, travelled across the middle of a street and entered the bike pathway just in front of me attempting to make a left turn. There was no crosswalk around or signage indicating that his move was possible. I learned instantly that although on the surface, it looks like everyone follows the rules in the Netherlands, all bikers certainly do not. In an instant, I learned that the bikeways of the North of the Netherlands are like the one-way streets in Albania where kamikaze drivers go. This is where the adventurous spirit of the Dutch is found or released--on the bikeways that go everywhere.
In the instant, I slammed on my brakes and went careening off the back and fell flat with my head and lower back hitting the asphalt. A flash of a thought was that I would die within my first 48 hours in the Netherlands and that I did not have health insurance yet. To my pleasant surprise, 15 minutes later, I would be able to stand up slowly with the support of five other bikers who had stopped and gathered round. The children were ok, I seemed to be ok, although shaken, and everyone went on their way. I went into a nearby store and a kind person helped to bandage my elbow. I thought to myself, “Tough people; I need more practice.”
