Afghanistan: Trip to Holland (5)

A memoir of life in Kabul, Afghanistan from 1976 to 1978: Part V

In March 1977, Hans told me he needed to make a business trip to Holland, and he asked me to go with him so I could meet his family. Since I had vacation coming by then, I was able to do so.

Early one morning, we left our 2-story home, walked through our private garden, which was completely surrounded by a 10-foot high wall, opened the door, and climbed into a waiting taxi.

Our garden in Kabul

I could just make out the amplified sound of a muezzin’s chant calling people to their morning prayers as we began threading our way through the dusty, narrow streets. We passed bearded men wearing turbans, long shirts and baggy pants, women with and without chadris, laughing children, donkeys pulling carts, fancifully painted trucks, and all manner of noisy, honking automobiles in various stages of disrepair.

After arriving at Kabul International Airport, we boarded an Ariana plane and quickly began the corkscrew ascent that would bring us above the snow-covered peaks of the Hindu Kush Mountains with seemingly inches to spare. Ten hours later, we descended into Schiphol Airport.

Hans’ father, Jan, picked us up in his shiny black Mercedes and headed for the freeway. From the back seat, I watched the flat, wet, green Dutch countryside fly by while Patti Lupone sang Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina on the radio. An hour later, we arrived at the small town of Hoek van Holland and drove into a suburb filled with identical, two-story brick homes.

We pulled into the driveway of one of them, and I climbed out of the car, a bit disoriented. I noticed that the house had a tiny patch of grass in front. The most amazing feature, however, was a huge picture window that enabled passersby to see directly into the living room. That is when culture shock descended on me in full force.

Brick row houses in Holland that are similar to the one owned by my in-laws

Hans’ mother, Bernhardina (everyone called her Dinny) and his youngest brother, Robert, welcomed us at the door. We walked into a rectangular room, with the dining table to the left and the living room to the right.

I noticed that a comfortable couch was placed under the picture window and that a small oriental carpet covered the dining table. On the other side of the dining table, French doors opened to a small back garden.

Dinny led us upstairs to the guest room that Hans and I would share. It had just one narrow twin bed on which we would sleep. (Thank goodness we were both slender in those days—and in the glow of new love—or we would never have made it!)

The upstairs bathroom had a lovely on-demand gas water heater—the first one I had ever seen. As opposed to lighting a wood fire under a water tank and waiting hours for it to heat, I only had to wait a couple of minutes, and nice, steamy, hot water would pour down! Such luxury.

Over the next few weeks, our lives took on a set pattern. Everyone would wake up in the morning at 7:00 am and eat breakfast together. Breakfast consisted of buttered toast, Gouda cheese, and black tea with milk. In addition, we often spread Marmite on the toast.

Marmite (or Vegemite) is a thick, dark-brown spread made from yeast. It is really high in B vitamins, which is healthy. It is also really high in salt, so maybe that cancels out the healthy part? People in the Netherlands, Britain and Australia adore the stuff. For others, it’s a bit like fresh coriander (cilantro): you either love it or you hate it. I loved it.

After breakfast, Jan and Hans went to the office in Rotterdam and Robert went to high school. Then Dinny and I would do some housecleaning. I remember her pushing the vacuum over the carpets—always while wearing a dress, nylon stockings and shoes with heels.

On most days at 10:00 am, we would stop and have a cup of coffee together, along with some kind of sweet. Sometimes one of the neighbors would visit us or we would visit her for a cup of coffee. At noon, we would have more bread and cheese for lunch. At 4:00, Robert would return from school and we would have tea and another sweet with him. The men would return around 6:00 pm, and dinner would be at 7:00.

Dinner almost always consisted of a first course of soup with bits of vegetables in it. This would be followed by some kind of meat, often a steak, and some potatoes.

The first time I saw the size of the steak, it was a revelation to me. I grew up on a cattle ranch in Montana, so meat was free and plentiful. Especially when we had visitors, my father used to proudly serve steaks that covered each guest’s entire plate. In Holland, one steak was sliced thinly and served to five people. (I immediately realized that this was not only more than enough, but it was also much healthier.)

We seldom had any green salads or vegetables, however, except for the few bits in the soup. One time I asked Dinny if we could please have some vegetables with dinner, so she opened up a can of peas. After that, I didn’t ask for vegetables anymore.

A visit to Amsterdam

Buildings with hooks at the top for hoisting furniture

Hans and I also spent some time in Amsterdam. His two middle brothers—Dick and Peter—lived there, and it was fun meeting them and getting to know them a little. Dick was married and had a darling little blond-haired boy of about three. (He is now a man who stands 6’6” tall!)

The weather in March was cold and dreary, but Amsterdam was amazing, anyway. I loved the tall, narrow brick buildings that rose to v-shaped rooftops. Large hooks protruded from many of the buildings.

“What are those for?” I asked Hans.

“That’s how people hoist furniture into their apartments,” he explained. “The stairways are way too narrow and steep, so people bring the furniture up through their windows.”

And of course there were canals everywhere, filled with boats of all shapes and sizes, as well as numerous houseboats where people were living.

One of the things I liked best were the narrow streets lined with small, one-person shops selling home decor, hand-made chocolates, freshly roasted coffee, cheese, clothing and so much more. It felt like every Dutch person was a self-employed entrepreneur.

And of course, bicycles were everywhere.

I tend to space out when I am in cities, looking in the shop windows, watching the people, noticing trees and flowers and birds. When I cross the street, however, I do look in both directions to be sure no car is coming.

But in Amsterdam, I somehow forgot to pay attention to the bicycles! Although they were much more numerous than the cars, they were often invisible to me until one was blaring its horn and almost on top of me. Which made me a danger to the cyclists as well as to myself.

A visit to the doctor

I decided to have a physical while I was in Holland, so I made an appointment with the Dankers’ family doctor, who was probably in his 50s. When I arrived at his office, I learned that it consisted of one large room. His desk was at one side of the room, an examining table was in the middle, and a small closet for changing clothes was at the other end.

I went into the closet, took off my clothes, and then walked naked across the room to the examining table and climbed up on it. All while the doctor was sitting at his desk. No little paper gown or blanket or anything was provided in the name of modesty or warmth! This was when I learned that many Europeans have a much different attitude toward the naked body than Americans do.

A visit to Paris

Love is messy . . . and so we love!

One weekend, Hans and I decided to take a quick trip to Paris. I have never been fashion conscious or paid much attention to clothes, but that weekend, I felt really hip. I was wearing knee-high leather boots with tight jeans tucked inside of them and a peach shirt underneath a lacy white sweater.

Before leaving for Paris, Jan had given me a jacket made from fox fur that an Afghan contact had sent him. I am opposed to killing animals for their fur and have never wanted to own a fur coat. But I didn’t want to be impolite and refuse a gift from my future father-in-law, either. So I accepted the coat and wore it that weekend in Paris. Which was a good thing, because it was freezing cold and the coat was really warm.

I don’t remember much else about the weekend except that Hans and I found a delicious restaurant on Montmartre and ended up spending four hours there eating dinner. (Several bottles of wine were also involved, I believe.)

Returning to Kabul

After three weeks in Holland, I was getting anxious to return to Kabul and my job. (And to the food!) This is when we got word that Hans’ Afghan partner wanted him to buy a truck and drive it back to him.

So instead of simply flying home again, we spent the next three weeks on an overland journey back to Kabul. That is what I will write about next.