culture shock, sorta...?

As an anthropologist, preparing to leave to do research in the mysterious 'field' (however configured), you expect to encounter a certain level culture shock. It's an experience that is kind of part of the whole rite of passage thing in becoming a 'real anthropologist'. Every methods class or section of a sociocultural anthropology course dealing with methods since undergrad devotes at least a little bit of time to telling you what to expect: namely the adjustment to the unexpected.

In coming to do research in the Netherlands, in the very cosmopolitan city of Amsterdam, I really don't think I've experienced the gut-wrenching pangs of culture shock that illustrate chapters in texts on methods. Getting used to trains actually running on time and not costing a fortune (that's right, I'm looking at you Via Rail), mayo on fries (and many, many other things), bikes ruling the roads here, or the fact that it's acceptable to put chocolate sprinkles on bread and call it breakfast (I am so not lying!) somehow didn't really take all that much getting used to... Okay, yes, even while there have been a few aspects of living more or less immersed in Dutch culture that I have found jarring to my North American sensibilities (remember all those posts about Zwarte Piet?), I really don't think that I can say I've experienced anywhere near the same levels of culture shock that most anthropologists expect or seem to.

Well, except when it comes to trying to scale the sheer cliff-face of Dutch bureaucracy.

So, I kind of knew before I left Canada that the Dutch have a fairly extensive bureaucratic process. (One of the only things the Dutch really seem to have retained from the brief time they were under French Napoleonic rule was this penchant for rules and regulations.) Talking to a colleague at the University of Toronto over coffees before I left Toronto kind of gave me a sense of what to expect on this front. This woman had done her own (brilliant) research on the Dutch inburgering process a few years before me, and had actually lived in the Netherlands for nearly a decade prior to that. Put bluntly, she knew what she was talking about, which included files that the Dutch government (from municipal to federal scales) has on each and every Dutch person, detailing the minutiae of their lives: where they were born, the names and birthplaces of their parents, every address where the person has lived, gender, citizenship status, marriage status, ethnicity, etc. (The detailed efficiency of these well-kept files are actually the reason that so many Dutch Jews went to their deaths in concentration camps during the German occupation.) In Canada, the most official documents tracking a person's life seem to have to do with taxes. We really don't have anything that comes close to matching the level of detail the Netherlands keeps on its inhabitants.

Keeping these things in mind, I think I have done pretty well for myself in preparing for this aspect of 'going native' and for navigating the bureaucratic maze since living here.

In applying for my visa, I got my first taste of the system. I was required to submit the 'long form' of my birth certificate, along with all the other usual documents. The 'long form' birth certificate isn't usually issued in Canada, as far as I can tell, and so I had to order it special. (And then, I had to get it authenticated by the federal government, since apparently a birth certificate issued by a Canadian province isn't authentic enough.) Since moving here, I have had to register my address with the city of Amsterdam. On the information sheet for my visa, it clearly indicates that you should register your address within 8 days of arrival in the country. Everyone is supposed to do this (it goes in your file), but finding a room for rent that allowed me to do this was a bit difficult at first, since not all advertised rentals will allow you to register with the city (which is, technically, illegal). Understandably, I found this pretty stressful, since I was still looking for a place to live two weeks after my arrival. (I actually seem to have found a place in record time, so really should not be complaining about this at all. Plus, my place and my flatmates are awesome.) Really, most of the frustration with government bureaucracy here has actually had more to do with being sent to the wrong building (or the right building, but without the right documents) and having to haul ass across the city to get to the right building before it closed. In fact, government bureaucracy has been surprisingly easy to deal with.

The banks, on the other hand, continue to be the bane of my existence, and the major source of shocking cultural practices for me. Then again, is it still considered culture shock if you feel jaw-dropping surprise simultaneously coupled with a feeling of "Why am I not surprised...?" (This is really the unique feeling that has defined a number of important moments for me since arriving in the low countries.)

Money works differently here than in Canada. Here, you need a Dutch bank account for just about everything. Yes, you can get by paying for things through cash, or the occasional credit card transaction - as I have been doing for the past 4 months - but it sure ain't easy! There are certain transactions that really require a Dutch bank account because the culture around these transactions has made cash inconvenient, or even impossible. For instance:

• Paying rent is done via wire transfers (not common in my experience in Canada). My personal cheques are useless and archaic here. Unlike my Dutch flatmates, who transfer their rent money into the house account from the warmth and convenience of our kitchen, I need to walk my wad of rent money down to the bank each month and put it in a strange ATM that puts it on the account for the house. It's pretty weird.
  
• Paying to park your car on the street almost always requires a Dutch pin-card at the automatic ticket machine. I don't have a car, but one of my friends who recently moved here does. Since neither of us had a pin, she ended up asking a stranger on the street if he would pay for the ticket and allow her to give him the cash. Happily, he obliged. (Yay for helpful people!)
  
• Discount memberships to the cinema (the kind that allow you to see an unlimited number of films) require you to have a Dutch account so that they can debit it for 18 Euros/ month. (Perhaps a blessing in disguise as far as my research goes, but still annoying.)
  
• Train tickets are easily purchased at the many automatic machines if you have a pin, but require you to wait in an often long line at the service desk (and get charged an extra 50 euro-cents for your troubles) if you want to pay in cash. While the human interaction is nice, and I have gotten pretty good at asking for a single-way or a day return ticket in Dutch, sometimes the worry over missing your train because of the long line isn't quite worth it.
  
• And, today's particular complaint... You can't get a voordeelurenabonnement (a discount card for the train that gives you 40% savings all year if you travel after 9am), unless you have a Dutch bank account. It is simply not possible to pay for this potentially one-time transaction (you can, of course, have your kortingkaart conveniently renewed automatically on an annual basis) in cash, or in gold bars, or in first-born children, or any other way than through a direct debit of your Dutch bank account.
  

And, the thing is that I can't seem to get a Dutch bank account!

I remember the day when, at about age 12, my mother took my younger brother and sister and I down to the bank to open up savings accounts, a life lesson in learning how to deal with money. Not that I had a lot of money to put in the account at age 12, but the bank gave me one nonetheless. Now, at age 27, I actually have money (perhaps a surprising amount for a grad student, but not necessarily 25,000 Euros worth) and I have can't find a Dutch bank that will let me put it in an account!

The first time I went to a Dutch bank I was told that I couldn't open an account because I didn't have a Sofi-nummer (a Dutch social security number). "Fair enough," I thought. "I will just wait the until I get one, which will happen after I (get a place to live and) register my address with the city."

A couple months later - after the slow churn of bureaucratic cogs and the slow realization on my part that Sofi-nummer is slang for burgerservicenummer (which held me up an extra two weeks) - I marched on down to the bank again proudly wielding my passport and new Sofi-nummer.

This second time, however, I was told that no, I still couldn't have a bank account because I didn't have either a Dutch university-contract or a work-contract... or, barring that, 25,000 Euros to immediately deposit. I think my jaw literally dropped as the Dutch man behind the bank counter wryly smiled and told me this. I have to admit that I left the bank more than a little dejected, and slightly (or a little more than slightly) cursing the Dutch for their cultural proclivities regarding everyday economics.

At the time, it seemed a little bit foolish to get a job for the sole purpose of getting a work-contract so I could open a bank account here. Now, though, after today's voordeelurenabonnement disaster, and after tallying up the points (and not even all of them), it's seeming a little less silly. But maybe that's just me, becoming a little more acculturated to the frugal Dutch cultural climate...?

tot ziens sinterklaas!

I think that this will be my last post about Sinterklaas (at least until next year), since the Sint's business in the Netherlands for this year concluded on Saturday. I have to say, that I really enjoyed my first Sinterklaas day. It was really gezellig, and I think I will miss it (and all the fanfare surrounding it) when I am in Canada next year. This year I was lucky enough to get invited to a friend's house to celebrate with him and his family - much nicer than spending the holiday home alone, since all of my flatmates had departed to spend the day with their own families.

Even with all of the craziness leading up to the big day, December 5th, a.k.a. Pakjesavond (presents evening) - the parades (parades, and more parades!), decorations in the streets and in the Bijenkorf, the Sinterklaas films and themed television shows (such as Het paard van Sinterklaas, The Horse of Sinterklaas, which was super cute and tied in some immigration/ integration-related themes), people working on their poems for their surprises - the holiday itself, as I experienced it, was quite a bit nuchter, quieter, than my experience of Christmas back in Canada. While there were no little kids at the celebration I attended, I couldn't help but think that Pakjesavond was nonetheless a little less commercialized and hectic than your average North American Christmas... though perhaps that was because I didn't have to rush around buying presents and composing rhyming poems for everyone on my list!

Unlike my Canadian Christmases, which have always been celebrated in the morning (and as a kid, as early in the morning as possible), gifts here are opened and exchanged in the evening. I can only imagine what a tense day it must be for little kids! When walking along the Westerdijk in Hoorn I saw the sheer excitement and joy on a little girl's face when the back of a car was thrown open to reveal all the presents brought for her and her family by a Zwarte Piet. Where I was, we had a nice festive dinner, some nice festive drinks, and watched some nice festive holiday-related television shows (notably Paul de Leeuw - who had Sinterklaas on as a special guest, as well as a gay Piet and the official HoofdPiet, head Pete - as well as a very, very Dutch game show called Ik hou van Holland, in English, I love Holland). At one point during our quiet, relaxed evening, there was a great knock at the door, and yes, an unseen Zwarte Piet had left us a burlap sack full of presents! Even though I'm not Dutch, the Sint had brought me a few gifts as well (I have been quite good this year), and I even had a nice little poem (in Dutch). These presents were handed out of the sack over the course of the evening amidst much laughter and smiles. I think that the scene really embodied the untranslatable, typically Dutch feeling of gezelligheid, and I feel really lucky to have been able to experience it.

So, that was my first, but hopefully not my last, Pakjesavond. Who knows if I will get to celebrate the holiday again in the future, or if it will be the same? I have heard a lot of discussion here and there about how this holiday is changing. People are concerned about its commercialization, about the growing popularity of the American (and therefore commercial) Santa Claus in Holland, and of course, about the discussion and sometimes debate surrounding the traditional figures themselves and whether the holiday should, at least in some respects, be changing with the times.

Some friends had a lively and slightly incredulous conversation about how there is talk about starting to have an official 'goodbye' event for Sinterklaas. As it is now, the Sint is here from mid-November and then quietly returns to Spain after his big day. This is the way its been for quite some time, but now people seem to be saying that children are confused about why their friend has just up and disappeared. The solution, say some, is to have a proper goodbye for the lot of them and thus, help keep the children from being traumatized by his abrupt departure. The discussion over this in my kitchen concluded that this was quite absurd (to put it politely) and that it was just a bid to make more money off the holiday - making it in some ways "more American," which understandably, doesn't sit well with many Dutch people.

There is also concern that Santa Claus (often described as a poor, commercial version of "the real thing," the Dutch Sinterklaas) is becoming a bigger deal here, horning in on the territory of Sinterklaas as it were. As I wrote about before, Christmas isn't that big of a deal here, and Santa is definitely not seen as belonging here. Kind of interesting, to me anyway, as a narrative defining Dutch culture. I actually even saw an interesting Christmas tree-top decoration of Sint-Nicolaas, that someone was giving as a surprise. While we both thought that it was a bit interesting that it was a Sinterklaas figure meant for a Christmas tree (which actually has nothing to do with the Dutch December 5th holiday), it was more interesting as a commentary on the assertion of Dutch identity, which was the real point of interest for the person it was given to.

As for the blackness of Zwarte Piet, I think I will have to make my own notes and think on it until next year (or until I start outlining my dissertation), since for now, Sinterklaas has gone on his steamboat back to Spain until next year, and all the Zwarte Pieten have gone with him.

Finally, I have heard that next year Greenpeace is threatening to do some kind of action against the Sint if he comes from Spain via his traditional, but in their eyes, outdated and environmentally irresponsible mode of transportation. The environmental organization would like to see the Sint come next year on a sailboat instead. But, seriously, I have to ask, if the Dutch refuse to substitute the sometimes-questionable and controversial Black Pete for other coloured Petes, does Greenpeace really think that they'll have much success in getting the lot of them here from Spain on a sailboat rather than the iconic steamboat?

tis the season... to think critically about culture and race?

So, once again proving that anthropologists can never really go on vacation (at least in the sense of leaving their work behind), look what I found when I was in Rotterdam:


Yep, you know I had a lot of questions about this one. I will come back to it a bit later...

As I wrote about before, the tradition of Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet have intruigued me since before I arrived, but seeing how this festive season unfolds first-hand has got my brain a-buzzing in geeky as well as childish delight. I was lucky enough to see the official arrival of the saint in the Netherlands earlier in November. And on Tuesday evening I was told by my flatmates that I needed to bring a shoe down to the kitchen. I was a little confused, since I thought that Sinterklaas came on December 5th. Apparently though, since he's here from mid-November, he is available to pick up children's letters and leave some presents before then. So, when I went downstairs with my boot I found that laid out on the kitchen table (since we have no fireplace) were all of our shoes, a bowl of water and a carrot for the white horse of Sinterklaas. Then we stood around our shoes and had to sing some songs to show that we were nice. I didn't know any of the words to the songs, and so one of my flatmates suggested that I write Sinterklaas a letter and ask him to bring me the songs. I wrote my little letter (in Dutch, of course) and stuck it in my boot and then was told to go to bed. The next morning I was pleased to find that Sinterklaas did think I had been nice enough, and he had left me not only a nice chocolate figure of himself and his helper, but a magazine with a nice cd with all the songs! Very exciting.

Going from these gezellig traditions among friends to thinking critically about the history and imagry of them makes one little anthropologist very happy. The range of discussion about Sinterklaas and his Zwarte Pieten friends is quite broad here. And this is where the bizarre poster I alluded to above comes in. It should be noted that I came across it after walking past a parade with the saint, and many Zwarte Pieten playing instruments and promenading through the downtown heart of Rotterdam. There were two others posters like this one of a deranged Sinterklaas, but featuring a shirtless Zwarte Piet with the words "zwarte van roet" (black as soot) written across his chest, and some crazy, woolly horned character who I had never seen before. The link takes you to STEREOPIET.nl, which seems to be a project in which the author urges Dutch people not to stop celebrating their traditions, but to think critically about their history. As of now, there is only a summary of the research and a whole lot of reactions (mostly in Dutch) to the site, which also show the spectrum of feelings over the holiday. Interesting!

talking the talk

I'll admit it.

I have been pretty lazy about speaking Dutch since the end of my taalcursus back in August.

The first week after I had moved into my Amsterdam apartment I started an intensive, three week-long 'pre-intermediate' level Dutch class. I was in class for four hours a day, four days a week, and studied for about three hours at home each night. I had a decent enough grounding in the (written) Dutch language when I arrived here thanks to about a years' worth of evening classes I had taken at the University of Toronto. I could figure out how to get around, buy my groceries, stammer out a few sentences, and knew when people were swearing. With my clumsy beginnings, I felt that just two things were really holding me back from true fluency, from really talking the talk:

1. my 'ear'. When I arrived I had a really hard time with hearing what people said. Not surprisingly, most Dutch people speak a hell of a lot faster than my lovely teacher back in Canada. Pile on this all the different accents and slang that doesn't appear in either dictionary or textbook, and I felt like I was just hearing a lot of gutteral noises for the first week or so.
   
2. my own lack of confidence in my abilities. I never feel like I know enough vocabulary, or I worry about my pronunciation or word order. I hate making mistakes. (In other words, all the normal joys and tribulations of learning a new language were getting me down.)
   

Well, my vocabulary grew significantly during my course and since then has continued to expand. I read at least a bit of Dutch everyday (even if it's just subtitles on the tv or a recipe). I have a few Dutch television shows I watch regularly. I can understand people pretty well now, although I often still have to ask them to speak more slowly. The only thing continuing to hold me back from true language proficiency is my clinging lack of confidence in speaking.

My lack of confidence, and well, laziness. The fact that is that everyone here not only speaks English to me, but usually prefers to do so. For the sake of conversation and bowing to my timidness, I usually let them. One of our constant complaints during our course was that even when we tried to practice our Dutch in everyday situations (ordering a koffie, doing the boodschappen, talking with the buren about the weather), the Dutch people we attempted to converse with would often notice that we were not native speakers and would almost automatically start speaking to us in English. I think that this is especially the case in Amsterdam. In terms of doing my research, the ability to converse about serious subjects in English (i.e. during an interview) was one of the reasons I decided on Amsterdam over another city, or a smaller village (where English is less common). But in terms of learning the language, it really makes it a bit trickier, especially because one has to work that much harder to get the practice in, or not lapse into laziness.

During my course I thought about what it must be like for people living here and trying to learn Dutch for their civic integration requirements (inburgering). With English as a commonly spoken language between Dutch people and foreigners, what must it be like for those living here who don't speak English? This was brought home to me again yesterday (actually, really today when recounting the episode from yesterday to my friend Mike and he said something brilliant, and thus, here I am blogging about language - happy, Mike?). Yesterday, I was walking up my street on the way back from the Central Station when a man asked me for directions - in Dutch. He first asked me if I spoke Dutch. I replied with "Ja, een kleine beetje." (Yes, a little bit.) And he proceeded to ask me if his directions to the Dam Square were correct. I thought I understood most of what he had said, but to be sure I had to ask him to speak a little slower. Now, usually this is the point where the conversation switches to English. This time, however, he asked me if I spoke Spanish. Since I don't speak Spanish and he didn't speak English, the only common language between me and my new Columbian friend was Dutch (which he spoke beautifully)! So, he spoke slower for me, I understood exactly what he was saying, he humoured my slow and clunky sentence construction and grasping for words to try to describe my research, and we had a nice little conversation about what we were both doing here. It actually felt great to finally be required to really rely on my Dutch skills. It also showed me that I do have a good level of comprehension, and that it really is my timidness holding me back.

The point of this long and winding tale is that it has gotten me thinking about the importance of the Dutch language, the seeming omnipresence of English, and what I am doing here. It has gotten the little language-cogs in my brain churning again, even if it hasn't untied my tongue... yet. Most of the people I have come into contact with so far have been well-educated, often university students, graduates, researchers. The fact is that the only person who I have had to speak Dutch with in months was another foreigner! Tomorrow, I am attending training so that I can begin volunteering to help 'at risk' youth learn to speak English. The people I need to get in touch with research-wise will hopefully come from all different classes, and so, like the kids I'm going to be teaching, wont have quite the same high-level of fluency in English.

So, it looks like it's back to class for me, in more ways than one. I plan to get in touch with Gilde Amsterdam, an organization that, among other things, arranges speaking partners for people who want to improve their Dutch (the SamenSpraak programme). I have learned a lot about Dutch culture and people since I've been here, but still need to work on talking the talk. Literally.

the (sometimes) joys of global flows

Yesterday was pretty eventful. In a nice way, but also in a way that has me thinking about just how interconnected certain places have become, and how normalized these connections really are.

I had a great lunch meeting with a PhD student from UvA's ASSR, discussing our research together over koffie verkeerds en warme geitenkaas broodjes (that's wrong coffees and warm goat's cheese sandwiches - yum!). Later she showed me to the UvA anthropology and sociology library, which is in an old VoC building on the Kloveniersburgwal, and introduced me to another colleague, who sent me some pdfs of a book that I had kind of glanced over about a year and a half ago while in Canada, but would probably find much more useful and interesting now. (Yay for helpful people!)

After that I cycled over to the De Groen Olifant cafe, where I met with a new friend who is writing a book about the celebration of NYC's 400th anniversary and the Netherlands' involvement in those events. It's going to be really cool. Mostly interviews with peope who were somehow involved with organizing the event, on both sides of the Atlantic.

And then after that I went with my flatmate to the movies. We were planning to see the latest apocolyptic blockbuster 2012, but it was quickly selling out. So, rather than seeing another mainstream flick from Hollywood, we decided to check out what was happening at the IDFA - the International Documentary Filmfestival Amsterdam. I am actually really glad we did. At 6 Euros for admission to a film, it was less expensive than a regular film, and definitely something I don't get the chance to see everyday. We went to see Taqwacore: The Birth of Punk Islam. It was a really interesting, funny, and well-made documentary, and I would encourage everyone to check it out. (And not just because it was made by a couple Canadians, and features a couple media clips with Canada's CBC 'boyfriends' Jian and George... which, not gonna lie, made me pretty excited.) Oddly, I think Taqwacore was one of those things that I saw was happening in Toronto while I was here, and I was a little bummed about missing. Now, if only Anna Tsing would come give a talk here in a month or so... Maybe if the tradewinds are blowing in the right direction?

sinterklaas is coming to town!

Well, Sinterklaas is actually here now...! On Saturday I trekked on over to Schiedam (about an hour by train from Amsterdam Centraal, but practically spitting distance from Rotterdam), with my flatmate and a couple of friends to the official arrival of Sinterklaas to the Netherlands for 2009. (You can click on the picture at left to follow a link to the Schiedam City site with more official or 'nice and in focus' pictures. Exciting!)

Sinterklaas is kind of the Dutch version of the North American Santa Claus. Both figures share the same kindly face, white beard, and penchant for dressing in red and being followed around by 'helpers', but are quite different in terms of cultural trappings and history, plus they come on different days. Sinterklaas or Sint Nicolaas actually comes on the evening of the feast day of Sint Nicolaas, December 5th. So, Sinterklaasavond (Sinterklaas evening) is actually the important holiday as far as gift giving goes, and Christmas is usually a quieter family occasion with a nice meal.

Every year, Sinterklaas comes by steamboat from Spain, (not the North Pole) with his 'helpers', the Zwarte Pieten (Black Petes). He also rides around once in the Netherlands on a white horse. (The connection from Spain has to do with the complicated history of Spainish colonialism as well as the history of the saint himself. The Zwarte Piet phenomenon is a bit more interesting - at least to me as a Canadian and as an anthropologist...) Since he comes by boat, he only ever makes his official landing in cities in the north of the country, along the coast. This means that while pretty much everyone in the country grows up watching his arrival and festivities following it on television, not everyone actually gets to experience seeing it first hand. (I feel pretty lucky.) When we arrived at the train station, my flatmate was "Oh, I forgot about this! We should have dressed up!" The station was awash in a sea of excited children dressed as mini-Zwarte Pieten, that is to say in funny little outfits with colourful pants and caps with feathers, or with the red mitre hat of Sinterklaas himself, or even with steamboat hats. The children weren't the only ones getting into the spirit of things. We came across two regular Zwarte Pieten at the station handing out peppernoten and candies from a burlap sack to all the kids, and to me as well. I have to admit, I was pretty excited to see Sinterklaas myself. After meeting up with the fabulous Ms. Long just outside the station, we followed the general flow of foot traffic to the parade route (via steamboat): the canal! That's right, I forgot that everything happens on the canals here, including most parades. We parked ourselves across from the Scouting centre, with it's homemade banner welcoming everyone as well as the guests of honour. We got there pretty early, and had to wait about an hour with the rest of the children before the bridge was raised and the Pakjesboot 12 steamed on by. In the meantime, there was a lot of singing (there is a song that everyone knows except me), and laughing, and waiting while the grey skies cleared and the sun came out. And then, the bridge was raised! And everyone began to cheer and sing and wave! Sinterklaas was here!


But, yeah, the Zwarte Pieten thing is still a bit of a mystery to me. Basically, the character of Zwarte Piet is played by a white Dutch person in a really colourful outfit and in blackface. Wearing blackface is pretty much unthinkable in North America, as the recent controversy over a group of white University of Toronto students dressed a Jamacian bobsled team for Hallowe'en has shown. But the histories and every day realities of racial politics have been very different in Europe and in North America, and have made people in Canada (in general) relatively more reflexive and cautious when is comes to discussions about race and ethnicity than here.

Of course, it's not all (pardon the expression) black and white, here either. I've heard a couple of different explanations, but I think that for the most part, when questioned about it people seem a little uncomfortable - whether its with the actual figure of Zwarte Piet or with the concerns over appearing racist. The first time I heard about Zwarte Piet was from my Dutch teacher back in Canada. She explained him as a remnant of history (i.e. colonialism, slavery) that had become entrenched in contemporary popular culture. She said that a few years ago, in an effort to be more politically correct, there were attempts to phase out black Pete with green and blue and every other colour Petes, but people thought it was ridiculous and the children wanted Black Pete back. Ms. Long's flatmate gave an alternative explanation: that Zwarte Piet is black because he's the one that goes down the chimney, and so is covered with soot. Also interesting is whether or not non-white Dutch people find the blackface of Zwarte Piet offensive. The jury is still out on this one. I've heard some people say that all the discussion is overblown and too worried about being politically correct. Alternatively, I've heard about a story where growing up black in the Netherlands meant that when your mom showed up to pick you up after school, lots of little white kids ran up to her shouting "Zwarte Piet! You're too early!" Either way, it is a very interesting phenomenon and has given me a lot to ponder in terms of how ideas of race, history, and normative culture fit together here.

helpful people!

The more people I meet here, the more I realize how helpful people in general can be. There are certainly times when I am apt to gripe about people not returning emails (maybe it's more of a phone culture here?), but in everyday interactions most people seem keen to have a discussion about my research, or pass on some names of people I should contact, or offer to put me in touch with people or organizations. It's amazing!

Like today, I had a meeting with the good people at Hart voor Amsterdam since I want to volunteer to help with their Native Speakers Project. This is a really cool project that gets volunteers (mostly expats who are native English speakers) involved in helping 'at risk' youth learn and/or improve their English language skills. I thought doing some volunteer work would be a good way to get involved with different people in Amsterdam, feel like I'm doing something productive and useful with my time that gives back in some way, gets me out of the house at a decent hour at least once a week, and hopefully puts me in contact with people who can help my own research. While most of those items would be easy to check off, I knew the last bit might be tricky to do (and I did/ do have some ethical concerns about the whole volunteer/ research thing, but will just have to pay attention to that as the story unfolds...). But, much to my surprise, the lovely woman I chatted with this afternoon offered to help put me in contact with lots of people and organizations connected through Hart voor Amsterdam. I didn't even have to ask!

Of course, helpful people show up in a lot less formal situations as well. This is the nature of fieldwork, and I suppose a dilemma faced by most anthropologists at some point or other. Every event can count as research, regardless of one's state of, um, sobriety... On Saturday I had a good evening visiting people for drinks in Utrecht before coming back to Amsterdam to a very fun house party. I talked to a lot of people that night about many different things, I am sure, but (unfortunately?) over quite a few adult bevvies. Socially: a great night. Social anthropologically speaking: a learning experience, if not quite a success. The jotted note of people and places to check out that I found in my pocket on a kind of fuzzy-headed Sunday morning (written by a new friend in Utrecht on her own handy notepaper) has reminded me of the importance of carrying small little notebooks or bits of paper around at all times, because no matter what I am getting up to, I never quite leave the 'field' and helpful people are everywhere.

a little bit of the balkans in NL

Even though I missed out on Hallowe'en this past weekend, I had a lot of fun learning a little bit about the Balkans at the Balkan Snapshots Film Festival. It was held at a cool little theatre called Kriterion, and also featured music, lectures and debates, and had a nice cafe with good coffee. The whole thing was presented in English (i.e. talks, debates and film subtitles), which is kind of interesting in itself, and seems to be the way that events get marked as international.

The most interesting film I saw was part of a short documentary programme called Blue wall red door, by Alban Muja (who was at the screening) and Yll Citaku. In the city of Prishtina, like many other areas in Kosovo, the street names have been changed so often by each different regime since the war that the names themselves no longer have local meaning. The street names had been changed and rechanged to reflect the language and public figures important to each sucessive regime - basically every few years - that each street now has at least three different names. Besides being incredibly confusing in terms of reading a map, the result of this rapid renaming has been that locals have just stopped trying to learn the names of the streets - leaving the rebranding efforts of each regime to fall on more or less deaf ears. In effect, for the past 15 years or so, people haven't bothered to use the street names, and often have no idea what the official name of even their own street is (street numbers are a whole other issue). Rather, people locate addresses through the use of local landmarks - things like well known restaurants, the (former) homes of famous people, or even places that were well known but no longer actually exist: like a place known as the 'blue wall' which is actually painted red now, or an old mill that is now the site of a new hotel building. The film traces how people navigate and negotiate public space in a place where maps are pretty much useless and finding an address means knowing the social landscape, or finding locals who do. (For instance, mail carriers who have to deliver letters where the address is written something like: So and so, blue wall red door, this neighbourhood, near this other neighbourhood. Or, ambulances and firefighters who are directed to the nearest minimarket, or just have to follow the smoke.) The conflicts and political shifts have cultivated a whole, seemingly makeshift culture around understanding the city space.

I think most people, even if they are sticklers for navigating by compass, do use certain landmarks (places of personal or more widely social significance) to relate to and understand their surroundings. But to have to rely solely on landmarks - places that might have more longevity than the streetnames, but are still likely to change over time (consider that political monuments were only slightly more permanent than street names during this period in this place) - I can only begin to imagine how that reshapes your relation to your home. Anyway, it is an amazing film that has given me a lot to think about in terms of how people relate to the social landscape of their city or neighbourhood.

in a land without hallowe'en...

Since I've been here, my mother at least, has been surprised that the holidays are different in the Netherlands than in Canada. Earlier this month, she was surprised that the Dutch don't celebrate Thanksgiving (in October or November), and today she was surprised to learn that Hallowe'en isn't a thing here either.

Well, it isn't really a thing here, at least among the Dutch. It's kind of a globalized import commodity. I have seen a few posters about the city in recent weeks advertising parties (often with a pricey cover charge), but other than that, Hallowe'en is still generally seen as an American holiday, and is only really enjoyed by expats and tourists. I've explained a few times to people here that in Canada, Hallowe'en is popular among kids (for the candy and excuse to dress up in a fun costume) and among young people in their 20s or so (for the booze and excuse to dress up in a costume...). I've been told that the Dutch have kind of a similar holiday (at least as far as the children are concerened) in Sint Maarten's Dag, which happens in November.

I actually quite like Hallowe'en. It's a holiday that combines the morbid and terrifying with the whimsical and fanciful, plus there's candy! What's not to love? I do, however, have a habit of missing out on fabulous parties (though a couple years ago a friend and I made it down to the Toronto's 'gayberhood' - which was a dance party of the most amazing costumes I have ever seen.) Not surprisingly, I missed out on the party again this year. While the anthropologist in me is looking forward to hopefully seeing children parading around with paper lanterns on November 11th, the girl who likes Hallowe'en in me was pleasantly surprised to spot a party spilling out onto the street as I left a restaurant with my friend this evening - especially since one of the revellers was a guy in a Leafs jersey.

maybe not research related...

This is probably a sign that I am spending too much time puttering (e.g. watching television and playing around on the internet), and not nearly enough time doing proper research, but... I saw this commercial on tv the other day and thought it was hilarious. So, yeah. You can probably understand most of it, even if you don't understand Dutch.

Now, back to more serious tasks.

happy (belated) birthday amsterdam!

This morning I read in the Stadsdeel nieuws (a local community-type paper put out by the city, so not all that interesting) that it was Amsterdam's birthday yesterday. The first known written document in which the name 'Amsterdam' was recorded was written by Floris V, and set out toll priviledges for the city. It was dated 27 oktober 1275. What's that? Like 734 years? I don't think 734 is a very important birthday, since I didn't hear anything about it until this morning. I guess once you hit 730 you kind of keep quiet about it until you turn 750? Still a pretty flat city for being so far 'over the hill'.

the last moroccan leaves the netherlands, but rhiannon misses her flight to rome

I missed my flight to Rome this weekend and am feeling very silly about it, since I have only myself to blame. I left too late from my house, forgot that there would be a long queue at the ticket counter (which I have to use since I don't have a Dutch bank account and therefore can't buy a ticket from the automaat), and then of course, missed the earlier train to the airport. I had so little time left and so much to do at a very large airport, that I missed it. And, fun fact: if you miss the first leg of a round trip flight, the whole ticket is invalidated. SO, considering the 400 EUR was a little much to pay to catch the later afternoon flight, I'm cursing my time-management skills from rainy Amsterdam this weekend, instead of catching up with good friends and acquainting myself with robust Italian reds served by tall, dark and handsome Italian men in Rome. So, I have learned my lesson about travel-preparedness, and will have to look forward to gracing the ancient city with my presence another time.

But, speaking of international flights (insert awkward segue here), I stumbled upon the following during a morning scan of the Dutch news earlier this week:

"Last Moroccan Leaves the Netherlands"

The link goes to a Radio Netherlands Worldwide article about a video launched by the enthusiastic and creative people behind munt.nu. The website is in Dutch, but for those of you who know even less Dutch than I do, its creators want to analyze and challenge current public attitudes and create interesting debate. They're also a bit funny (check the English-language RNW article). The video, Kop of Munt (Heads or Tails, embedded in the sites of both links, also in Dutch, but easy to figure out), poses the question of repatriation: What if all Moroccans left the Netherlands?

Repatriation is actually discussed as a serious solution in some circles in the Netherlands, to what is seen as the problem posed by immigrants and their lack of integration/ assimilation into mainstream Dutch society. Muslims, espcially Moroccans - generally seen as the 'worst' group of immigrants - are usually the main target of repatriation rhetoric. The claim is that if they don't feel at home here (and don't try to feel at home by adopting mainstream Dutch attitudes, which also makes native Dutch feel less at home themselves), they should go 'home' (that is, to a place where they feel at home, regardless of place of birth). The populist right wing party, PVV, headed up by the controversial Geert Wilders often espouses this view or something akin to it.

I found a postcard in Utrecht that ridicules this point of view with the text (Dutch, but I have cleverly provided a translation for my three readers):

Remigratie / Remigration
een eenvoudige oplossing voor een complex probleem:/ a simple solution to a complex problem:
maar dan wel consequent/ but there are consequences
Amerika voor de indianen/ America for the Indians
Azie voor de aziaten/ Asia for the Asians
Australie voor de aboriginals/ Australia for the aboriginals
Zuid-Afrika slegs vir swartes/ South Africa for the blacks (in Afrikaans)
de Zuidpool voor de pinguins/ The South Pole for the penguins
Nederland weer onder water/ The Netherlands again under water

Anyway, unlike the postcard, what makes the video created by munt.nu really interesting is that it shows more than one side of the likely outcome of all Moroccans leaving the country. The images also highlight how integral Moroccans (and by extension, all immigrant groups) have become to Dutch society, whether or not all members of Dutch society consider them 'integrated'.

on the subject of casual sex/ on the casual subject of sex

When I was still in Canada, going through the seemingly endless preparations to come here, I would usually get thrown a knowing smirk when I told people I was going to be doing fieldwork in Amsterdam. The reason why? Ask your average North American (or possibly anyone else in Western Europe, or maybe even anywhere) what comes to mind when they think of Amsterdam, and you're probably going to hear two words: pot and prostitutes.

Well, soft drugs and legal sex-work may be the reason many tourists come to the city (especially if they're not keen on, you know, history or art), most Dutch people aren't really bothered about either. So, while there are sex shops everywhere (I live above one), and windows aplenty in the Red Light District, and a few scattered here and there across the rest of Amsterdam and other sleepier cities, I can't help but continue to be a little surprised (in spite of myself) at how casually sex slips into the everyday here. A few weeks ago I watched the classic Dutch war film Soldaat van Oranje with my roommates. The basic plot follows a group of university friends, who break apart as each follows their own path over the course of the war - from Nazi sympathizers and Jews either killed or caught in the middle, to Dutch war resisters and heros. As a North American used to seeing a particular treatment of wartime heroics (usually, approached with reverence, tied to patriotism, nationalism, and bravery, etc.), I have to say that I was surprised at how much nudity was in film about the Dutch resistance during WWII. A few examples: an early scene where a Dutch regiment stumbles upon some young lovers getting it on in the hay, who pause to laugh at the joke of being discovered instead of the Germans the regiment expected to find, and then pick right up where they left off; a Dutch woman who found it hard to keep her shirt on for the better part of the film, whether to cheat on her fiance or to distract an evil and creepy Nazi, those breasts were there; a British officer who inadvertently flashed the Queen of the Netherlands while enjoying a tryst with one of the Dutch heros... I'm sure all this stuff happens during wartime, but classic American war films don't tend to show it, making it a bit novel for me.

Anyway, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a city like Amsterdam, in a progressive welfare state whose inhabitants are (generally) open about sex, is concerned about the sexual health of its residents in a similarly straighforward and routine way. My three flatmates and I all recently recieved letters from the City inviting us to be screened for Chlamydia. I asked my roommate about it, and she said it's a common test offered just about every year. The test is free, confidential, and organized through an online website. According to the site (and letter), chlamydia is the most common STD among sexually active people between the ages of 16 and 29, and so similar letters have been matter-of-factly sent to all people in this age category registered as a resident of the City of Amsterdam (and I think, also in Rotterdam). So, yeah. Sex. It's everywhere here. And no one seems to care.

kermis

So, I was walking down the street by the Dam the other day, as I am wont to do, and they had set up a bit of a carnival. Jammed it actually, onto Dam Square in a way that makes it seem like it's liable to overflow onto the streets and over the tramlines and tourists at any moment. I love the juxtapositioning of the old stone Koninklijk Paleis and the Nieuwekerk, with the gawdiness and larger-than-life lights and noise of the travelling fair.

Normally, I just kind of ignore whatever amusement is going on at the Dam, since only tourists really seem to participate anyway, but this was a little bit amazing. Plus, I wanted to see what kinds of games, and more importantly, food were to be found at a Dutch carnival. Luckily, I had some friends visiting from out of town and so got to play tourist (without the guilt that seems to come with it since I am trying to 'fit in'.)

So, just look at all the goodies! A huge candy stall! With lots of sugary sticks of things (including liquorice flavour, which is very popular here). Candy floss (of course), and popcorn were also present. But so was a dangerously delicious smelling warme waffel stand (which exclaimed that it was really what Holland was about in fancy, 'traditional' scroll-like script), a place selling
all kinds of deep-fried pastries, as well as a Vlaamse frites (Flemish fries) stand, a place with all kinds of sausages and meats, a nut shop and "Mr. USA" (which sold churros).





Quite interesting. I think that the frites stand was my favourite. I mean, look at it. It's got a cut-out of a woman in what I'm assuming is a traditional costume. Plus the chalet style. Which I haven't really seen either here or in Belgium (on my brief trip...).

Anyway, it was quite fun, and I went on both the gigantic swings (at 60m in the air, freely circling over the tops of all buildings in the vicinity, exciting and a bit scary) and the 'Diamond Wheel' ferris wheel. I was a little sad to see that all the horses on the carosel, which was beautifully painted, had been replaced with things like fire-trucks with flashing lights, but you can't win em all...

cold comfortable

It is cold in this city! And cold in my room. The thermostat is in a different part of the house, and on a different floor. So while the kitchen is always nice and toasty, my room is quite chilly. Brrr. I am also without mitts here, which I have since learned are very important, especially when one rides their bike through the city streets. (Does one need mitts yet in Canada? Not including Alberta, land of the early snows...) This point was further impressed upon me as I biked between print shop and cafe this afternoon. I spent an hour or two at a nice cafe at the start of the Singel called Cafe Cobalt. I'd been there once before. It's really close to the tourist-saturated streets, and yet just far enough off the beaten path to be, in my mind, a bit of a local gem. It has huge windows, nice, slightly mis-matched wooden chairs and tables, very high ceilings with thick, ancient, buttery-coloured wooden support beams. Nice food (two kinds of pie, and cute spelling mistakes on the English-side of the menu, i.e. where the Brittanica tosti comes with, among other things, cheese and union). Good coffee with a nice thin little almond buiscuit...

It was kind of an appropriate place to start leafing through the pages sent out for UvA's Culturalization of Citizenship reading group I've happily been invited to attend at the end of the month. This month we have the good fortune to peruse a couple of chapters from a book still being written by J.W. Duyvendak. The few pages I managed to read in the fading light of the autumn afternoon over a koffie verkeerd (literally 'wrong coffee', but basically a cafe au lait) and mozerella tosti, discussed the idea of home and belonging in the globalization era - where things, ideas and people have become increasingly mobile, what does it mean to call a place 'home'? While social scientists have for a long time been interested in how ideas of home and belonging have been thought about and expereinced by people on the move (myself included), we should be turning our attention back to the oft-overlooked populations of people who 'stay at home'. How are they now thinking about 'home' when everything around them is moving about? (It's amazing how many people I am coming across now who are all interested in the same questions that I am - when it rains, it pours, eh?) One interesting point was the example of Starbucks. For highly mobile people (and some less mobile people as well), Starbucks, in all its generic sameness, can be a space of comfort and home, no matter where you are in the world. But for the more rooted among us, the arrival of Starbucks in the buurt might be seen as unwelcome, and threatening the character of the neighbourhood and local shops, like the one I was in today. Kind of interesting to think about, as a metaphor for other kinds of changes, but also quite literally. Especially when most of the independently owned cafes I've been in here all serve just about the same thing (though Cafe Cobalt's chocolaade taart seems a bit special), and though the biscuit flavour may vary, you'll inevitably get served one with your koffie.

giving thanks

Yesterday, I made my first Thanksgiving Dinner! I think it was a success: more than enough food for all, no major disasters, plenty of friends, good conversation, I more or less didn't mangle the chickens while carving, and I managed to figure out how to use our house's little combination microwave-convection oven.

It was a little funny though, to be celebrating this holiday in a country where not only have the leaves not turned colour (yet?), but where people are only really familiar with the American version (and therefore wondering why this crazy Canadian was doing it so early in the year...). I've been trying since I've been here to blend in with the locals, but there are just some things that I occasionally long for from home. Like when I combed the Albert Heijn (local grocery store chain) for something resembling a box of mac and cheese. Or, in this case, Thanksgiving. I spent two weeks preparing and contemplating how I could pull off such a meal: Was the combi-oven in my kitchen big enough? Can you even find turkey in the Netherlands? What about chickens? Where is there a butcher that I can buy chickens from? What about cranberry sauce? They use Celsius, here. So as a Canadian cook, how does that convert from Farenheit? Is pumpkin pie off the menu?? In the end, it all came together nicely. Two pricey, but delicious organic chickens, mashed potatoes and veggies from the organic market on the Nieuwmart. And yes, cranberry sauce - but it's called 'cranberry compote' and parades itself around in a much classier way than the tinned and jellied stuff at home. A nice cherry vlaai - pie, essentially - stood in for the classic Thanksgiving dessert, and was accompanied by some pepernoten (a yummy Dutch holiday treat, like little ginger nuts/ cookies, that is in the stores two months before the arrival of Sinterklaas, and a bone of contention for some).

Reflecting on how much I put into making Thanksgiving here has me thinking a bit more about this the importance and meaning of 'home'. Questions of belonging have to do with comfort, and a sense of rootedness, in a way. Something useful to think about when talking to people, certainly, but it's also made me think a little bit more about, I guess, the routes my thinking has taken in preparing for this project. After reading so many different things over the past three years, I've moved away from some of the ideas that have really intrigued me in the past, namely citizenship's substantive or cultural aspects. While I certainly wont be dropping all the things I've been pondering lately out the window, I am a little bit excited that I've come back to these older ideas, seeing how they're still so relevant and can frame my thinking in new and useful ways. Like making Thanksgiving dinner here, thinking more about how citizenship comes into play here feels little bit like coming home.

when *still* in doubt...?

It's been a pretty odd week for me, in more ways than one. This city keeps surprising me in interesting ways, like when walking down the Harlemmerstraat to find myself some chickens for Thanksgiving dinner (now in Amsterdam!), I came across a rather large concert or barrel organ, not an uncommon sight here actually, blaring Michael Jackson's Thriller. It kept me smiling and yes, giggling, for about half a block. Of course, not all surprises are as pleasant, and the theme of doubt has kind of threaded its way through the past week, also in more ways than one. Newly single -- the result of unspoken yet lingering, and no longer avoidable doubts about our relationship on the part of my partner -- I spent the week trying to immerse myself in bringing clarity to the most significant doubt in my own life: choosing a neighbourhood to call my research-own in this incredible city.

I've been here the Netherlands for about two and a half months now, and in Amsterdam for about two months. I feel fairly acclimatized: I know my way around a bit, I'm the proud owner of an oma fiets (a very Dutch bike), I can speak and understand 'een klein beetje' of Dutch (of course, not as much as I'd like), I bought a bunch of notebooks and new pens, I have a few friends, and a couple favourite cafes, I've spoken to some professors at UvA, and I even have an interview lined up in a week or so. So, now it's really time to get into what I said I came here to do. Right... So this week, I have sifted through lots and lots of statistical information on the various districts of Amsterdam, trying to get a better sense of what each is like. I've looked at demographic info (percentages of autochtonen/ natives, non-Westerse- and Westerse-allochtonen/ foreigners), income levels, voting patterns, length of residence in the neighbourhood. Two things have come out of it: 1) I'm amazed at the sheer volume of statistical information the City of Amsterdam keeps on file and public, and 2) I'm still unsure about where I want to situate myself. I kind of have it down to two districts, Amsterdam-Noord and the Oud-Zuid, though both are quite large, and quite different. There are pros and cons for each, of course. And in talking to various people about my dilemma, suggestions for even more neighbourhoods keep cropping up: the Jordaan (seen by people from the Jordaan as the 'real' Amsterdam), Westerpark, De Baarsjes... What's a girl to do?

The Noord is a place apart. It's the only district that you have to cross the IJ to get to. It used to be a completely different village. It's mostly working-class, although there are some quite affluent neighbourhoods within the district. It is demographically mixed in terms of ethnicity (i.e. autochthon/native/white, allochthon/foreigner/immigrant...), but there seem to be neighbourhoods where there's a high concentration of either native Dutch or immigrants. According to the data collected from the 2009 EU elections, there's quite a lot of support (as high as about 35%) for Geert Wilders' far-right populist, anti-immigrant/ Muslim PVV. Interesting. I was told in a conversation with someone at UvA that this is one of the few neighbourhoods, even the only neighbourhood in the city, where people spend their whole lives. People grow up there, settle there, raise their kids there. This is in some ways exceptional in a city where most people come from somewhere else, whether it's from elsewhere in the country or in the world. Another thing that I am not sure if I should consider, is that Amsterdam-Noord has already been the subject of anthropological study by Dr. Erin Martineau. (Does that matter? It's not like a bajillion anthropologists haven't already studied Papua New Guinea, and still people do it...)

The Oud-Zuid seems to be quite a bit more posh, though there are neighbourhoods within the district that reflect more average levels of income across NL. It's a much older part of the city, and is mixed as well. Historically, some areas (De Pijp) were the workers quarters during the 19th century, and now are becoming trendier. Voting patterns show that residents tend to support the status quo (i.e. the reigning centrist CDA).

So, what's important to me here? What is it that I find intriguing? What would make for a really interesting study? Maybe I'm too close to the problem to see it clearly. Really, I'm just not sure.

fieldwork blog? (reposted from fb)

So, still trying to decide if this blogging thing is for me, especially me in the field. I used to keep a blog (via livejournal), back when I lived in Halifax for my MA. Mostly I commented on news items I found interesting, including those that related to my research topic, and watched a few forums (one on anthropology, another broadly academic, and a third on Canadian politics), occasionally posting or commenting. For the most part though, I didn't write about my own research. So this is new for me, and a little bit strange... sounds like fieldwork?

The following bit has been reposted from Facebook, a more extensive pondering over whether or not a fieldwork blog is a good idea, or asking for trouble...

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Blogs seem to be pretty common things to keep when people travel, used to keep kind of a public journal of one's experiences and to share and receive comment on ideas. So, what about a fieldwork blog?

I've been thinking about this since I found a one of a friend. She uses it to kind of relate the things that she's done/ seen, as well as musings, anxieties and goals. It seems a little tricky though, since it can make the anonymity of those you interact with daily, people within the scope of the researcher's practice of participant-oberservation,

a little precarious. Is it productive, then? Or a wise choice? Pen and ink can be, if necessary, edited/ destroyed/ secreted away, but I kind of feel that cyber-space is forever.

At the same time, if people (friends, colleagues, loved ones) actually read the thing, it might be a way of getting useful feedback: critiques, comments, reassurances, support. It may also be a useful node for connecting to potential research sites and participants, in a way that traditional notebooks are not. I'm not talking about giving up on my little blue fieldnotebook, but wondering if we, as researchers, should be making the most out of the technological possibilities at our fingertips?

So, what about the fieldwork blog? Is it worthwhile? Is it something that more of us should be doing? If you knew people who were writing them, would you bother to read? Do you keep one (or are you a blogger in general)? Ideas? Comments? Discussions??

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If anyone else has a fieldwork or any other kind of blog they would like to share, please send me a link.

The thing about being a novice anthropologist, a novice anything really, is that you have to figure a lot of things out for yourself. Doing research, 'fieldwork', is like this too. Sure, we're all required to take methods classes before we are turned loose to get to the real work, but reading about things like interviews, life histories, kinship charts, and of course, ethical dilemmas, is nothing like actually doing this mysterious stuff we call fieldwork. At least, that's how I'm finding it. Shy by nature, I've never been one to just start talking to people on the street, unless it's to be helpful, like asking or giving directions. I asked some colleagues what I'm supposed to be doing, and among all the helpful answers came the classic response to the anthropologist's dilemma: When in doubt, map the city and make kinship charts.

So, here I am, one little Canadian, trying to figure out what's going on in a land that lies mostly below sea level, in a city where streets alternate between ridiculously picturesque and shockingly seedy, where the locals will always speak English to you and aren't necessarily from Amsterdam themselves, and where really interesting things have been happening politically and socially, not least of which being the national rise in far-Right/ nationalist political views and increasing concerns over the status and place of (non-Western) immigrants in contemporary Dutch society. So, what does it mean to belong in a place like this?