Dutch Birthday Rituals

Last night I went to my first—and likely last—Dutch-Dutch birthday party, meaning the real, staggeringly unpleasant thing. Having read a post on Suze Abroad’s blog, in which she likens the event to waiting at a dentist’s office, I thought I was prepared. But no… I quickly learned the metaphor of teeth-pulling was apt.

What happens to Dutch b-day party virgins? This is the routine: you walk into a room full of guests whose chairs are arranged in a tight-fitting circle. Next, you must introduce yourself to each one, including drooling, pre-vocabulary children, interrupting the flow of every conversation, and next take your seat, where you’ll remain for the entire evening. For shaky language beginners like myself, most conversations revolved around simple requests, such as “Yes, PLEASE, more wine,” measured by lengthy moments spent focused on the white shag carpet. Add liberal doses of cigarette smoke—enough to divert a KLM pilot to Rotterdam—an atmosphere that smacks of Heineken brewery and you’ve got yourself a running impression. Minutes passed like days.