O Providence

I performed a particularly stupid google search last week whilst looking for some pointers on Dutch pronunciation. I put in "Dutch tips." Of course I came up with nothing remotely having to do with the Nederlandse taal, but I did get some information on how you don't have to tip waiters/-tresses as well as another expat's blog that gave some tidbits of information about living in the Netherlands, including, for instance, that the way the traffic politie signal that you're being stopped here is to pull in front of you and turn on a little sign that says "Volgen" (follow). Duly edified, I went back and put in a more considered search and found the desired pronunciation tips for those wily Dutch diphthongs (and even a pronunciation engine -- way cool).

On the way home from Hilversum this morning, I was flipping channels on the radio when I realized a Politie Volvo was pulling in front of me. And turning on a little marquee that said "Volgen." This rang a bell somewhere distantly in my brain... aagh! I was going under the speed limit along with all the other bumper-to-bumper traffic, had headlights on... I just knew this little beater of a VW Golf was going to get me into trouble.

So we pulled into the service station (the little marquee handily changing to "Stop" to let me know not to rear-end them) and I prepared myself for the long-dreaded first encounter with the Dutch police. Keep in mind that my immigration status here is still up in the air, so I felt more empathy with my non-green-carded ex-clients than I cared to. (An aside that only a criminal lawyer would notice: Oddly, she came around to the passenger side door to have our little conversation.) Like 95% of the Dutch I've talked to, when I asked en Nederlands if she spoke English she said "a little" and proceeded in perfect English. I asked what I'd done; she asked me for my license. I gave her my Tennessee license -- the only one I have -- and she ran it. (She was not wearing the same fetching clogs as the lad and lassie pictured.)

When she returned she explained that they have a computer in the police cars that alerts them when they pass a car that doesn't have a Dutch license in it, so they pulled me over to make sure I was licensed. We chatted a bit more about whether I have the car registered and the requisite insurance (she took me at my word, no proof required?!) and she let me go on my way.

These onboard Big Brothers mean, evidently, that I can look forward to being pulled over another host of times until I get the rumored Holy Grail of a Sofi number that will let me trade in my American license for a Dutch one... as well as have a bank account, get the tax refunds to which we're entitled, etc. etc.

Of course, after waiting since last September 10 for them to make a decision, we just heard on Friday that we're required to register our marriage at Utrecht Town Hall before they can decide. This despite having provided them a marriage certificate with apostille, the seal internationally demonstrating authenticity per all regulations in the convention drawn up in the Netherlands' own Den Haag. And, not incidentally, despite having attempted to register our marriage at the Gemeentehuis last September and being told that the step was not only unnecessary, but impossible for us. Boy oh boy, am I looking forward to my next conversation with those well-informed and friendly bureaucrats!

Oh well, at least I didn't have to make a souvenir of one of those expensive Dutch traffic tickets.