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Dutch "holiday" all inclusive? More like a "Polish Business Tour" in the package
August. In the Netherlands, it's theoretically a time for relaxation, lounging in front of the house, and enjoying local beer. In practice, for many Poles who've lived here for a few years, it's a two-stage event: first, trying to catch your breath in the land of tulips, and then an intense expedition to the homeland, where the list of "holiday" tasks can be longer than the line for "oliebollen" on New Year's Eve. Can these two worlds – the apparent Dutch calm and the dynamic Polish reality – ever be reconciled? Fasten your seatbelts, because we're in for a rollercoaster of emotions and logistics!
Stage 1: The Dutch Attempt
It starts innocently enough. Vacation! You can finally put the "agenda" aside (of course, only after scheduling the "putting aside the agenda" in it). The plan is simple: bike rides, the park, maybe a trip to the seaside—if it's not raining sideways, that is. Unfortunately, Dutch summer can be as capricious as a mother-in-law's mood after a failed cheesecake attempt. So instead of lazily sipping a drink, you're more often drying soaked shoes and wondering if it's time to pull out your winter jacket.
And then there's the ever-present Dutch weather optimism. TV forecast: "showers tomorrow." In practice: a downpour, armageddon, and a flood straight out of a biblical story. But "showers" are "showers," right? You get used to it. Just like you get used to the seagulls, which with sniper precision steal your "broodje kaas" at the moment of greatest distraction. This country simply doesn't like it when you're bored. It'll always find you some "activity."
And then there's the ever-present Dutch weather optimism. TV forecast: "showers tomorrow." In practice: a downpour, armageddon, and a flood straight out of a biblical story. But "showers" are "showers," right? You get used to it. Just like you get used to the seagulls, which with sniper precision steal your "broodje kaas" at the moment of greatest distraction. This country simply doesn't like it when you're bored. It'll always find you some "activity."
Stage 2:
The real "fun" begins when it's time to go to Poland. This isn't just a regular visit. It's a special mission, during which, in just a few intense days, you have to catch up on everything that's piled up over the year. The to-do list can look like a last will and testament:
- Family marathon: Visit all uncles, aunts, cousins, and great-grandmothers. Each visit means at least three hours of conversations, memories, and tasting local specialties (often in wholesale quantities). Diet? What's that?
- Paperwork labyrinth: Transfer the car, handle taxes, pick up some certificate from the mysterious window number 17B. Get ready for standing in lines, filling out tons of paperwork, and explaining that "your PESEL isn't an ATM code."
- Service marathon: Take the car to the mechanic because "it's been running like this for a year," schedule a "quick check-up" at the dentist (which ends up being a root canal on three teeth), and also fit in the hairdresser, beautician, and maybe the optician. Holidays are the perfect time to "get yourself sorted out."
- Gift logistics: Bring Dutch cheeses, "stroopwafels," and other "delicacies" for family and friends. Of course, everything must be fresh and undamaged in transit. Your luggage ends up looking like a luxury goods warehouse.
Return to the Netherlands – a clash of two realities
After this intense "rest," you return to the Netherlands. And then? You have to switch to a different mode again. Silence, (relative) peace, bike paths without potholes, and officials who (usually) know what you're asking about. Are you rested? Probably not. But at least you have the satisfaction of a job well done. All the "Polish matters" (more or less) sorted, and you can pretend to enjoy the Dutch summer again. Until the next trip...
Summary with a ;)
This is what Dutch holidays look like, Polish style. It's not about lazily sipping drinks under palm trees. It's more like a multi-tasking logistical operation that requires the stamina of a marathon runner and negotiation skills worthy of a diplomat. But hey, at least we have stories to tell over a beer (if the weather lets us out onto that proverbial terrace). Enjoy your "non-rest"!
