Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Dutch Land Mines
Through the rain and the mist and the inky night, I could just make it out, a classic Dutch scene, silhouetted by the gleam of streetlight off cobblestone: a little white dog, ass earthward, crapping on the street, right there where Willem De Zwijgerlaan meets Van Boetzelaerlaan. Or rather, in the space in the middle, where the former crosses the tracks for Tram 11 (and where pedestrians fear to tread). I eyed the dog as I walked past, on my way down to Frederik Hendriklaan ("the Fred") for a bite of Chinese food with Peter. Another steaming pile of Dutch Land Mine.
More surprising still was that this dog was on the end of a leash held by a master with no shame about the mess his dog was depositing on the cobblestones. None. Sin verguenza. I looked him in the eye, trying to detect even the tracest amount of embarrassment. He stared back implacably, then turned and walked away.
This is the first time I've actually seen a dog drop one of these bombs, but I swear I've stepped in dogshit 10 times in my three weeks here. It's like I'm walking around in that Robert Altman film Ready to Wear, only the joke about all the dog crap in the streets is wearing damn thin. Everybody here seems to have at least two dogs, and nobody here seems to clean up after any of them. I've seen the random garbage can emblazoned with a cartoon pooch crapping on a cartoon toilet, always in pristine condition from lack of use.
Somebody told me that 10 percent of the cost of registering a dog here goes to cleaning up dog crap and, thus, the Dutch figure they've paid for the right and feel free to let their dogs defecate with abandon. I'm not sure where this alleged 10 percent goes, but there's gotta be a scandal over that one. It sure as hell isn't going to clean up the mess.
Fortunately, the rainy season affords some relief from this problem. In two weeks' time, even the biggest pile of the stuff washes into the canals, and the many puddles left by all damnedable condensation start looking like little blessings. One simply stomps around some in the water, shakes, stomps, shakes, stops, shakes ... and before you know it, the treads of my Birks are free of all traces. Until next time.
A guy from Canada told me today that when he first got here, he thought the Dutch were so humble because of the way they always keep their heads down when they walk. I, too, have been humbled by the Dutch Land Mine, so much so that I'm likely to walk into the path of an oncoming Tram.
More surprising still was that this dog was on the end of a leash held by a master with no shame about the mess his dog was depositing on the cobblestones. None. Sin verguenza. I looked him in the eye, trying to detect even the tracest amount of embarrassment. He stared back implacably, then turned and walked away.
This is the first time I've actually seen a dog drop one of these bombs, but I swear I've stepped in dogshit 10 times in my three weeks here. It's like I'm walking around in that Robert Altman film Ready to Wear, only the joke about all the dog crap in the streets is wearing damn thin. Everybody here seems to have at least two dogs, and nobody here seems to clean up after any of them. I've seen the random garbage can emblazoned with a cartoon pooch crapping on a cartoon toilet, always in pristine condition from lack of use.
Somebody told me that 10 percent of the cost of registering a dog here goes to cleaning up dog crap and, thus, the Dutch figure they've paid for the right and feel free to let their dogs defecate with abandon. I'm not sure where this alleged 10 percent goes, but there's gotta be a scandal over that one. It sure as hell isn't going to clean up the mess.
Fortunately, the rainy season affords some relief from this problem. In two weeks' time, even the biggest pile of the stuff washes into the canals, and the many puddles left by all damnedable condensation start looking like little blessings. One simply stomps around some in the water, shakes, stomps, shakes, stops, shakes ... and before you know it, the treads of my Birks are free of all traces. Until next time.
A guy from Canada told me today that when he first got here, he thought the Dutch were so humble because of the way they always keep their heads down when they walk. I, too, have been humbled by the Dutch Land Mine, so much so that I'm likely to walk into the path of an oncoming Tram.
