My first week in Den Haag

I'm feeling grateful, though I'm not happy about my bike

Two weeks ago I flew from Chicago to Amsterdam. I was met by two members of the APCH staff who took my two large suitcases (containing everything I expect to need for the next nine months) and tossed them in the back of their Range Rover. And then off we went to Den Haag and the American Protestant Church, where I have now started my work as an interim pastor.

Everything about this plan seemed exciting and adventurous, except leaving behind my wife and family, especially the four little ones in this photo. The youngest is just five months old (and the oldest is eight years), but I loved our time together, especially over the last two years, and will miss them more than I can say.

My furnished home is located not far from the church … at Wassenaarseweg 83, a lovely street with a canal in front and a market on the corner. The home is a three-story row house with five bedrooms, a few more than I expect to need. When I arrived, the pantry and refrigerator were well stocked with food and treats. Every other need was anticipated and provided for.

On my first Sunday, just a couple of days later, I introduced myself during morning worship, but didn’t preach. My work permit wasn’t approved until a day or two after arrival, so - legally - I was still a tourist and not an employee.

It wasn’t long before I discovered the Mauritshuis Museum (see top photo), known mostly these days for displaying Vermeer’s famous painting, Girl With A Pearl Earring. What I didn’t expect was that paintings by Rembrandt would vastly outnumber paintings by Vermeer. I even found three paintings by the much-loved Adriaen Brouwer who is mostly known for painting peasants and tavern life in the early 17th century. My family always referred to him, jokingly, as “Uncle Adriaen,” though recent DNA testing has shown that we’re not related. (Lots of villages in the Netherlands had beer brewers, and I’m related to only a few of them.) Here’s one of the Rembrandts at the Mauritshuis:

Anyone who has ever traveled in the Netherlands has encountered the ubiquitous bicycle. Cyclists here seem to enjoy most of the traffic rights. Cars and pedestrians are advised to keep their distance.

My own bicycle, which I paid to have broken down, boxed, and sent, did not arrive on the same day I did. But I now know it’s at Schipol Airport because a random passenger snapped the photo below and sent it to me. It’s there along with thousands of other boxes and pieces of luggage which piled up over the summer. I plan to drive over to Schipol soon, maybe this week, to claim it.

To paraphrase a church member who heard about my decision take my own bike: Bringing your own bike to the Netherlands is like bringing your own sand to the Middle East. (I’m sure that joke has serious cultural problems and will be offensive to someone, but I laughed when I heard it.) In my defense, my bike fits my frame and I wanted to bring along something that was mine. I also plan to wear my bike helmet, something only expats (and Germans) seem to do.

My new congregation has been warm and welcoming. I’m grateful to be here. On my predecessor’s last Sunday in June, the congregation went outside after worship and posed for this photo. I feel grateful to be with them for this chapter in their life together.

Update: I retrieved my bike from Schipol Airport today (September 1), and then I drove through rush hour traffic (Amsterdam to Den Haag) to get back to my neighborhood bike shop before closing time. The owner said he’d have the bike put back together by tomorrow afternoon. Yeah, baby!