(Reprise article)
Saturday morning.  As a kid I remember watching CBS’ Cartooniverse.  Here in eastern Holland’s Achterhoek region, things are different.

We begin with stripping night clothing from kids (and adults) to begin the many loads of clothes washing. Regardless of season, when driving on Saturday morning down the streets of any Dutch village, every second story window is filled with duvets and pillows dangling precariously from the sills in a giant pile – presumably to air them out but how much air they get scrunched tightly into a ball is anybody’s guess. The rest of the house is under the clock in a tightly choreographed blizzard of cleaning activity. 

To not participate in this ritual, even if ill, is to risk becoming the victim of a national past-time – being talked about by your neighbors. The Dutch are so proud (or scared) of their cleaning ritual that many do not invest in window curtains so neighbors can peer in during their evening stroll to see for themselves how clean the house is kept. This is a nation of voyeurs.

Saturday morning is also time for weekly grocery shopping.  Every village has an outdoor market. Come rain or shine, trucks arrive in the center at dawn and everything from fruits and vegetables, fish and meat to cheese and clothing are hawked by vendors screaming the latest bargain. 

Like a floating crap game, these markets move seamlessly from town-to-town on specific days that everyone has memorized. If you miss the Friday morning market in Vorden, you can catch the afternoon one in Ruurlo or the Saturday market in Doetinchem. 75-year old grandmas ride bicycles with saddle bags loaded to the brim. Many a time I have arrived at my destination completely breathless for fear of one of these grandmas ovetaking me. If that is iminent, I pull over, feign injury, walk it off and mutter at how fast these crazy old people ride their bicycles.

If foolish enough to step between a Dutch woman and a bargain, you risk permanent injury. Even with 20 people waiting, everyone knows precisely who arrived when and whose turn is next.

While we enjoy the outdoor markets, a trip to the supermarket with two children under three is enough adventure for me. I grab the list, plastic packing crates – we all refuse to spend 10¢ a bag for supermarket bags – and place them in the car. 

In many continental European countries, the hyper-market concept is not supported. Instead of 20 brands of peanut butter you get two choices, the store brand and one other. Here the businesses are small, family owned and run by people trained in the Dutch smile and shrug system of customer service – “what do you want me to do about it”. 

Saturday shopping is critical because when the stores close at 6:00 p.m. (even earlier in some cities), if you don’t have it, you can’t get it ANYWHERE. Gas stations sell gas, convenience stores (I laugh using those words together) do not exist. When stores close they do not open until 1:30 in the afternoon on Monday. 

One weekend a month we have a “Shopping Sunday” when stores open between 10 and 5 (except grocery stores, which remain dark).  Like the floating markets, each city has a different evening (only one of them) each week when stores are open until 9:00!  If that’s not crazy enough, many stores close at mid-day for an hour-long lunch “pause” and everything shutters promptly at 6:00.  If you’re unfortunate enough to work between 9 and 5 that’s just too bad.

The Dutch are ingenious (OK cheap).  They solved the problem of hiring someone to go out into the parking lot and round up shopping carts by attaching a coin holder to the cart into which you must place a 50¢ piece. Since every Dutch person has the first penny they ever earned, they know you will return the cart to get your money back. 

We grab a cart and race around the aisles like passengers riding in a carnival’s bumper car race.  Shopping cart etiquette does not exist inside a store. Here knee, ankle and shin guards are required as any opening small enough for a cart is grabbed like NASCAR drivers changing lanes at Talledega.

The checkout area is comical as there are never more than two cashiers on duty.  So we all stand and fume while the manager hides in the bathroom and everyone lowers their heads and runs.  If, by chance, a new lane opens, the rush is not unlike pulling the drain plug on the bathtub.

Come to think of it, this is not so different from America…