Every great love story has an unlikely beginning. I have definitely written my fair share of them. 

But moving here from Britain was less of a smooth romantic montage and more of a slow-burn where I spent the first few years bewildered by the language and penchant for raw herring snacks, and the rest of the time bewildered by absolutely everything else. 

I am an expat living life in the Netherlands. And here's what that means dealing with.

The Cycling

Let me be clear, I grew up riding bikes. I thought I knew what cycling was. But it turns out, I did not know what cycling was at all.

In the Netherlands, you see, cycling is not a leisurely activity or a fitness choice. It is basically a religion, and it's also a form of intimidation. Dutch people cycle in heels and suits. They cycle one-handed while eating a sandwich, or making a phone call. I once saw a woman pedalling along, reading a Kindle! 

I cycle with both hands, thank you very much. That's how people know I'm an expat. 

The Directness

The British way, as we all know, is to imply, suggest, or say "that's interesting" when we actually mean "That's really boring, please don't talk to me." 

The Dutch way is to simply... say the thing.

Early on, a colleague told me my idea wouldn't work, explained exactly why, and then made it better herself.. all within about forty-five seconds and all without me asking her to. 

I have learned a lot from this. I am still working on it.

The Weather

People warned me about the rain. What they failed to mention was the wind. The wind here hates people. It will rile up at you from seemingly nowhere and throw you off your bike and under a tram if you're not careful. I have lost count of how many umbrellas I've lost to gusts that seemed specifically targeted at me. I've turned corners in Amsterdam and been hit by a wall of air that rearranged my entire face.

The Dutch response to this is just to cycle faster and wear slightly better jackets (always black). Jackets are always black. The Dutch don't like colour.

The Stroopwafels

No complaints here. None. Moving on.

The Canals

Here's where the love story really starts. Because whatever chaos the day has thrown at me... whatever comedy of errors involving bikes or bureaucracy or the time I accidentally bought someone a 'congrats you're pregnant' card for their birthday because I couldn't read the greeting...  I can sit beside a canal and everything gets nicer.

The light does something extraordinary here in the evenings. It turns the water gold and the old buildings glow and everything is ridiculously gorgeous.. You understand immediately why the Golden Age painters were so successful.

The Part Where I Admit I'm Completely in Love

I didn't expect to feel at home somewhere that initially made me feel so cheerfully incompetent. But that's the thing about the best relationships, isn't it? They don't ask you to be impressive or fluent, or dry and less windswept. They just let you be there.

The Netherlands didn't sweep me off my feet as much as it waited patiently while I figured out how to stay on them and not get blown over

And somehow, I love it even more for it!

Fellow expats, fellow confused arrivals — what has your adopted home taught you? Tell me everything!