There I am. In front of the VVV (tourist information office and shop) in Groningen. About to go in. One more deep breath. My task? To find a Dutch gift for my host mother who I’ll be staying with in Ecuador. Going gift shopping for foreign friends and strangers might seem innocent, maybe even fun, to some people. My response: try it out yourself and we’ll talk again.
How to decide between a bright orange handbag with tulips on it and the text “I love Holland”, or oven mittens with a Dutch boy and girl in traditional clothing making out? My mind screams: “Pick neither”. But that’s a no go. Arriving with nothing would be considered very impolite. A jar of mustard from my village (traditionally made) isn’t an option either. Out of experience I know that these break open during flights. Not only do you turn up with no present but your whole bag smells like garlic honey mustard for the next couple of years.
So, first of all, this is a question of what people there like. On a different level, it’s about what gift represents a part of my country I would like them to get to know. I’d say bikes. Maybe the flatness of the Dutch countryside, especially in summer. Or even the culture of tolerance that Holland is/was famous for. This is great brainstorming – but all quite impossible to transport. It’s right after this moment, when my eyes have fallen on the windmill tea towels, that I go mad.
The other side of the coin is that when my international friends visit me, I’m the one receiving the presents. I can call myself the proud owner of a Swiss miniature cuckoo clock, the holy family in an egg-shaped stable from Peru, Welsh love spoons for on the fridge and Japanese sticks to eat my rice with. As I leave the shop with a plastic bag full of fake delftware windmills and tablemats, I wonder whether there’s really no other way.