The Big Pear

Unlike my recent trip to Peru and Argentina — where I was overwhelmed with relief at being able to speak Dutch after nearly three weeks of limping along on extremely primitive Spanish — I was slightly less enthusiastic about my triumphant return to the Netherlands today after a long weekend in New York City.

This is hard to believe, I know.

To be fair, comparing New York to anywhere other than, say, Singapore, is comparing apples and oranges.

Or, as the Dutch say instead, apples and pears.

As a side note, comparing the comparison of apples to oranges with the comparison of apples to pears pretty much sums up my entire experience in the Netherlands.

As far as I'm concerned, apples and pears are just minor variations on the exact same same fruit, so the Dutch version of this expression makes no sense whatsoever.

But it's still hard not to compare and contrast — and then to feel giddy about five days in New York in all of its messy, imperfect, exquisitely quirky variety.

Which includes (but is by no means limited to) bicycle polo and letterpress stationery boutiques and Sri Lankan groceries and tranny bingo and martini bars and Naked Boys Singing and Economy Candy and Sunday morning Chinatown soccer league scrimmage and scary George Condo portraiture and brunch places where you can get a scramble made with pico de gallo and fried matzo.

This list, incidentally, makes me wonder where the Dutch get their fast-held idea that all Americans are irredeemable prudes.

I mean, come on, people: we have places where you can buy letterpress stationery!

(On second thought, I confess that I feel somewhat anxious to note here on the Internets that we did not actually attend Naked Boys Singing. But we could have if we had wanted to.)

True to form, I also spent a little bit of our time on the Lower East Side shopping for staple items like Q-tips and deodorant.

Plus two highly coveted boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.

Because nothing says "shopping in New York City" like powdered cheese mix.

At one point during this hamster spree, my friend looked in my shopping bag and asked, "So how much of that are you able to get in the Netherlands?"

I tried to keep the vein from popping out of my forehead while answering, "None of it!!!"

My bliss lasted right up until the very end of the trip, when I snagged the last Sunday New York Times on the stands and ordered a giant cup of tea from Peet's Coffee at JFK.

I curled up in a corner of the departure lounge at B20 to enjoy my delicious hot beverage and an actual, physical copy of my favorite newspaper.

The only distraction from my happy place was four Dutch ladies chatting it up a few seats away.

I'm ashamed to admit that I considered in all seriousness whether there was a nice or even remotely justifiable way to ask them to PLEASE STOP SPEAKING IN DUTCH — but in the end, I concluded that no, there really was not.

But luckily for me, they (eventually) returned to their romance novels and I was able to enjoy my last few moments on American soil in peace, quiet and total denial.