Ode to the neighborhoods
I lived in Amsterdam for years and there a neighbor is a special phenomenon. I knew them all. The boy with the guitar on the first floor diagonally opposite, for example. Night after night he sat there alone strumming. For a wine bottle that had found a second life as a candlestick. A beer on the left, a newspaper on the right. Suddenly he got a girlfriend and the guitar stood in the corner. I was happy for him, but on the street we didn't greet each other. Then the neighbors across the street. A small square separated us, but I empathized with their family. First just the two of them and soon three children joined. It all just fit in that cramped upstairs apartment. When the children were in bed, he unfolded the couch and the living room became the bedroom. I knew everything, but at the bakery we stood silently next to each other. In Amsterdam, you can live next to someone for a hundred years without knowing their name.
Haarlem was an earthquake. By the way, these are my secret Haarlem addresses. When we arrived at our new house, six little eyes peeked out from behind the hedge. Their mother came walking with a tray of Nespresso for us and lemonade for the children. Whether we were going to hang up curtains. She had seen last time that we had different samples with us. She involves her husband. I swallow for a moment. Privacy is defined differently here than in Amsterdam.
Another neighbor's door opens. Whether we want to come for a drink. I look awkwardly at my daughters, because they want to play in the little park. No problem, the big girls will watch over them. After a month, keys are left with us and when I once stand in front of a closed door, I don't know how quickly to spread mine among the adjacent doors.
Neighbors. I don't go on vacation with them, I'm not present at every drink, and we don't knock on each other's doors all the time. But when I'm there, I enjoy their stories. About their daughters who suddenly have a scooter. About the flag with school bag that suddenly hangs in the window, about the parties in the garden, about the special candies that neighbor A buys for my daughters with Saint Martin, about taking care of newspapers and plants during the holidays, about borrowing a Nespresso pod when you have an intense need for it and yours are out, and about that glass of wine together on the bench in the front yard. Winter is coming and it could very well be that we don't see each other for months, but hereby I let them know that they are the best neighbors. Will you tell yours?
