Why living in the countryside isn't so terrible after all

I recently spoke about a woman who had started a gallery in the east of the country. ‘But people don't buy art there, do they?’ My conversation partner asked seriously. I wanted to answer that people outside the ring of Amsterdam indeed still wrap themselves in bear skins and tell each other stories around the fire in the evening while gnawing on the bone of a freshly shot cow. I never quite know where to start with comments like these.

When we once exchanged the suburban Nieuwegein (no offense, but not exactly the most picturesque place on earth) for Zeeland, it rained question marks. ‘Zeeland?’ ‘Zééland?’ ‘What do you have to do there?’ At first, we pressed ‘play’ on our promotional spiel. We had a great house for a soft price, my brother could surf there, and my pony could be in the backyard. We would wade in the Oosterschelde after school in the evenings, on warm summer days I could first pick apples from our own orchard and then swim with my pony in the sea. A boy would come by on his moped with fresh mussels and an accidentally caught lobster. The misunderstanding remained. Then comes the phase where you would most like to ask what is so nice about Nieuwegein and why you would want to chain yourself there for eternity. Because it is so conveniently close to the highway? Because the new buildings are so comfortable? You don't do that, because that is rude.

As is often the case, I sought advice from my wise mother. What should I say when I encountered so much unkind misunderstanding again?

She looked at me, laughed her wise laugh, and told me what she always did in those situations. She only needed one sentence to silence everyone. ‘Zeeland. It is so wonderfully close to Paris.’