Back when I lived on Ameland I already had a difficult relationship with tourists. Incidentally, they were called bathers there, a nice name, and the Amelanders seemed to view them with even more reservations. It is also not nothing of course.
Blog written by Alan Tijseling – Photo: Guillo Grant
Tens of thousands of them flood your island in the summer, march in everywhere, act as if everything is theirs and if it gets a bit out of hand they also try to pinch your wife on the bottom. And you have to pretend that you think it is normal and actually even great because the mayor, let's call him the DC, explains time and again on the radio that tourism is of vital importance to the island. Let's be honest, most people who work in tourism love to see tourists come with a full wallet but would rather see them leave with an empty one. Now it's not that I hate tourists, I even almost married one a few times but still, I have my reservations. At the moment I am of course a kind of tourist myself, in Botopasi. Although the Botopasians think differently about that. "You have been coming here for so long and so often Alan, tourists don't do that, they walk through the village once and we never see them again. Besides, you are a patient!" Of course there is no arguing with that last point. I really like it here, but I'm not here for fun.
This morning I was relaxed after my morning work out in my house, I wanted to take a bath so the pangi was down. Now the actual function of the pangi is to indicate that there is a patient in the house but everyone has figured that out by now. A big white man hobbling through the village on crutches is something that stands out. The pangi now mainly functions as a privacy code for my friends Baba (8), Chenizia (5) and Pepe (3). Pangi opo is storm but inside, anything goes. Pangi tapu is staying outside! Now that system doesn't always work perfectly which is why yesterday their admittedly neat single but otherwise somewhat less neat aunt dove under my sheet with a scream because Chenizia forgot the code pangi tapu again. This is besides the point. So this morning I was lying comfortably behind the closed pangi when I heard them coming from far away, real authentic Dutch tourists.
“Oh look Henk a rooster! And another one!”
“Yes, that's because they don't have dogs here.” “How do you know that? He should know better. Have you been here before?” “No, Ingrid, that's what the boatswain said just now. Then listen when something is said, but you only chatter.” I freeze in my little house, Lord have mercy, Henk and Ingrid in the bush less than three meters away from me. Only a nest of labarias is worse. Just like aunt, I feel the urge to pull the sheet over my head, but then realize that the pangi is hanging down. It is logical that Baba, Chenizia and Pepe sometimes forget the code pangi tapu, that's what children are for. You can expect adults, regardless of nationality, to respect the privacy of a hung cloth, regardless of the quality of the fabric. Right?
No, not at all. Not from tourists and certainly not from Dutch tourists who fall under the awful marketing term 'active 60-plussers'. I hear the footsteps getting closer and while I think it can't be, the pangi swings up. Henk and Ingrid, both wearing sturdy walking shoes, trousers with zip-off legs and a hip Hans Anders health watch (two for the price of one) on their heads, stare inside unashamedly and unabashedly. Since I think I'm just at home, I stare back even more unashamedly. Ingrid pinches Henk on the arm. "Henk, look, it's a white guy!" Before Henk can say anything back, I think it's enough. "Yes, it's white and it speaks Dutch. Can you explain to me what the hell you're doing in my house?" Henk is apparently also from the active department and responds with, well, you don't have to be unfriendly, but that's what I feel like doing now. “Tell me eco-gnome, if I thunder through your front garden in your Vinex neighbourhood and press my nose against your double glazing, are you trying to tell me that you don’t shout 06-11, the neighbourhood watch, your regional broadcaster and the trauma helicopter at each other? You bunch of senior idiots!
The pangi falls down as abruptly as it went up and the active 60-somethings run away. “That guy is crazy Henk, completely insane! The upside-down world of the tourist with a board in front of his head, you force your way into my house without asking and I am insane. I think it is a pity that cousin Marki’s hunting rifle is not inside with me. A shot of buckshot after it would have finished it off completely. Way above their heads, mind you. Anyway, all’s well that ends well, you might think. Well, not entirely, because of course you don’t need to have a gift of prophecy to understand that two active 60-somethings will be returning to the city tomorrow or the day after. “Well, the interior here is fantastic, and so green! But in bootoopaasie they are a bit unfriendly.” And that is not true. Only the white people in Botopasi are unfriendly. White people with a burning aversion to pushy tourists.
Thanks to Alan Tijseling who allowed me to reblog this. Are you also a good writer and would you like to contribute, send us an email . We are also open to tips if you have read something nice, let us know.
