Last night about thirty of us - Aarnoutse, Schippers, Maas and O'Briens and our extended families - gathered at Renee and Api's to celebrate Sinterklaas. We came from Dordrecht, Hook, Rotterdam, Sydney and Canberra. It was a corker of a night.
Sinterklaas is the dutch father christmas. He is an omniscient, bishop-like figure with a shepherd's staff. Like the pope, but younger and he does house calls.
He arrives in late November by steamship from Spain. He is accompanied by Swarte Piet, his black helper. Swarte Piet has a face painted black and is dressed in renaissance silk pantaloons and vest. I was reminded of an Indian jockey.
Both characters are relatively recent in dutch mythology, shaped mostly by authors and illustrators since the 1850s (that is, a hundred years or so after our house here was built!). They are not without controversy, which I will, uncharacteristically, shy away from here. You can find out more.
Sinterklaas has kept a book on you - he knows everything. If you have been good, you are showered with lollies and gifts. If you have been bad, you are bundled into Swarte Piet's sack and spirited away to Spain. And we have booked Sinterklaas and Swarte Piet for six thirty! The tension is palpable.
But first, we feast! Everyone has cooked up a storm. There are tord man pla, samosa, satay, nasi and bami, a spicy, Turkish pastry and more. Syl and I have bought up big at the kaasboer.
The snow outside the back door is the dutch beer fridge. There is a huge stash of wine and beer. Although it looks to me to be enough for a month, the Australian factor has been underestimated. There will later be a mercy dash for another crate of Heineken.
The kids while away the time decorating huge speculaas Sinterklaas biscuits with icing and lollies, nibbling at their creations as they go. And playing in the snow. For it is snowing heavily - big dry flakes are wafting down to form a deep layer over previous falls. Ideal for the sled that has appeared from Api's shed and the snow fights that reach battle status.
The aussie kids hook into all this without a blink. To me, they look like characters in a fairy tale. This is the christmas I saw on TV as we flopped listless on the lounge after sweating our way through Mum's roast chook.
A loud rap on the window announces the arrival of Sinterklaas and Swarte Piets, three of them. Noa, two, wails in fright, but quickly settles as Sinter opens his book. Each child takes a turn at his side as he reviews their behaviour over the year. Sinter has praise for their achievements. They bask. He has dirt they could not imagine. They grimace and blush. Even urbane Caity squirms away.
Miraculously, the children all pass muster. Presents appear and no-one is whisked away to Spain. The kids go back to snow-fights and sled rides. Sinter marches off into the snow and his next gig.
Adults return to their nosh and drinks, occasionally braving the cold to pull kids around on the sled, or pelt them with snow. It is so cold and the snow so light, that snow balls can only be formed gloves off, with the warmth of your hands. Hugh and Lachlan, especially, are in their icy element, clobbering us mercilessly with snowy mortars.
Heerlijk!
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