Cogs can think.

For years now, I have been wondering why it always appears as if Dutch people have this strange connection to their homeland. And I mean ‘homeland’ in the literal sense of the word: land, as in dirt, sand, clay, mud, you know. Why is it that us Dutch generally despise what foreigners refer to as ‘Dutch culture’ (those cheesy clogs, windmills, ‘traditional’ clothing, that sort of pointless crap), but still tend to have such a deep bond with the dirt they grew up on?

The first thing to note is that not everyone in The Netherlands appears to have that same bond. Roughly, you can divide the country up in two areas: the west, where this special bond is prevalent, and the east and south(east), where this bond appears to be less prominent, but instead replaced by a connection to the local culture and heritage of those areas.

And then it becomes obvious for anyone in The Netherlands that we have this special bond because unlike just about any other country in the world, we Dutch actually built half of the land we live on. We claimed it from the sea, we built the dikes to protect it, we built the mills and pumps which keep the west of our country (including my hometown and surroundings) dry to this very day - my ancestors fought for this land not a in a bloody-and-violent kind of way, but in a we-need-to-bloody-hell-keep-pumping-or-else-we’ll-drown kind of way.

Which in turn, if you ask me, has created this special feeling that I have when I’m driving through Noord-Holland, my home. I would be perfectly well capable of living in other countries with a culture very similar to ours (Scandinavian countries, mostly), but I’d miss the actual soil I made my first steps on. There’s a reason I’m never all that joyous to go on vacation.

In the end, all I’m trying to say is that I, in all honesty, don’t give a rat’s ass about clogs, windmills, loose drug policies, euthanasia and all that nonsense - seriously - all I really care about and feel attached to is this glorified swamp I call ‘home’.