In all honesty, it’s not very difficult to adjust to the American way of living at all. Some things come quite naturally. Others customs we would not think of adopting, even when threatened at gun point. Let me give you some insights on how we are coping.

This year we have bought not one Christmas tree, but two, massive Christmas trees. Still, Frances went about it the European way. Rolled up to the local garden centre in her little Ford Focus and told the guy to “shove them in the boot”. His reply was: Lady, you need to get your husband to come round with his pick-up. That’ll give you some idea of the size of these damn trees. I’m hoping for a big bonus in January as we also had to spend an extraordinary amount of money on lights, balls and all sorts of decorations. And of course, we have Christmas lights on the outside of our house as well. I bought 400 feet of these Christmas lights strings. Barely covers the front porch! Still getting adjusted to American sizes.

So we have our two massive Christmas trees, enough Christmas lights to light up the whole of Den Haag, and we’re still known locally as the “funny European couple that doesn’t do Christmas”. A true American would think nothing of bringing down the national grid when he powers up his Christmas lights.

One particular American habit I enjoy and have picked up quite naturally is to always have some sort of drink in your hand whilst driving. I stop at every petrol station for refills. They call them gas stations here, but I’ve checked and it is definitely a liquid coming out of the filler pistol. So we don’t adapt to this vocabulary. The Americans, clearly, got it wrong. It’s petrol not gas. And I’ve grown particularly fond of the “low fat vanilla Cappuccino”. Got my own insulated cup that travels with me all the time. Mind you, choice is everything here in the US. So even the tinniest of petrol stations will have at least 24 different flavors of coffee available. We’ve lost count of the number of soft drinks.

As you might recall our US home has two dish washers which seemed a bit extravagant at first. I’m happy to report that had we had a third dish washer that one would have got used too!

There have been a few serious cultural clashes as well. Frances has made her mark on the US retail sector. In particular those unfortunate souls that tried to sell her a washing machine and dryer. You see, in Europe every piece of garment comes with a label with very precise washing and drying instructions; e.g. 35 degree celsius, 60 degree celsius, 45 degree celsius, 90 degree celsius, 25 degree celsius. Then there are separate instructions on the material, cotton, silk, polyester, and specific instructions for the drying cycle.  All of that is matched by programs that reflect all these different settings on every washing machine and or dryer sold in Europe.

In the US every bloody washing machine and or dryer comes with the settings cold, warm or hot. Or as Frances put it; thrashed, ruined or shrunk! So within minutes Frances had the store manager mobilizing several staff members on this problem. Two members of staff were googling to try and figure out a correlation between cold/warm/hot and degrees centigrade. Several others where hauling washing machines still in the box out of the warehouse, opening the boxes and going through all the manuals. After three hours Frances let them go, but not before telling them they should upgrade their stock to European specification.

But Frances will admit there’s one very attractive option that our US washing machine and dryer have that all our European machinery sadly lacks. When finished it will whistle a little very pleasant tune to you! The Europeans ones just stop! In fact every piece of machinery in the house whistles at us. If you leave the fridge open for more than five seconds it’ll whistle too. The smoke detectors whistle when it’s running low on battery power. Frances thinks it’ cute, it drives me bonkers.

Next to a washing machine and dryer we also needed a new telly. Lucky for us the shop we were in was so huge that the electronic department was in a different time zone from the house hold goods. Word about the odd European couple had not reached the electronics department. Lucky us. So I tell this spotty kid I need a new telly. After some cultural alignment on what a telly is, he asks me: Ye want 50, 60 or 90 inches mister? So I tell this punk kid who was wearing a badge saying he belonged to the “Geek-Squad”, that it needs to fit into my Jaguar. “Don’t know that car Mister, most of our customers bring their pick-up when they buy their new television.”

We got a telly that fitted into the Jaguar. Got it hooked up to the digital cable and we now have about five hundred channels. I find myself watching reruns of MASH and Married with children. That’s the best US television makers have on offer. Not much different from Europe then!

Of course, in Europe we have public and commercial television. Which means you get MASH and Married with children with or without commercials.

In addition to our washing/dryer/telly experience we also added a “buying a hoover” in the US - experience. We went to the same store as they hand out coupons on everything you buy! Americans lover their coupons! And we have quickly adjusted to them as well! So in we walked again, staff diving behind their counters. Frances managed to grab hold of one of the staff who didn’t make his getaway quickly enough. She made him take down each and every single hoover from the shelves. Frances then proceeded to ‘test drive’ each and every hoover. After each model she told the poor sales guy her opinion and made him agree with her, model by model: “This one is too heavy. Feel it for yourself! Don’t you think this one is more heavy than the last one” etc. etc. etc.

Frances wanted to understand the differences between the 39 models on display. Well, it’s pretty simple; The Dyson is so powerful it’ll rip your carpet off the floorboards! All others are pretty much the same except for the price and the brand! How’s that for some fancy salesmanship!

I think all of these hoovers are ridiculous anyway. They all look like props from Star Wars.

We did settle on one particular model though. In particular Frances liked one of the little attachments. Of course, when we got home that was the part that’s missing, obviously. So it looks like another fun trip to our retail shop soon. First we’ll claim our coupons though!

Next to the coupons there’s a phenomena called mail in rebate

This is even more complicated than coupons. The mail in rebate system requires that you submit prove of purchase. You would think that sending them your receipt would be simple enough. However, to get even the most simplest of rebates you need to send in as a bare minimum:

- receipt

1. -proof of the original package the product came in
   

2. -copy of your credit card
   

3. -original birth certificate and your marriage certificate
   

4. -fourth page of the manual
   

5. -Certificate of good behavior
   

6. -Copy of your
   

7. -Social security number
   

8. -Copy of drivers license or any other official I.D.
   

To make the process even more frustrating you will also need to download a form from the respective shops/manufacturers websites. These forms never work and you spend a few hours on the phone with their customer service representative.

It takes an average of 16 weeks before you will receive your cheque in the mail. Yes, all your Europeans, you read correctly; cheque in the mail. Forty years ago the Americans put a man on the moon, but until today they still use cheques to transfer money, pay bills, or for that matter reimburse you on the mail in rebate system. I hadn’t owned a cheque book since 1979! You can do a bank transfer via Internet. Cost $ 10,-- per transfer and most likely another $ 10,-- on the receiving end. On the up side; I can walk into any petrol station and buy my coffee ($ 0.79) and pay with my credit card. I have been here for nearly five months and I have yet to pay cash for anything! In the Netherlands most shops won’t even allow you inside if they suspect you have a credit card on you!

We always thought of the US as one nation. And it is of course, but in many ways it isn’t. Let me explain. When I moved from the Netherlands to the US I ended up in Overland Park, which is a suburb of Kansas City, in Johnson County, Kansas. I got my driver’s license in Kansas and both our cars were registered and licensed in Kansas. However, our current home is in Kansas City, Jackson county, Missouri. And that meant I had to re-register both cars and get my Kansas driver license exchanged for a Missouri license. State and sometimes county laws can make a big difference.

I still have my Dutch drivers license, but my US Car insurance demanded that I get my US drivers license within 90 days of me purchasing and insuring my Jaguar. Here’s how it went. At 07.30 AM I rolled up to the Kansas DMV. They let me in. First you take an eye test. About 12 seconds. Then there’s some administrative procedures, takes a couple of minutes. Then I took my theoretical test. Which means 36 multiple choice questions. I finished in about four and a half minute with a 100% score. The lady in charge just about fainted and all the civil servants came to congratulate me. Since 1968 nobody had scored a 100%, let alone take the test in four and a half minutes. As one of the officials said: “Them Europeans are darn smart!”. Next was the actual drive test. You take this with an examiner in your own car. In my case my Jaguar XJR. First the examiner  needs to test your car as to whether it is safe to drive. This is done by honking the horn and turning on the indicators. According to American logic any car that can honk  and show turn signals must be safe!
And this is the nation that was surprised and outraged when their space shuttle blew up?

So I drive round the block with the Lady examiner chatting. Her mother came from Germany, a little town called Monschau. Had I ever been there? As a matter of fact, Frances  and I have been there several times over. We’ve been there during our yearly Eiffel event of the Alfa Romeo Spider Register. This little town is known for it’s mustard. Whenever we go there we load up the boot with delicious mustard.

My lady friend examiner was very impressed with me having been to the home town of her mother. Again, a straight pass. Mind you, I did drive round the block without hitting anything! Took all but three minutes.

It is remarkable how the concept of safety can be so different in different countries/cultures. You’d think that the US would have a very astute attitude to safety. They do, but it is very different from Europe.

The other day I was out on my bicycle. I stopped at a little cafe to have a coffee and got chatting with a couple that was sitting next to me. When they found out I had arrived on a bicycle, with no helmet, gloves and or elbow protectors they just about started to hyperventilate. They were extremely worried about my safety. We walked out of the cafe together. Me towards my bicycle and they towards their........wait for it: Harley Davidson! They got on it, wearing flip-flops, shorts and a T-shirt. Nothing else. When I remarked that that was a bit on the thin side, they claimed; oh, we’re only be cruising on the Interstate!! In Europe, nobody rides a bike without helmet, gloves and full body protective clothing even in the midst of summer. In the Netherlands nobody wears a helmet when riding a bicycle, unless you’re racing. You see anybody in the Netherlands on a bicycle, just peddling not racing, wearing a helmet, you are looking at an American expat.

The best story ever about Dutch cyclists and how Americans see it:  click here!

By the way another thing I have learned over the last few months is that in order to qualify for riding a Harley you need to be well over 50 years of age and at least 60 pounds overweight! Not having shaved for a decade helps too.

But more about safety. The other day the airbag warning light came on in Frances Ford Focus. So I checked the (US) manual. This is what is says: If the airbag light illuminates during normal driving condition, pull over immediately and stop the car. Your airbag will not work, contact an official Ford dealer to have it towed to an approved workshop to have it seen to. Do not operate the vehicle, as your safety could be seriously impaired.

This very same airbag light illuminated on Frances Ford Fiesta back in Europe. Here’s what the European manual said: If the airbag light illuminates during normal driving it is likely that your airbag might not operate properly. Be aware of the consequence and have it seen to by a professional workshop in due course.

A very different approach to an identical situation. In both cars the airbag light means exactly the same; your airbag is likely not to deploy properly. The American approach to safety seems to be a sort of pre-emptive safety strike with very precise instructions that need to be followed to the letter. If you don’t , don’t bother to sue us, we’ve warned you!

The European safety approach seems to be to mention what might occur, appealing to your common sense and give you some general advice. Under European law, if you don’t have common sense, that’s your problem, but never Ford’s! Or anybody else’s for that matter.

Frances and I still regard the Americans as true pioneers and settlers. To this day, this nation has a remarkable resilience and robustness to it. I experience it every day at work. There are no problems. Only challenges and opportunities. All the Americans in my team have been made redundant at least once during their career, a couple two or three times. All of them have been self employed for a few years during their career. It doesn’t matter. This is a nation that just gets on with the job and just executes. And they’re are extremely good at executing. The job will get done! No matter what. Collateral damage is not an issue as long as the job gets done. And it’s all down to you. You don’t ask or expect anything to be handed to you on a gold plate. You make your own arrangements and by definition you don’t want the government involved in anything.

We really admire the individual spirit. It is very much what the first settlers were all about. We find it remarkable that next to this “I will look after myself’ there is also this culture of suing left right and centre. Being “thick” in the US is not your problem. You sue the other guy, because he forgot to tell you that you can’t put your hamster in the microwave. That sort of nonsense. For such a great nation, such a shame.

During the last couple of weeks we have been able to add to our US experience some more. This time we have been slugging it out with the medical professions. In Europe there is a strong belief that you will not get medical treatment in the US unless you are properly insured or have at least an Amex platinum credit card on you. Well, I’m very happy to report this European myth is “busted”.

This is what happened. On a nice sunny Saturday morning I decided to go for ride on my bicycle. So I loaded up my Jeep and drove out to one of the many trails around Kansas City. I planned to ride about 55 miles. Although it’s called a trail, this particular one is all paved/tarmac. Easy to ride.

Beautiful day and I was enjoying myself. There are a few hilly parts and one hill was particularly steep. I was going down hill picking up speed as you do. There was a sharp bend at the bottom of the hill and for some reason I did not quite make it! In fact I went off the trail and somersaulted into the undergrowth. Landed on my left shoulder and rolled over, got up, picked up my bike, not a scratch and drove on. My shoulder was hurting a bit, but that was to be expected as I took quite a fall. About half an hour later I ran into a colleague of mine and her husband and we chatted for a while. I rode on and by this time my shoulder was really hurting. I arrived back at my Jeep and by then I could not lift my bike back into the Jeep. I took off my shirt to look at myself in the car’s windows and there was a very noticeable hump on my left shoulder. Somehow I managed to get my bike into the Jeep and drove home. By then I had decided it might be a good idea to have my shoulder looked at by a doctor. Frances was away to visit her Mum and friends in Barbados and was arriving that same Saturday evening. When it comes to medical knowledge I’m very much a layman, but I do know that shoulders are difficult to fix. So before going to the emergency room I thought I’d better go home first, have a shower and put on some clean clothes. No way of knowing what they’ll be doing to me once I step through the doors of the hospital. Seemed like a sensible idea at the time. However, by that time I could hardly move my arm at all. Getting undressed, having a shower and dressing yourself with one arm is not an enjoyable experience. And I was in real pain too.

So I finally make it to the hospital’s emergency room. Nobody asked for ID, nobody asked for insurance, nobody asked for a credit card. All they wanted to know was whether I was wearing a helmet. No, we Dutch don’t wear a helmet when we go out for a little ride on our bicycles. Luckily, they just got on with the job of diagnosing what was wrong with me. Only took one X-ray. The good news or so I was told, was that I hadn’t broken anything but I had a mere shoulder separation. Just about all the ligaments were torn. They did not think I needed immediate surgery, just go home and see the orthopedic surgeon next week. This type of injury often heals by itself. They gave me a sling, pain killers and an appointment with the surgeon. Oh, and they told me not to ride my bicycle for a while! And when I do, wear a helmet!

The shoulder hurt like hell for quite a while, the orthopedic surgeon was nice and didn’t want to operate. (Which is rare for orthopedic surgeons, Frances calls them “hammer and chisel men”). A few days after my fall I also developed a case of pericarditis, caused by the trauma of the fall off my bicycle. Again, not much the medical profession could do, other than prescribe even stronger painkillers. (And don’t ride your bicycle! And when you do, wear a helmet!)

The day after my fall, our daughter Ellen arrived from the Netherlands. Frances and I met her at the airport. I was there with my arm in a sling, conked out on painkillers. Ellen demanded to know what happened to me so I replied: I fell off my bicycle! To which she replied: You fell off your bicycle? What kind of Dutchman are you?

I also had to call my boss on that Saturday as we were supposed to travel to Stockholm together the following day. I told him what happened and that I wasn’t in a fit state to travel. On Monday morning a package arrived for me at the office from my boss. In it a pair of trainer wheels. So everybody seems to have had a really good time over my injury. Still, hurt like hell! But, the ER-staff and the orthopedic surgeon were spot on with their diagnosis. My shoulder is healing by itself. Every day it’s getting a bit better.

Both Frances and I  have also had our first appointment with our US dentist. How do you go about choosing a dentist here in the US. Well, this little pamphlet came through our letterbox.