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A memory of the early 60's is of the family's move from Indonesia to Holland. Ah yes, Holland, The Promised Land! We arrived at the Amsterdam airport (Schiphol) on August 30, 1961. I was eleven years old. It was Summertime, the sun was shining, but it felt cold; the weather somewhat improved throughout the day, but not much. However the excitement of things to come made us forget about the cold and we were looking forward to what the day would bring us. Thoughts of: "What would the Dutch people really look like? Like us? But no, the people in Holland were white....I would finally meet the people I read about in the school books and from stories told by Aunts and Uncles who were fortunate to have spent holidays in Holland. "

So, there we were, all 9 of us and other Indo's finally in Holland, "the promised land". All the passengers were looking through the airplane's little window, trying to get a glimpse of the Dutch people, or anything Dutch for that matter. It shouldn't be a surprise to us, because the flight attendents were Dutch. (Only in those days they were known as stewards and stewardesses!) We all were filled with anticipation. I was nervous and excited at the same time. Everything I knew about Holland went through my mind. The canals, the cheese, the husky Dutch boys and girls with rosy cheeks and of course, the wooden shoes.

Where were they? I couldn't see one single person other than those who were on the airplane with us. Perhaps the whole group was thinking what I was thinking! Where are these Dutch people? After what seemed like ages we were finally allowed to leave the airplane. All were filled with anticipation. While descending the airplane stairs I tried to take everything in...but it was too much! The Dutch scent, (a mixture of coffee, strong cigarrettes and cheese), the scenery (lots of green, farms and water ways), the seemingly organized airport. Suddenly my attention was taken by my dad telling us to speed up because customs are awaiting us. "We can't let them wait," he said. "We have to show them good manners!"

DC-10 plane took us to Holland

A group picture taken in Hotel Riche, Boxtel ca. 1961

Backyard at the Wielewaal 43, Geldrop
from left: CanIndo-Dad-Rene-Bil

We entered the terminal and were finally going to be rewarded with glimpses of the Dutch people. And there they were... but they are all dark, some even darker than we are! Where were the blonde people? My dad, always the instigator, started a conversation with one of the workers and found out that he was from Italy. He also said that there are many "gast arbeiders" (guest workers) in Holland from Italy, Portugal, Yugoslavia etc. So that explains the dark skin! We all fell at ease, because the people in this country were really not much different than the one we just left. I guess people are all the same all over. But the country, yes that makes the difference. We all felt at ease here. Couldn't say that about Indonesia. But that is another episode. We had to get used to the Dutch accent, it's not the same as our Dutch. Of course we speak dutch with a slang!, We are called the Indo's, with our Indo habits and our Indo customs. Later, when we've (the indo's) acquired a bit of a Dutch accent, it is said that we speak with a "potato" in our throat.

We continued our walk to customs and noticed that a man, a white man, walked up to my dad and started a conversation with him. It turned out that this man was the supervisor and wanted to know why my dad was talking
to one of his employees. (Over the year we will find out that the Dutch are a curious bunch of people. Specially when they have a title, like boss or supervisor.) Anyway, we also found out that the dutch don't have a sense of humor or at least not the kind we were used too. Because the man also wanted to know where my dad learned to speak dutch so well. On which my dad replied that most of the passengers in this plane learned it from the crew, during our flight to Holland! To which the man replied: "You people from Indonesia are very smart! That is good!" We all had a good laugh afterwards.

For me everything was an adventure. I had no idea what lies ahead, and figured to just take it as it comes.
After going through customs, we all were taken, by bus, to a house somewhere downtown Amsterdam. We were greeted with coffee and a tray loaded with cheese and ham sandwiches. Hours later back in the bus. Our bus was heading for the southern part of Holland. We would make a few stops along the way and drop off the families at the pension of their placement. Then finally it was our turn; we were dropped off in Boxtel at the pension Riche. We were assigned 3 rooms and were told that at certain times of the day we were to line-up downstairs and pick up our food. This includes breakfast, lunch and dinner. The boys room ( my older brother and 2 younger brothers and me) was on the main floor and the window looked out on an alley leading to the local theatre. I don't think is in business anymore.

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