One of the big draws for spending a couple years in The Netherlands was to connect Ben and Sophie to their Dutch heritage. Extended family. Language. Culture.
And culture has been flying thick and fast this holiday season. It started even before Thanksgiving, with the traditional arrival in The Netherlands of Sinterklaas – or Sint Nikolaas, the Dutch version of St. Nick and the basis for the North American legend of Santa Claus.
There are a few key differences in the legends. Rather than coming from the North Pole, Sinterklaas comes from Spain. Rather than being pulled through the air in a sleigh by eight tiny reindeer, he comes by boat accompanied by a contingent of Swarte Pieten (suh-varr-tuh pee-ten) or Black Peters, who are his Moorish helpers. And rather than arrive on Christmas Eve, he shows up in mid-November and parades across the country before depositing bags of gifts on each doorstep on December 5. That’s the eve of the anniversary of the death of St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children.
The run-up to Sinterklaas, as December 5 is commonly known, is an ever-increasing frenzy of anticipation that makes the build-up to Christmas Eve back home seem downright timid by comparison. Sinterklaas’ boat arrives and he’s greeted nationwide by parades in every town. A legion of Swarte Piets runs to and fro for the next three weeks, thrusting candy and tiny ginger cookies known as pepernoten (paper-no-ten) into the hands of expectant children in every public place.
We figured we’d get the kids up to speed from the get-go. So, on December 19, the day of Sinterklaas’ arrival, we walked five blocks over to Josy’s cousin Philip’s house. We joined him, his wife, Jacobien (yah-koh-bean) and their three boys, Coen (coon), Jacob (yah-kohb) and Olivier (all-ee-veer) in watching the grand Sinterklaas parade that goes down their street. And what a sight to behold.
Around noon, parents and their extremely excited children could be seen emerging from every house and from around every corner. The sidewalks filled with all manner of strollers, eager faces and cameras at the ready.
Soon, down the road just beyond the local molen (mow-lenn) or windmill that now curiously serves as an upscale restaurant, the first glimpse of the parade appeared. A brass band. A division of Swarte Piets handing out pepernoten and other candy. And a big fire engine piloted by the local brandweer (bront-vayr) or fire department.
And then, the Big Guy himself. Sitting high on his white horse, Amerigo. Riding next to a police officer on another horse. Can’t be too careful in this post-9/11 world.
Sinterklaas has no rotundity like a bowl full of jelly. A diet free of trans-fats and high fructose corn syrup keeps this St. Nick physically fit and thin as a rod. And he’s not just decked out in a red REI fleece snowsuit, either. Sinterklaas brings a European sensibility to his wardrobe. He wears a finely tailored red bishop’s robe and hat, and carries a crosier, a long gold colored staff with a curly top.
Coen and Jacob were ecstatic. Literally jumping up and down in their excitement. Gleefully accepting handouts from the Swarte Piets. Staring in awe at the Man in Red riding by up on his noble steed.
Ben was excited too, though somewhat more cautious in his exuberance. Seeing it all for the first time. And not knowing exactly what would come next.
Sophie was and remains a bit freaked out by Sinterklaas. He’s a big man. His face is fully disguised behind a long, white flowing beard. And he sneaks into your house while you’re asleep. What’s not to fear?
We tried to reassure Sophie that the guy was only going to bring her presents and candy. But she’d hear none of it. For several nights in a row, she’d crawl into our bed seeking protection from the Red Menace.
We promised her that Sinterklaas never comes upstairs. He only puts gifts in the shoes you leave by the fireplace downstairs and he’s always so quiet he’ll never wake you up. But, somehow, that image of a tall figure messing around downstairs in the middle of the night and maybe accompanied by his gang of helpers didn’t exactly lull her to sleep.
And what’s up with all the black-face paint on the otherwise fully Anglo-Saxon Swarte Piets, she may have wondered? This aspect of the tradition is reportedly receiving growing criticism as having racist undertones and allusions to slavery. The official Dutch response has been to claim that the Swarte Piets are swart because they all deliver presents and candy down the chimney all the time. For Sophie, yet another sign of illegal breaking and entering. These men surely cannot be trusted.
Every few nights, before the kids went to bed, we’d have them leave out their shoes, sing a Sinterklaas song and leave out some milk and carrots for The Man. That’s right, no cookies. Just carrots. Maybe this explains the lack of an obesity epidemic in The Netherlands.
Ben’s favorite time came on the Sinterklaas day itself. His class filed over to the other building where the bigger kids usually go. They all crammed into a large room while throngs of eager parents stood outside, faces pressed up against the windows, jostling to see through the Sinterklaas decorations taped to the inside of the glass and watch the event unfold.
First came the Swarte Piets, with music blaring from a boom box and pumping up the crowd like the opening act of a rock concert. Mick Jagger would have envied the reception the kids gave Sinterklaas as he was led in by his helpers. The Saint then took the mike, told stories and sang songs with the kids, leaving them enraptured and awed.
To top it off, a local store had donated 120 Swarte Piet outfits to all the students at Ben’s school. These colorful garments resembled the garb of a Spanish troubadour – baggy leggings, a fluffy beret-like cap and a flowing cape. This capped off the celebration for Ben, who proudly wore his Swarte Piet costume with pride and joy – his “Smarte Pete” clothes, as he insisted they be known.
As the dust continues to settle after the Big Day, the Sinterklaas decorations at school and in stores have all come down. In their place, images of a jolly old man with a big belly, elves and reindeer are popping up. Move over Sinterklaas, Santa’s on his way.
Josy and I have anxiously anticipated the obvious line of questioning from Ben and Sophie. Is Sinterklaas the same as Santa Claus? Why the North Pole instead of Spain? Why reindeer instead of a boat? Why elves instead of a bunch of guys running around in blackface? And why is one guy fit as a fiddle but the other could stand to lose a few pounds?
But they haven’t even asked.
Perhaps that’s where the spirit of the Christmas season comes into play. At least the receiving end of that spirit. Over here, they get not just one but two different Saint Nick’s who each bring lots of goodies.
What’s not to like?
Just so long as he stays downstairs and doesn't wake anybody up.
Just returned to Amstelveen from a week's escape for Christmas in Koblenz, Germany with Josy's brother Marnix, his wife Lucy and their daughters Helene (7) and Lizzie (2).
