Running the Gauntlet: Notes from Our Stateside Adventure

Well, well, well…look who’s (barely) survived six weeks back in America. If you’re wondering how it’s going, imagine running a marathon that involves selling all of your cars, figuring out what to keep and what to give away of everything you've ever owned, all while living in friends' houses (super generous friends, by the way) and trying not to be in everyone's way. Yep, that about covers it.

Let’s play a fun game called “Daily Crisis Roulette,” shall we?

Challenge 1: Purge every scrap of furniture we’ve owned since Obama’s first term. Farewell, weirdly sentimental white board!

Challenge 2: Master the international cat passport drama. Europe says, "Get Chonkle’s paperwork less than 10 days before your flight!” The USDA says, “You must get the passport at least 14 days before you travel.” So I’m negotiating between two bureaucracies on different continents, both of whom seem to believe cats can teleport.

Challenge 3: Our home security provider accidentally canceled our security plan, requiring us to spend 90 minutes at a house where we’ve already moved out intentionally triggering every sensor in the house to verify that they work, just so they can protect a house that only contains a bunch of staged furniture.

Every day brings a fresh surprise.

Not one to be outdone, fate dialed up the insanity a couple weeks ago: our Dutch landlord called and, with the casual tone of someone discussing dinner plans, informed us, “You must move out.” Oh, sure—just after we nearly signed a five-year lease! Cue three hours on Dutch Zillow, desperately hunting for anything between “Houseboat With Goose Problem” and “Windmill, Must Be Comfortable With Heights.” 

Spoiler: We think we actually found a new place—a mere 200 meters from our current spot. (Location, location, location!) The landlord even loaned us a local “assistant” a.k.a. our brand-new Dutch house elf. But can we commit before seeing it ourselves? Nah. So, we’re flying over 10 days early just to scope the place out, hoping to whittle down at least one mystery from the daily chaos grab bag.

Amid all this, being home has been fantastic—especially reconnecting with people we’ve missed. (Apologies to the folks we didn’t get to see; our new life motto is “Plans Subject to Sudden Flailing.” Let’s pencil in something for December, when hopefully “packing up a transatlantic life” won’t be on the to-do list.)

And this expository wouldn’t be complete without a mention of American food. You have not tasted true joy until you’ve experienced guacamole after a year in a place where fruit is basically crunchy water and “salad dressing” comes in two flavors: “vaguely sad” or “totally bland.” If forced to choose one cuisine forever, I’d oscillate between Tex-Mex and BBQ—honestly anything not involving herring, endive, or mayonnaise as a beverage would be ok with me.

Mike and Alex enjoying ice cream that it seems like only Americans can make. Italian gelato is amazing, but it's tough to get a treat this good in the Netherlands.

And I am continuing to bask in the friendliness that seems to be uniquely American. Being greeted by every Target cashier with “I hope your day is going great

!” in a tone usually reserved for lottery winners? It’s everything. I plan to mainline this effusive cheerfulness every trip home, then hoard it for colder European days.

We are genuinely bummed to leave beautiful California (again), mostly because we’ll miss you all. But hey, that’s what this blog is for: keeping up, sharing stories, and hopefully, giving you a reason to come visit us in Amsterdam. Just bring guac.