Dutch TV: I left, I saw and I left again…

When you, like me, in Thailand lives, it is not logical that you will watch the Dutch television programs that come from the kitchen of the Largest Family of the Netherlands. I would actually rather say that that doesn't even make sense when you do live in the Netherlands, but that aside.

Recently, however, oh reader, I watched seven episodes of the TROS program “Ik Departure” non-stop in a row on the homesickness site Uitzending Gemist. And it was beautiful. Man oh man, did I enjoy it. I have never seen so many moving containers in one day. Never have I seen so many people hug each other, see them slouch, pat on the back and never have I heard the phrase "this is all for you, huh?" spoken, often accompanied by a sunset and salsa music.

For the cultural barbarians among you who don't know what program I'm talking about, let me explain the format of this Television ring candidate:

Dutch couple/family decides to move abroad permanently, because the couple/family has the eternal patriotic headwind, the leaves on the rails, the hectic life, Gerrit Riemstra, Wilders/halal butchers, the mother-in-law, the NS announcer, and has been fed up with the fake summers for years and want to fulfill their dream of replacing their vinex home on the Côte du Sloot with a B&B on an azure coast.

Camera crew follows the enterprising entrepreneurs for months during the preparations (which often last longer than the final stay in Costa Croketta), the stay -often nothing less than a battle of attrition in obtaining permits, harassing corrupt officials and an ocean of other misery, often the result of misunderstandings in the wake of language barrier and cultural differences - and the inevitable retreat - or so the producer hopes - back to the Netherlands, lashed by westerly winds, which, on closer inspection, is not so bad after all.

After a marathon sitting of three and a half hours “I'm leaving” I couldn't help but conclude that the Dutch are an enterprising people after all; The Van de Kaart family wants to open a resort on Curaçao, where guests can “recreate nudistically” (residents of Curaçao 'not amused'), the couple Rinus and Karin Korstjes want to start a lightweight aircraft center in the Carpathians from a newly purchased farm in a hamlet in Bulgaria (fake contract, money gone), and the lovely couple Frenk and Liesbeth Kralenboer want to start a bar on a Greek island, to “chill out”, (Liesbeth gets homesick for the Netherlands, blows the retreat, Frenk stays behind and blows the retreat three months later, homesick for Liesbeth).

It is striking that with those who do not make it, you already know during the first minute “this is not going to work, this is going to be a disaster”. The victims, because that's what they are - who would be so crazy as to have their upcoming démise filmed and then announce it to the world via the Largest Family of the Netherlands? - constantly talk up their courage: “Isn't it wonderful, those rustling palms December?” sighs Chantal after an exhausting day of finding untraceable bar furniture and being sent from pillar to post by the opposing local bureaucracy. “This is going to be it,” says Fred, walking into an office for the twelfth time for a permit to build a fountain on the patio. Two minutes later, Fred is outside; “Manana. Bunch of monkeys here”

The people movers who seem to make it in the unknown lanes, in all cases have a large bale of money in the bank.

“We sold our villa and I transferred my mud flap factory to my brother,” says Raoul van Venninckhoven in an affected voice, peering over his reading glasses over the model of the resort with golf course that he is going to build on the Caribbean island of Grenada. Raoul does not go for the sun. Raoul doesn't even know that headwinds and NS announcers exist. Raoul goes for the money. That's the spirit. Raoul.

Raoul's almost invisible phone rings. It's his wife, Ageeth. “Why not an international school for the kids? Then we just build it ourselves.”

NB: I have made up all the characters and situations, except for the Curaçao nudist resort, but there I have fictitious the names of the entrepreneurs.