by Karel Bagijn
FOR FIVE years now, I am leading the life of a part-timer. Two months here, and two months there. Here is where I am, there is where I am not. I fly back and forth between the Netherlands and the United States about six times a year and the difference couldn’t be starker. In Laren I live near the Westerheide nature reserve with a half acre yard full of beech trees and birches. In New York City I live on Fifth Avenue next to Central Park with a balcony of about 200-square-ft and I am surrounded by high-rises, some of which are 1500 feet tall or more. When I look out from my 32nd floor apartment, elevation 350 ft, I think I am in a low-rise building myself.
I am often reminded of two writers who lived in the East Indies before World War II, E. du Perron and Willem Walraven. I became acquainted with them in high school. Du Perron wrote a book about life in two countries, Het Land van Herkomst. Flying back and forth was out of the question for him. An ocean-liner with annoying and especially boring people and bad food on board was the only available means of transportation between Holland and the East.
In 1936, the writer, born in 1899 in the East Indies in Meester Cornelis, fled the Netherlands because of financial problems and the impending doom of war from Germany. But the reunion was no fun. From Bandung in Java on November 17, 1936, he wrote to his friend Jan Greshoff about his country of origin: “At the moment, frankly speaking, this country is very oppressive to me.”
The book of letters by Willem Walraven, who was born in 1887 in Dirksland and died in a Japanese prison camp in Java in 1943, is a kind of bible for me. That’s a guy who knew how to write. Not only for a Java newspaper, but also in his wonderful “Letters” (1000 pages, published by Van Oorschot) which are a true document humain. Walraven, married to a Javanese woman with whom he sired eight children, could not go back to the Netherlands. There was no money for that voyage with such a large family. To every new Dutch arrival in the East Indies, he said, “Do you have your return ticket in your pocket?” And, “A white man cannot walk under palms with impunity.”
IN 2024, I am a child of immense globalization. Fortunately, I have no shortage of round-trip tickets to the USA. And I have no problem with walking under palm trees. On the contrary. If it gets too cold in New York, I can be in Miami in no time. In that sense, as a part-timer, I am a lucky bunny. New York City is wonderful. The finest museums, jazz concerts, and all the great European symphony orchestras visit there every year.
As I said a few years ago to an HP/De Tijd reporter who wanted to know what it’s like to live in two countries: ”Wonderful. If Dutch people want to walk in New York City they should take the plane. The elevator from thirty-second to the ground floor will do for me. And when I’m done with all the energy here, I go back to Laren for a while.”
* Karel Bagijn was a reporter for three Dutch newspapers and a correspondent for BBC Caribbean Service. Retired, he commutes between New York and Laren, the Netherlands.
