Open windows

Increasingly I prefer walking around to the prescribed stops in guidebooks.  This is only partly because I’ve begun to schedule many outings around the delicious things that I plan to eat.  In an earlier post, I wrote about how the extensive Swahili greetings reflect a cultural concern for the well being of both the individual and the community.   Much like language, I think that street life can give you glimpses into a national psyche.  What people are doing on the streets is a clue about what is important to the people who live there.

This idea came to me over and over again during my recent trip to the Netherlands.  First, it seemed like every street was home to buildings from the seventeenth century.  And most of these buildings were in use.  How could I tell? Because almost every building, new and old, had an expansive picture window, all unfailingly showcasing the contents of the building.  Faux finished metallic vases with stark white flowers and blue and white china patterns were the most common window ledge decorations, with the occasional serene Buddha head or potted orange plant breaking up the clean lines.  Astonishingly, most residential dwellings were on full display – immaculate sitting rooms and kitchens, with views clear through to matching picture windows at the back of their homes.  Literally, people had put their lives on display. 

My naturally curious inclination adjusted quickly to this voyeurism – how do people live in such an organized and stylish way?  Does everyone live this way?  Arriving on a Wednesday, I grew accustomed to glimpsing into each home that I passed.    Each was the starting point for a storyline: the young family whose daughter was obsessed with pink princesses, the epicure with an addiction to stylish multi-coloured kitchen gadgets, the wholesome couple meeting each evening over a sturdy reclaimed wood kitchen table.  Soon I came to believe they wanted me to look in their windows, to speculate about who and what they were.   

And so I obliged – until Saturday rolled around.  My gaze suddenly began to meet the eyes of the people living in these pristine homes.  Unfailingly, I was the one who always looked away, embarrassed to catch them spending time with their families or reading their newspapers and drinking coffee.  No one seemed concerned that their daily activities were essentially a form of street theatre.  I was floored when my friend and guide pointed out that some homes have what is essentially a rear-view mirror mounted outside, so that the goings on of the street can be viewed from the comfort of one’s living room – two independent dramas, each being witnessed by the opposite party.

I couldn’t help but wonder about the significance of this.  In North America, we build fences and draw our shutters and even the famous beg for their privacy.  I acknowledge that it would be foolhardy to make any meaningful conclusions about an entire culture after only six days.  But maybe there is a connection between the liberal attitudes that the Netherlands is known for and its ubiquitous open windows.  The sacredness of privacy reduced in exchange for the opportunity to sate a basic human curiosity about each other’s banal daily lives.  Does this duality of being both the performer and the spectator result in being satisfied by seeing some and not all?  Does it foster a cultural sentiment of living and letting live?

And so, a trip that I intended to be defined by a visit to a dear friend and copious amounts of beer and cheese inevitably became yet another about the ideas of living.