IKEA Adventures

I don't speak Dutch. Even though it sounds quite like a mixture of English and German. You would think that by those characteristics, I do speak Dutch. But, the thing is, I still don't. It doesn't quite add up.

This shortfall in my language abilities became apparent when my roommate and I searched for my bed frame and bedside table at the Netherlands IKEA in Herrlen. Walking around through the chaotic maze, I could clearly see what the objects were that I was looking at. Yet, because the description tag read Hemnes Nachttafeltje or Belangrijkste voordelen or Fauteuil, I felt I could not properly assess the objects. It was as if I needed to understand the name in order to really know what it was. How could I be sure it was a bed frame? Was it really a night table? Maybe it was a special night table and its name held the secret to its specialty. Oh you Nachtafeltje. Maybe you are intended for a completely different usage than I think and I would be using you improperly. I felt out of sorts and unsettled by this.

In the end, though, they were the right price. I was forced to shrug off the nagging feeling that I could be misrepresenting IKEA furniture by disrespecting its intended usage.

The remaining problem was, we were just two people, with three large and heavy boxes, in the Netherlands, and needing to get back to Aachen. Taxis refused as I swayed under the weight of my 6 foot long bed frame box. The buses and trains were our only option. Yet, there were no proper-sized buses passing by Dutch IKEA. Eight passengers only on these buses. Eight passengers. How can they even call it a bus?

The bus driver arrived, surveyed the growing number of people wanting on her bus and then made us choose who got on and who was to be left behind. What a cruel, last-to-be-picked-for-kickball method of transportation. Luckily, a very kind Dutch-Middle Eastern family felt sympathy for our strange foreignness and large packages. They made sure we were let on the bus.

The only thing was, nine people got on the eight passenger bus. Our boxes were already stowed between seats when the bus driver looked at her passengers with bitter annoyance and ordered someone to get off. In Dutch, of course. But unlike with the names of my new furniture, sometimes, you just don't need to understand the words to know the meaning. Fortunately, a suitable solution was drawn. Someone else was kicked off the bus. We remained with our packages and drove off to maneuver the train station.