Numerous indicators have confirmed my suspicions that the Netherlands is, in fact, a strange parallel — or “bizarro” — universe. Bikes have the right of way. Prisoners are kept one to a cell with a T.V., a coffee-maker and opportunity. The Party for the Animals has two seats in Parliament. But nothing about this bizarro world is quite so confounding as the present holiday season. Gather round, all ye who are bored by the promise of mindless consumerism thinly veiled by empty traditions inherited from our various European forefathers, and I will spin you the tale of a winter holiday so strange that it could only have originated in the nineteenth century…
Each autumn, around that time when we Americans are eagerly anticipating the celebration of our victory over turkeys and indigenous nations, Dutch children prepare for the arrival of the Netherlands’ most beloved icon, Sinterklaas. Sinterklaas can be distinguished from his non-bizarro counterpart “Santa” by his nineteenth-century bishop’s clothing and Pope’s hat. I’m not really sure as to why a country that has been Protestant for the past four centuries embraced a Catholic holiday mascot two centuries ago, but perhaps Sinterklaas’s faith has to do with the fact that he is from Spain. Yes, Sinterklaas is from the country with which the Netherlands fought an eighty-year war for independence. The most outrageous detail of bizarro Spanish St. Nick’s story, however, doesn’t even concern the man himself, but rather the “help” he keeps: Sinterklaas has hundreds, maybe even thousands of slaves, all of them named “Zwarte Piet” (Black Piet). The Zwarte Pieten accompany old Sinterklaas to and from Spain, performing all of his manual labor while dressed in the composite costume of a jester, a minstrel and one of Santa’s elves (when asked if anyone found this tradition offensive, my Dutch professor responded, “That’s something an American would ask.”).
When and wherefore do this Sinterklaas and his Zwart Pieten come? Though his official purpose in the Netherlands is to celebrate his birthday on December fifth, Sinterklaas arrives from Spain on a huge steamship in several Dutch port towns, including Amsterdam, in late November. With powers similar to the non-bizarro magic of American Santa, Sinterklaas has the ability to be in many different places at once. Men, women and children of the city come out to watch as their hero enters town, leaning over canal and bridge railings or following along in boats of their own. Little children dressed as Zwarte Pieten with sacks of little round cookies called pepernoten impishly pelt bystanders from the safety of their parents’ boats. Boats of Zwarte Pieten singing Sinterklaas carols herald the arrival of the old man’s ship, which itself carries the Zwarte Pieten band. In Amsterdam, the whole sensually overwhelming experience culminates on the steps of the Scheepvaartmuseum, where the mayor personally welcomes Sinterklaas into town. Then Sinterklaas rides away on his white horse, which will serve as his primary means of transportation until December fifth, upon which date it will carry him to every home in the Netherlands. Bizarro.
Until the fifth, Dutch children will occasionally receive small presents in their shoes at night; the gifts are from Sinterklaas, but, of course, are distributed by the Zwarte Pieten. On his birthday proper, Sinterklaas does not receive gifts from anyone, but is expected to deliver gifts to every good Dutch child. He rides upon his white horse to each Dutch child’s home with a bizarro “book” containing names and permanent records. Good children are given toys, while the possibilities for bad children are considerably more awful (and humorous). A bad child might get a bag of salt, which is still something; a worse child would get a switch, which, as long as no one is hitting you with it, isn’t all that bad; but the worst children get stuffed into Sinterklaas’s sack and taken back to Spain. What happens to them in Spain, God only knows.
Despite the controversy that would surround Sinterklaas were he an American tradition (or a Wesleyan tradition), his bizarro holiday fits unquestionably into this great, bizarro world that is the Netherlands. We should not judge the Dutch for their peculiarity, but perhaps we should ask ourselves just why our Christmas is so non-bizarro.
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