Celebrating 30 years of being a Rotterdammer-by-choice

Today I arrived at the 30 year milestone of living in Rotterdam. In 1991 I visited the city for the very first time to spend Christmas with family. And just as you might expect, I met my husband-to-be. We got married in early 1994, in New York, surrounded by the people who made up the first 24 years of my life. The goodbyes were hard (they still are) but we arrived in Rotterdam fully loaded with whatever did not fit in the shipping container?and the dreams of the life we would build together.

And even though I chose for a life in Rotterdam and not in New York, you might say that the relationship with Rotterdam had to grow on me. I still remember telling family on the phone that this city was square, and dark.

I missed New York: the hustle and bustle, the bright lights of the city across the river, the leafy street I grew up on, in Astoria. ?

I did not know it at the time, but I was among the lucky few: an expat who arrived in Rotterdam just after the big shiny button labeled “TRANSFORMATION” had been pressed at City Hall.

I had the privilege to be an eye-witness to a city in flux.

The skyline went from being dominated by cranes to being graced by high-rise buildings of architectural prominence. The city’s north and south side were connected by the Erasmusbrug. I remember the day the main pylon arrived from the shipyards further up the Maas River, to be erected in what would be the new heart of the city. Rotterdam's city center was transformed, a delayed continuation of the reconstruction that took place after WWII.

Back then we lived in Oude West, as multi-culti as you can have it. It was a little reminiscent of New York for me. But that bridge, and everything happening at the southern end of it (including the opening of Hotel New York, whose giant red NEW YORK letters on its awnings and back wall seemed to be shouting an invitation especially at me) made me decide that we needed to move to the Kop van Zuid.

It took a while. There were waiting lists. But we are still in that same apartment, with the killer view toward the city center, offering us and the family we raised a living view of Rotterdam, growing and changing every day.

So when did I learn to love Rotterdam?

It needs a little context.

When I still lived in New York fireworks were something I distinctly associated with New York's 4th of July celebration, viewed from Astoria Park. It was a celebration of community, of summer, of the city and of our common adopted history. It smelled of grass and dirt, barbeque and cigarettes, and the lingering smoky aftermath of fireworks. On this night, a steady stream of pedestrian traffic would make its way to the park, as families arrived on the main lawn beside the Hell’s Gate Bridge in droves, folding chairs and coolers in hand.

With territories marked out by picnic blankets, Astorians settled down to enjoy the show. The New York City skyline under a night sky was peppered by short-lived incandescent forms, and the music swelled with the lights, all contributing to a heady feeling of excitement. It would always end too quickly. Packing up went much slower than setting up, and the return home was quieter, most children now with sleepy heads lolling on their parents shoulders.

It's a wonderful childhood memory.

Now, many years later, fireworks are uniquely linked to New Year's Eve, in my mind. In the Netherlands, the transition from one year to the next is marked by bursting blooms, whistles and pops and bangs and smoke. Weeks in advance of the holiday people are making their preparations for that evening, in spite of bans and warnings about the use of fireworks by citizens.

Champagne and oliebollen are bought en masse, but so are fireworks, even with the promise of the National Fireworks Show on the Erasmusbrug (yes, that bridge).

The anticipation for the change of the year is audible, because every evening in the week between Christmas and New Year's someone somewhere would give in to the urge to light something. The celebration on the Erasmusbrug is enormous, and on New Year's Eve everyone takes leave of the year gone by, and welcomes the New Year with jubilation.

One year in particular stands out for me. A few seconds before midnight we gathered in the living room, popped the champagne and watched the countdown on television. It was broadcasted live from the Erasmusbrug and at midnight we saw the sky grow visibly lighter in that direction.

Kisses were given all around, champagne was downed like water and feelings of elation bubbled up as we each felt the slate wiped clean..."new year, new chances", as they say here.

But the best moment was yet to come, as we all pulled on our coats and hats, and rushed to the rooftop to watch the rest of Rotterdam celebrate. In an arc from east to west we could see and hear fireworks of all sorts going off. We were, for at least a few minutes, rendered speechless by the spectacular arches of color, exotic blooms of light, daubs and spatters of fiery paint across Rotterdam's sky.

My daughter and two sons, wrapped up against the cold in warm down jackets, shivered with excitement at each fizz and crackle of a newly lit firework.

I watched their faces glowing under the brilliant multi-colored night sky and understood that this was their moment of association, this was their Astoria Park, this was their hometown, and now it was mine too.