Dutch Parakeet

 

The Dutch Parakeet

When we moved to the Pijp—a lovely 1930s neighborhood of Amsterdam, I couldn’t have been more delighted.  The historic style of the rows of houses and the abundance of multi-cultural groceries and restaurants promised to supply us with an endless choice of walking routes and dinners out.  I set about painting the apartment in rich, jeweled colors that I felt would provide a suitable backdrop while we sat reading our books.   Everything was perfect.

And then… it got even better.

Spring pulled up her green skirts and made way for a very hot summer.  I had to keep the balcony doors open and the front windows WIDE open (no screens here!) to encourage a breeze.  My husband and I took to eating out on our TINY patio--- al fresco.  We made it into something exotic, but really it was the only way to be able to eat and digest your food without stewing in a bath of your own sweat.  I painted the little patio wall to frame our dinners.  We even started referring to the balcony as the Two Tales Café (partly because we catch up on the stories of each other’s days, and partly because we adopted two precious cats, Sandwich and Lunchbox, who are constantly squeezing their tiny, sleek bodies, onto the balcony while we eat.  Their Two Tales move around the little table like shark’s fins.

One night, as we were dining at the Two Tales Café, I saw a flash of green in the communal garden below; it’s a vast plot of gardens divided up between the people who are lucky enough to live in 1^st-floor apartments. 

“Did you see that?” I asked my husband.

“Oh!” he cheered, ever the biologist, “those are the parakeets.”

Parakeets??? In Amsterdam?  It’s lovely, but it’s not exactly tropical.

And then he told me the story of these parakeets. 

Apparently they escaped (yes, flew the coop) or were maybe released by an owner around 1976. They were originally from Asia, so they were certainly pet birds at one time.  Once wild and free, the parakeets began to breed. They not only survived—they thrived.  Their numbers are growing every year.  And, now that I know to look for them—I see them everywhere I go.  Sometimes there are dozens of plump lime green bodies perched in a single tree; their long, straight tail feathers hanging down like whisks.  And when they take off flying, they ascend into the sky, all at once, and turn the whole world lime green.  It is a magical sight—especially in winter.

I’ve grown so attached to these parakeets, sometimes I sit daydreaming about how much we have in common.  I’m a stranger here too, who came from another place.  I don’t yet speak the language or know quite how to camouflage myself.  But when I see these birds, and of think how they’ve made their way--I realize they are just like all us expats, trying desperately to adapt and even fashion a life that feels like home.  Just today, I saw a collection of plump green bodies, dotting the dead trees in the garden, and thought to myself that I could do no better than to follow their example.    

The Dutch Parakeet:

shot glass if genever (gin)

splash of Reine Claude lemonade (or any green limeade flavoring)

6 ounces apple juice