Weighty Matters
In Amsterdam
I walked across the
Vondelpark on my way to meet a friend for dinner.
In the late afternoon of
this sunny, June day, the park was filled with
cyclists, joggers, walkers and those undertaking
many other varieties of strenuous physical
activity.
Some people sat on benches
or were lying on the grass – presumably
enjoying breaks prior to their next sessions of
exercise.
I had visited the
Vondelpark on many previous occasions. Today,
however, as I looked around, something seemed odd.
Unfortunately, I could not identify what that
might be as nothing was obviously different from
previous visits.
It was one o’clock in
the morning when I left my friend and began to
retrace my steps across the park, back to my
hotel.
As I walked, I became aware
of a vehicle drawing up beside me. I glanced to
my left to see a police car.
The vehicle stopped.
I stopped.
‘Goedemorgen, Meneer,’
said the officer to me through the open car
window.
‘I’m English,’
I replied.
‘Ah, good morning, Sir,’
the policeman cheerfully continued. ‘It’s
a lovely night for a brisk, healthy walk across
the park.’
‘It certainly is,’
I responded.
He opened the door of the
police car and climbed out. When he was standing
on the pavement in front of me, I noticed, in the
bright moonlight, that he was carrying bathroom
scales.
He placed them on the
ground. ‘Would you mind stepping onto these?’
he said politely, indicating the scales.
As a seasoned British
traveller, I had long ago learned that the
behaviour of foreigners could be rather strange
– indeed this was often what made them so
endearing. I therefore complied with his request
without further discussion.
The policeman looked at the
dial on the scales. ‘Seventy-nine point four
kilograms,’ he said, almost to himself.
He removed a chart from his
pocket. ‘You’re about one point nine
metres tall, aren’t you?’ he guessed.
‘That’s right,’
I replied.
He consulted his chart.
‘You have a BMI of around twenty-three,’
he concluded.
‘Is that good?’ I
asked.
‘It’s absolutely
fine,’ he replied as he picked up the scales.
The officer got back into
his police car.
‘Enjoy the rest of
your walk,’ he called to me through the open
car window. Then he waved and drove away.
Unusual though this
encounter was, I quickly attributed the incident
to routine foreigner strangeness and thought
little more about it as I continued on my way.
I had walked for another
hundred yards when I heard a rustling behind a
bush to my right. A head popped up above the
leaves. ‘Is de politie weg?’ the man
said to me.
‘I’m English,’
I replied.
‘Ah,’ he
responded, ‘have the police gone?’
‘I think so. Are they
after you?’
The man stood upright and
emerged from behind the bush.
In the moonlight, I could
see that he sported a rather rotund figure –
to the point that he might be described as obese.
‘I like to walk in the park,’ he
continued, ‘but I can only do so at night.
Even then, there’s always the risk of arrest.’
‘Why would they arrest
you?’ I enquired.
He looked downwards at his
own body and then up again at me. ‘Isn’t
it obvious?’ he replied. ‘I‘ve got
a BMI of thirty-three.’
‘I don’t
understand.’
He paused and looked
quizzically at me. ‘You don’t know, do
you?’ he finally concluded.
‘Know what?’
‘Have you been long in
Amsterdam?’
‘I come here quite
often,’ I replied. ‘Why?’
‘Have you never
wondered why everyone in Amsterdam is so slim and
fit?’
I pondered for several
seconds. His question had instantly brought many
things into sharp focus. It was true that I had
rarely seen anyone in the city who was not the
epitome of health and fitness. I had noticed
obese guests checking-in at my favourite hotel.
Strangely, however, I had never seen the same
person twice.
I thought back to my walk
across the Vondelpark earlier in the day. I
suddenly realised why the scene had seemed
peculiar. I had unconsciously compared it to a
walk through London’s Hyde Park that I had
enjoyed just three days previously.
In England, according to
government statistics, over half the population
are overweight or obese. During my twenty minute
walk across Hyde Park, from the Royal Albert Hall
to Speakers’ Corner, I had noted many such
individuals struggling with mobility – at
least partly related to their weight. As I was in
Britain, however, I had not thought this unusual.
Now that I reflected upon
it, I had never seen anyone like that in the
Vondelpark – and very rarely elsewhere in
Amsterdam.
I looked at my new
companion. ‘Why is everyone in Amsterdam so
slim and fit?’ I asked, referring back to
his previous question.
‘Anyone with a BMI in
excess of twenty-nine is detained,’ he
replied.
‘What happens to them
after that?’
‘Foreigners, like you,
are taken directly to Schiphol and deported. They’re
warned not to return until their BMIs are less
than twenty-nine. They’re informed that if
they tell anybody about their deportation they’ll
be banned for life from entry to the Netherlands.’
‘What about those who
are resident here?’
‘They’re
immediately taken to the Port of Amsterdam and
put on a ship. The ship takes them to Griend
Island in the Wadden Sea.
‘On Griend Island
there are fitness camps where they remain on a
strict diet and exercise regime until they
achieve a BMI of twenty-five. They are then
returned to the mainland at Den Helder and can
walk or cycle from there back to their homes.’
‘But I thought the
Netherlands was very liberal?’ I responded
with surprise.
‘With sex, drugs, and
just about everything else, it is,’ my
companion answered. ‘But everyone
must be fit. For example, all Dutch must
cycle at least fifty kilometres each day to avoid
heavy fines.’
Things were now falling
into place. This was why there were so few obese
individuals on the streets of Amsterdam, and my
companion’s last comment explained why so
many people were frantically cycling around the
city at all hours of the day and night.
‘What about you?’
I asked.
‘I, and hundreds like
me, hide in basements during the day and only
venture out in the dead of night.’ He
glanced cautiously around him. ‘I have to go,’
he continued. ‘The patrols come by about
every half hour, and I must get to my basement in
Overtoom, without breaking cover, before the sun
rises.’
Without another word, he
vanished into the undergrowth.
‘Good luck,’ I
called after him.
I stood for some time,
pondering on my two recent encounters. The
incident with the police officer had confirmed
that, with a BMI of twenty-three, I was safe for
the moment. I resolved in future, however, to
take an early morning run around the Vondelpark
– and perhaps an evening cycle ride –
just to be sure.
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