Interesting how things change. Two years ago I went to Amsterdam and couldn't get enough. It was absolutely magical to me then and I yearned for days when I could come to this city alone to sit on the corner of a canal bridge with a notebook and my camera to soak up the atmosphere then promising myself that it wouldn't be long 'til I saw it all again.This morning I took the train to Amsterdam for the day and though it is still a city that I do love - a city where I could happily spend days walking, photographing, and observing from street corners, it's lost that initial magic. Now I've found other cities.
There are many parts of Amsterdam - busy parts and quiet parts... shopping and art... quiet views and crazy tourists... purity and obscenity. We began at the train station, impressive on it's own, but spewing throngs of tourists and business people alike from its doors in a mad dash to get somewhere, anywhere. And along the main street we pushed through in a rabid zig-zag past junk stores, a sex museum, and the masses of humanity stopping briefly for a flavorless sandwich to keep us going. There I saw a women I later (inspired by the art I saw) thought would make a beautiful painting... her wrinkled dark face wrapped in a colorful scarf. Dark layered clothing. And a stick she held
tightly perched on her shoulder to carry her bags. I later saw her again at the train station as we were leaving. She was the same except for a single lavender mum she held in the same hand that held the dark broken stick. Interesting lady. I would have loved to hear her story.From there we reached the large square where a sea monster and Darth Vador stood on pedestals in front of Madame Tussauds hoping for tourist's coins. Just behind that square and a beautiful shopping mall housed in what looks more like a castle, lies the canal ring - my favorite part of Amsterdam. The rest, really, is touristy shopping areas and museums... but the canal ring seems quieter to me. Quiet and serene - as long as you watch out for bicycles.
Winding slowly through the canal ring, peeking into bead shops and cheese shops, a bakery boasting a 50 year old recipe (funny to hear... 50 years isn't at all old - especially here), and a shop full of beer my husband would enjoy, we stopped here and there admiring windows, canals lined with houseboats, the blooms crawling up the sides of old crooked buildings, and the funny hooks up top that allow people to move large furniture items not up the narrow stairwells, but through the over sized windows.Eventually, we made it to the museum quarter - today's destination of choice. I hadn't been before and my mom wanted to see the masters. We began at the Rijks - still undergoing renovations, the observable collection is smaller than it should be, but still impressive. Wow. The hand painted Delft ceramics are amazing. It's such a testament to the artist' ability to see such depth and texture created with using only layers of one color. Two large doll houses stood behind glass - one much taller than me with a step stool that would have allowed access to its rooms. They both had real silver and real Delft pottery - real linens and perfectly scaled furniture - all exact replication of their larger counterparts. The art itself interested me more than I'd expected. I love impressionist art. That is what generally moves me. Rembrandt is not a painter that I've ever enjoyed. But today, though the style isn't something that I would hang in my home, I was struck by the perfection in detail and texture that Rembrandt achieved. His fabrics and laces are so intricately done, it seems as if one should be able to reach out and touch them. The shading of the folds, the sheen of the satins, the delicate brocade patterns... all absolutely perfect.
In contrast to the high art inside was this rather chatty bubble blowing Brit, clad in a very heavy, shiny angel costume with his red lipstick and yellow teeth shining through his silver painted face. I took a photo and then he commented to the crowd that this was his job and if we are to take a photo, then do drop a coin in or he might starve. "Well, we don't want any scrawny angels, do we?" I said. And dropped a coin in his bucket giving me the freedom to be a little more obnoxious with my picture taking as I snapped a few more and a closeup as well. "Americans sure like to get their money's worth." Yes. I do.From there, though hungry, we pressed on past a beautiful playground and small lake just a couple blocks away to the Van Gogh museum. Wow. Beautiful, touching, melancholy genius. This museum is done extraordinarily well, probably because it is able to focus solely on one artist. Set up with rooms sequentially placed in chronological order, the beginning of the room has the date period on the wall with a brief history of Van Gogh's life during that period and how that influenced his art. His early works, done in Holland, are unrecognizable as Van Gogh's without even a hint of the color and distinctive brush strokes that we see instantly as his. Those are dark - too dark. And not very pretty. Each room gets better, brighter, more fun, more recognizably him while his life and history get sadder, and he dies thinking himself a failure whose lost any talent he once had - that was the room with my two favorites - painted at a time he thought himself worthless. That struck me. There's a life lesson in that.
The other interesting thing was this - Millet had done a series of 5 paintings which Van Gogh copied. Not exact copies, of course, but he took the same sketches and did the same paintings in his own style. Two sat together on one wall - the same sketch, same subject, same placement withing the canvas, but such different styles and colors. One by Van Gogh. The other by Millet. Amazing. And how often are we discouraged to copy. But that is how we learn. So to see a master copying another master says something, I think.
Starving (or at least we thought we were starving), with feet quite in revolt by now, we quickly walked back towards the train station stopping for a delicious lunch and an unnecessary, but decadent cheesecake at a hotel restaurant in the canal district. YUM! Italian with a Dutch twist, my lasagna was not typical, not anything I would have expected, but also delicious. Surprisingly full of flavor. I wish I would have take notes then. It was sooo good, but I don't remember exactly what was in it.See the reflection on the table? That was part of my view from my table... a beautiful old building with a wall plaque laid into the brick and geraniums overflowing from their box under the large white window just behind us.
The train ride there and back was extremely easy and fairly uneventful except for the children - Dutch and British - that rode near enough to us for us to hear and enjoy their antics. Mine were at home, so it was fun to hear others talking at those unreasonable loud child volumes knowing that they weren't mine and I didn't need to worry. They were cute though...
And then there's the Kiosk. A kiosk here is usually a small hut that serves snacks, drinks, and reading material for the ride. Usually they are place permanently at the train stations. This one sprouted legs. He wore a large "backpack" looking thing filled with coffee, a nozzle looping around to the front where he could reach it. The sign on the back showed drink and snack prices. Either side of the pack was a long stack of cups held like those at a water cooler. In front he wore a cooler just wide enough to allow him to walk down the aisles without knocking him over. It was full of snacks. And so our Kiosk with legs came up the aisle offering coffee and snacks to the passengers. Some got coffee. It was funny to see him pull out a cup, fill it with coffee, add the sugar or cream requested, and stand there in the aisle delicately stirring it with a stirring stick for an unusually long period before handing it to the customer. I would have loved to get a clear photo, but too often he was standing sideways facing a customer stirring and I felt way too obnoxious with fellow passengers watching this crazy tourist to snap one then. Just picture it... and don't forget the navy and orange blocked shirt that said "kiosk" in about 4 places.
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Holland is not a country, rather, it is a region of The Netherlands. Just as we would have North and South Dakota. The Netherlands has North and South Holland and while the whole of the country is absolutely beautiful, the Hollands are the areas where Dutch storybooks come from. Here is where you'll find old windmills in abundance littered around the canal ribboned fields of overly fat cows ready for their daily milking, rounds of cheese bigger then the tires on your car, swans everywhere, and tulips in bright bands of color adorning the fields along the coast. This is where you'll find Amsterdam, The Hague, a plethora of museums housing the well-known Dutch masters' works, houseboats lining the wider canals, and more bicycles than there are people to ride them.
Keukenhof done, we stopped on our way home today to spend a few hours in Delft. I love the roof lines in Holland. The whimsical stair stepped rooftops and slight tilt of the old buildings all stuck together. I still enjoy walking through the old towns and enjoy the history there, but I am also beginning to see the commonalities almost too much. Against all attempts to view this place where I live with all the wonder and excitement that I had when I first arrived, there are things that are starting to get, in spite of their interest and beauty, (dare I say it) - ordinary. Ouch. Sorry Delft. It is beautiful. The old Rathaus is beautiful and especially so today with not one, but two weddings in it while we were there. Any building is made instantly more beautiful if a bride is standing in front of it. And the Niewe Kerk (New Church) was impressive with it's massive tower dwarfing to doll house proportions all the tiny little buildings lining the market square. Of course, there were beautiful old buildings from the 1300's and earlier, lovely canals with nesting birds and little balls of downy fluff floating after their mommies in the still water, beautiful shop full of all the pretties that a tourist could want (at prices that a prince could barely afford), and sidewalk cafes with food to tempt you.
We stopped at one nice cafe for lunch and sat out under a big tree near the canal and a main pedestrian area where we could people watch. Arianna was disappointed that we didn't get the fish for her that she'd wanted at the old fish market nearby, but she's my only fish-eating child, so she had to go without. The lunch was good and the location was perfect. From there we took a long walk and got ice cream before heading home. It gave me a chance to look into some more shops where I found dreamy Delft pottery that I couldn't justify with lottery winnings and beautiful Italian pewter priced double what I paid for it in Italy.
The Royal Delft pottery is beautiful - there's no denying that. There is a long tradition of it there that they are and should be proud of. The pieces are hand painted which, I know from experience, takes time. It is; however, still pottery - fired clay with glaze. The materials themselves are not expensive. And while the workmanship counts for something, I can't justify paying $$$ (a small tulip vase that I liked was 140Euro) - the big ones went for hundreds on up... and I saw pieces for thousands. But, I love the traditional tulip vase shape with different places for each bloom. It is a traditional piece that, if I were to buy something, I would love to have. So, I'll look for a mold and see if I can make one. The painting itself isn't complicated. It's the shape that is special.
All in all, a very nice day spent relaxing in the sun that was a surprise gift after a rainy forecast and strolling slowly through the old streets pretending that there was not any sort of work ever required of us again. And, we did leave with souvenirs. I found a very nice cooking shop that sold beautiful things, so I got a couple pasta cutters and a few other odds and ends. Fun stuff.The day was topped off with a whopping 60 Euro ticket for who knows what. There were absolutely no signs anywhere that indicated that we couldn't park there. There were parking spots and we fit into ours quite well. Others both Dutch and tourist were parked there. Very strange. And very expensive. An unplanned souvenir I could've gone without.
Wednesday was the night that the Germans hail in May with parties and celebrations in the larger towns and villages in the region. It's also the eve before May Day when the young men drink beer, blast their music, and cut down trees for the women they love. There are birch groves where young boys can now legally pay and cut down a sapling, but some still find trees elsewhere or they buy huge elaborate crepe paper hearts and heart or tree get hung on the home of the girl in the night or early morning to show that she is taken. Girls used to guard the trees that their boys left so that another boy would not steal her tree and put down his own. That would mean that she would "belong" to that second boy. Tante Tinny told me that her husband put a 15" tree on top of her house on May Day when she was only 16. He was older and was conscripted into the army in the war, so he fought and they dated long distance until he came back when she was 22 and they got married.Thankfully for us this year, the police announced that the loud music would not be tolerated, so we didn't hear nearly as much as we normally do.
May 1st is May Day in Germany. It also happened to be Ascension Day here too - Cristi Himmelfahrt - literally translates to: Christ Heaven-Goes. It's Cristi Hemmelvaart in Holland too and a long holiday weekend for us, so we took the two days and went to Holland to see the famous Keukenhof gardens that I've wanted to see since I moved here.
Even the drive there was pretty. The gardens lie in the bulb region of Holland where for miles around you drive by brilliantly striped fields of flowers.
I'm not going to ramble too much here, but these are absolutely the most beautiful gardens I've ever seen. Only open for a few short weeks each spring, this spring bulb garden has over 100 tulip varieties amidst many other bulb flowers. In fact, of 7 MILLION bulbs planted by hand here, 4.5 million of those are tulips. Amazing, huh?We endured rain during which the restaurant was inundated with humanity to the extent of standing-room-only and no tables by the time we'd gotten our 4 trays of food. So I stood there bewildered with my 3 little girls, Tiara, and Kirk and our trays of hot food, wondering what in the world we'd do. Finally we put our trays down on an unused counter area and started to eat there. Seeing the little ones barely able to reach, one of the kind ladies working there told us to go to the wine table. So, there we ate. Standing at a small wine-covered island in the middle of the cafeteria style restaurant amidst people reaching in for wine every few moments. The little girls were finally at perfect height and I stood there holding my plate of hot chicken and rice in one hand and my fork in the other feeling quite conspicuous, but hungry enough not to care.
Umbrellas sold out in the first moments of that deluge. I didn't bring ours. But, thankfully it passed after a while and the sun eventually shone again.
The rain on the flowers was beautiful anyway, so I was happy. Squares of tulips laid to the side in unison, beaten by the wind and rain. I was a kid in a candy store with so many beautiful flowers and camera always poised. The kids enjoyed the freedom of movement there and the frequent little attention grabbers - kids playgrounds, baby ducks, pieces of art and sculpture... there's a great mix there.All in all, we spent 5 hours there and would have easily spent more if the playground had not been so wet. But after 5 hours, the girls were tired and needed to rest. Thankfully, our hotel had a fabulous swimming pool in which the girls all got to play. Elise could even touch the bottom with her feet at the shallow end and Arianna finally mastered swimming underwater with her eyes open all by herself - an accomplishment for which she's quite proud.
My lack of blogging has been a sad reflection of that due to the fact that I'm really trying to avoid whining about the weather despite my having every reason to gripe a little. I mean, truly, out of the last 60 days, we've probably only enjoyed 10 completely rain free (and none consecutive). All others either start with rain, end with rain, or rain for hours in the middle leaving us with very few options for outings at waterlogged playgrounds.Frustrated with a house bound summer and needing an escape, I finally hedged my bets and left, figuring I'd rather be stuck inside somewhere else than my house - at least the view would be different and for a couple days I wouldn't have to clean the kitchen.
Finding places to stay this time of year is almost impossible. Trust me, I'd been looking on and off for over a month for someplace anywhere on the coast from Belgium, through the Netherlands, and even to the North Sea of Germany. Over and over again my queries either came back "we are fully booked, try again later," or with availability at a price that would send any reasonable person into shock. And since ALL OF EUROPE vacation during the same SIX weeks of summer, these places can ask almost any price, often triple the rates of the rest of the year, and get it.
So, long last, Kirk went TDY to Washington D.C. for two weeks and I decided that if he was going to have an adventure, then I was too and I finally found a place near Alkmaar, a great town with a really fabulous cheese market that I've been dying to see. I mean, what's not to like about men dressed in white outfits lugging around enormous cheese rounds!
We left last Wednesday. I'd planned on leaving at 9, then 10, but then it was absolutely pouring down rain and I was very close to chickening-out on the whole adventure. My housekeeper and neighbor came over just minutes before I was finally scooting out the door (at noon) shaking their heads at me. "Vacation? Alone? With the children? In the rain?" Yep, the crazy American mother strikes again.
The drive was almost exactly 2.5 hours - not bad considering that more than half of it consisted of crazy autobahn splits and detours. I remember loving that drive the first time we drove up to Amsterdam. Today, as the driver, I didn't notice the beauty as much which I did miss, knowing it was there and unable to see it.
We drove to our B&B first, a traditional Dutch home with a thatched roof, gorgeous gardens, a green house, and two little goats in the front.Although it was just 3 minutes from the center of town, we didn't know that getting there. Out seemingly in the middle of nowhere, among large plots of land either filled with livestock or flower fields, the Bed and Breakfast Tjallewall is a little rectangular oasis all on its own heavily planted on three sides with trees, and with very well manicured grounds. The narrow curving road leading up to it is lined with algae blanketed canals on either side with geese and other local birds living in them. Most buildings along it also have thatched roofs, some ornately carved around attic windows.
We arrived tired and hungry, so we didn't stay long at that point, but as we unloaded the car, Annelies, the proprietor, kindly offered us juice in the common room upstairs that lies in the middle of the 5 guest rooms and the kitchenette.
We had the family room, nicely set with 5 comfortable twin beds, a spacious sitting area, a clean bathroom, and the two slanted attic windows that you can see in that photo to the right. The girls enjoyed opening up the windows and brushing their hands along the thatching. Anneliese told me that though thatching is extremely expensive (it takes one many 2 full weeks of work to complete one side of the roof), that it lasts 30+ years for the sides of the roof that receive the most sun and elements, and up to 50 years for the sides that are more sheltered.
Already getting into evening by the time we'd arrived and unloaded the car, we drove into Schagen to get food and walk around a while. On a Tuesday evening, the town was remarkably quiet, but the restaurants were open, so we had a lot to choose from. The Indian-Chinese restaurants seemed funny to us - we saw 3 of them while we were there. Walking around the large church in the market square past rows of old buildings with the stairstepped rooftops, the sign for a 7 Euro Kip (chicken) Cordon Bleu appealed to us. The restaurant was nice enough and the food was delicious. Even the kids enjoyed it. Elise ate half of my chicken since she was the only one who didn't order one. I'd ordered a kids meal for her - the KipSate - but the chicken, though tasty alone, came smothered in a 1" layer of peanut sauce - not something that my kid can appreciate. Piet Pann, our restaurant, was the perfect people watching platform for me. Sitting by the wall facing the front door and window with the sun going in and out of the clouds so quickly it seemed like a child was playing with the lights, I could watch all the other patrons there - the scruffy bald man in a grey "Army" shirt with smoking with an old coffee on the table, his foot resting on another chair, reading "Vince Flynn" - a very traditional Dutch family with one blond daughter sitting quietly playing with legos - and an eclectic group of young people, one with a tall man sporting that leathery smoker's skin, slumped down in his chair casually smoking a cigarette while resting his elbow on his knee. And, these
characters could easily have been watching us as well. Early in the meal, Luci decided that one of her shoes hurt, so she took it off. The others colored on random scraps of paper I'd had in my purse. Tiara and I were talking. Then I looked over at Luci - sitting slumped down in her chair holding one socked foot in her hand chewing on the dirty socked toes with her big eyes looking up at me like she was doing nothing out of the ordinary. Minutes later her sock was off her foot and on her hand - sock puppets at the dinner table. With Luci around, I can never be too haughty - that's for sure.Walking through the town after dinner we saw a lot of nice stores, a Tex-Mex restaurant, and several hair salons. It's really a "normal" town when it comes to the commerce, but the architecture make it special. With almost every storefront nestled inside an old building, the ambiance is quite charming. On the walk back towards the car we stopped for the obligatory ice cream. The little girls had Smurf, Tiara had Stracciatella, and I had the most delicious Biscotti ice cream ever with little bits of cookie in it.
The next morning, Anneliese served a very nice breakfast for us and then we headed off for the beach in Callantsoog knowing that this would be the only rain-free day of our trip.
A small tourism centered town with several beach access paths over the high dunes to the North Sea beaches, Callantsoog came highly recommended by locals. Knowing we could expect only one nice day, I wanted to make the best of it, so we had packed enough beach stuff to sit and enjoy a full day. Expecting to see the ocean and finding none, it took me a minute to realize how close we were. Just south of the town there is a large nature preserve with two lakes and miles of dunes with nesting sites for storks and 70 other species of birds. The tall dunes are covered in grasses, so it's difficult at first to recognize them as dunes. We got into the town and wound around looking for a parking spot. Within the limits of the commerce area, parking is paid only with a limit of an hour - too short even to shop or to enjoy a meal. Bike rentals and sailboard rental shops lined the streets with other shops selling towels, tents, umbrellas, beach toys, and other brightly colored items. Everything there is clean and well kept - not the tacky salt worn beach town at all. May be dunes protect it.
Just down the road a minute from the main town we were happy to find a nice parking lot right across the street from an access path over the dunes that was almost entirely empty at the time (but quite full when we came back later). Then, it was just a quick walk up the steep hill and down the other side to the North Sea.
We were among the first at the beach arriving just past 10, but as it filled, we quickly felt out of place with just out little cart full of beach towels. Renting large wagons or bringing their own heaped with towels, beach mats, toys, and tents, the locals take their beach outings quite seriously. Little by little the beach filled with brightly colored nylon tents and walls staked into the sand, protecting their inhabitants from the wind and sun and staking their claim on that small radius of beach. I asked the German man next to us, properly prepared with his own tent, if the German beaches are the same. "No, nothing like this." He'd arrived his first day, felt instantly awkward, then went out and purchased his own. We rented one for the day for only 3 Euros - not a bad deal for the shade it provided and a warm place away from the wind.The wind was fierce and cold, yet the locals still walked around half-naked in their beach attire, some wading into the water over waist height. My girls had on sweatshirts over their tops and shorts and still were freezing standing on the edge. Arianna; however, wanted to get wet, so eventually I had to give in and let them all get into their swim suits.
Without Kirk, the trip wouldn't necessarily have been quiet, except for the fact that Tiara had her nose in the new Harry Potter book at every chance, limiting chat with my favorite conversationalist. So, most of our beach day I played in the sand or waves with the girls and Tiara read her book. We ate once - amazingly good chicken and french fries from the little beach restaurant there taken "to go" and eaten in the comfort of our little beach tent.
By mid-day the bicycle parking area up on the dune was so full that people were chaining them to the railing along the cliff and all along down to the parking lot on both sides and it was hard to find a spot big enough for a tent on the beach. Then the clouds rolled in quickly and people packed up and scattered quickly. Still, by the time we left at 5, the rain hadn't yet begun and new people were still pouring onto the beach to replace those that had left.
Restless after a time of rest at the gasthaus, I took the girls later that evening to Albert Hein to pick up some groceries. Albert Hein is a wonderful grocery store chain in The Netherlands that has a pretty nice selection of foods. This one, being in Northern Holland, had the most exquisite cheese section I've ever seen with an entire wall of large cheese wheels and large baskets of Edamer balls. Across the street we had some ice cream (I had stroopwaffel - delicious) and took a short walk down a canal and back. At the very end of the canal was a house that I wanted to take a photo of. It was so perfectly quaint and beautiful with well kept gardens - something
out of a magazine. But then, in the driveway was it's owner, a large tattooed man with long hair welding something next to his Harley Davidson - a contradiction in terms that is common here, but still amuses me.
So... Day 3 was supposed to rain all day - not a good day for the beach. Luckily, Schagen has their market and parade on Thursdays in the summertime, so we drove 2 minutes up the street to the parking lot that Anneliese recommended. It was full. We drove on. All the parking lots were full. Circles upon circles driving while watching hordes of people on bicycle and on foot walking towards the city center we were getting a little nervous, but eventually found a place about 15 blocks away and walked arriving right at the known Albert Hein and literally in a mob of fancily dressed ladies and men standing on the side of the road, waiting. Minutes later we heard music, looked down the street, and saw the parade starting.
Schagen, NL is a small town in North Holland that got its humble beginnings in the 900's. It hosts many events throughout the year including a special historical market held just 10 times in the summer between the end of June and the beginning of September. This was the market that we were now to participate in as we stood on the streets in the drizzle, Elise slumped over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes to sleep throughout the entire parade, and the other girls excited about the horses more than anything.
For about 20 minutes we watched horse drawn carriages large and small, women with babies in buggies and old fashioned strollers and wagons, a policemen on a very tiny little motorcycle, a man on a bicycle with two large backets both on the front and rear full of chickens in one and rabbits in the other, and large groups of people in period costumes walking down the street. The real joy for me was when the parade ended, not because it was over, but because its participants didn't run home to change. Instead, despite the spitty weather, they perused the market, strolled through the town, and sat together in groups at the sidewalk cafes just like they would any other day. So to sit at the GrandCafe 1741 where we had lunch, and see groups of people in costume enjoying their afternoon glass of wine or light lunch, was especially charming - and felt something like stepping into a movie set. Children in period costume and wooden shoes ran through the streets playing together. 
Mothers still in fancy dresses pushed old strollers around with their babies inside doing the errands they'd do on any other day. It was a marvelous people-watching extravaganza. Then, since the days theme centered around theater, the street performers came out entertaining us all with very slapstick humor that while in Dutch, was situational enough that even the girls all enjoyed it.
The market itself was generally like many other local markets. It had it's produce and cheese vendors along with garden supplies, plants, stockings, and horse paraphernalia, but this one also had wooden shoes, an item that is still very widely used in that area, and poffertjes, silver-dollar
sized, very delicious, mini-crepes doused generously with powdered sugar. I found a rustic wooden serving tray that would work well on a patio and a pair of beautiful hanging planter cones that will look beautiful with cascading fushias in them. Tiara enjoyed peeking into some of the upscale clothing stores along the street and the little girls all became enamored with Kkip, a cute little boutique full of bright colors and polka dots.
While at the market we did two things inside the church. 1) To escape one particularly heavy rain storm, we took shelter in the church to find ourselves arriving exactly on time for an organ concert. The 4th piece on the schedule was one by Mozart which interested Tiara, so we stayed for about 45 minutes listening to the music. The little ones were restless after the first tune, but Luci and Tiara both enjoyed it. Then... 2) Around the other side of the church we found out that we could actually climb up to the top of the bell tower, so for a mere 50 cents/kid and 1.50 for me(I later found out that I was actually paying for two days of pain! Ouch! This climb is a stairmaster gone wild!), we were able to join the other masses of people trying to squeeze themselves both up and down the extremely steep, narrow staircases leading up to a narrow platform outside at the top of the bell tower. I held my purse on one shoulder and Elise on the opposite hip while climbing and trying to help Luci and Arianna as well who were both determined to get up the rickety wooden stairs vibrating under the pressure of other hikers, but frightened, especially when it was time to get down. An interesting adventure - but not one I'd do again with children.
Thursday already, our last full day of play and with clearing skies, having exhausted the market area and Schagen, we headed to the beach for one last visit - just an hour or so to pick up shells and jump around the waves. Before going home, we stopped at a small cafe in Callantsoog for hot cocoa and a warm snack of tostis (grilled sandwiches), bitterballen (similar to Spanish croquettes), and poffertjes (Dutch mini-crepes). My cappuccino as well as the hot cocoas was served with a small bowl of the most delicious cinnamon ice cream that I've ever tried - the perfect balance of cinnamon and sweet. This was our last outing in public on oru trip - an outing that my girls, I suppose, wanted to be memorable... they were tired. I was the one who wanted somethign warm before heading back... so I couldn't complain - too much. Arianna made a mess with her cocoa... Luci was an amazing helper and cleaned it all up just to later pick apart the insides of her sandwich with her fingers while Arianna accidentally colored on the table and Elise started to make the "bathroom" face while sitting in her chair. This was after, of course, that a large puddle mysteriously appeared in the middle of the floor 3 feet behind Elise and under her chair - coupled with her soaked pants from teh beach - 
while I don't think she had an accident, the waitresses certainly did and the entire time I sat there wanting to get it all to go and get out of there... it was a very awkward 45 minutes sitting there.
The next day we'd planned to go to Alkmaar for the cheese market that only occurs on Friday in the summer there. The weather decided to be absolutely perfect making it especially painful for me to drive by without stopping. Tiara was sick with a fever, totally worn out, so I knew there was nothing more we could do. We'll have to save Alkmaar and Zaanse Schans for another trip.
Northern Holland is beautiful, so I'm sure there will be another trip there. Only 2 hours away, it's a quick getaway near the beach with the canals, thatched roof homes, horses, sheep, and swans that are so beautiful blended with the green countryside scattered with old windmills. Plus, the people are so nice. It would be a very comfortable place to live.
Lucienne and Sasha Elise looking out our guestroom window
If any of you have ever stepped off of an airplane after a transatlantic flight, then you know the nauseous, overtired, achy, just-got-hit-by-a-semi-truck feeling associated with the word "jetlagged." Some might refer to this by saying, "I feel dead," and indeed, one might think by the pale, drawn, corpse-like appearance of some jetlagees, that they are on their way there.
My mother, upon arriving in Dusseldorf after a 12+ hour flight from Portland, did not look jetlagged. She looked irritatingly refreshed and beautiful (I never look that good), but she did feel a bit tired. So, sweet, considerate daughter that I am, I took her to a cemetary that morning.
WHAT?!!!??!?!?! Is that your reaction? Well, it might have been seen as a really cruel joke, but Tiara was singing with her class at the Margraten American War Cemetary at 11 for a Veteran's Day ceremony.
Due to some interesting navigation by our GPS, we got there right as it was starting. Both the Canadian and American anthems were sung, then some brief introductions, a shorter speech, and then the presentation of colors and wreathes and books of poetry done by elementary students. The half-hour ceremony closed with songs by both Af North Elementary and GK Elementary schools.
(As it was ending, I was thinking... I drove ALL OVER THE NETHERLANDS for this??!?!?!? And, as it turned out, the kids weren't even really assembled in a nice manner, but clumped together off to the side with the onlookers, so I couldn't even get a good photo of her singing, so, yes -- I drove 2 hours round-trip to attend a 30-minute ceremony during which I got a profile shot of my daughters head among a sea of tweenish heads that will be about the size of a pin-head in a standard 4x6 photo. Hey - the upshot is that I can rightfully call her pin-head now... she'll love that!)
When the ceremony was over, the classes began the "peace walk" around the perimeter of the cemetery. While they walked, Elise and Luci gathered large maple leaves from the ground and handed them to mom. The grass was dewy and reflected the sunlight very beautifully. The day was perfectly crisp autumn with a cloudless sky and a clear view of the Limburg valley below.
As the students returned from the quiet walk, they were each given one long stemmed rose to place by a grave. The boys humorously all sniffed the roses while the girls seemed indifferent to them. Tiara thoughtfully placed her rose at the foot of a cross of a man from Oregon. I turned to gather up Luci and Elise who were hugging the white marble crosses and we went home.
Elise hugging a cross
A leaf floating in the reflecting pool at the cemeteryOur Heroes Will Live On
In fields and cities, towns and seas,
the ones who faced our foes, who gave their best, their most, their all,
with valor midst their woes.
So cherished for their bravest deeds
upon their courage drawn.
Through tender hearts and memories
our heroes will live on.
We honor them with all we have,
their sacrifice felt deep.
The light of freedom shines this day
for all of us to keep.
When dearest loved ones we recall,
our tears are never gone.
O, rest in peace remembering
our heroes will live on.
O, rest in peace remembering
our heroes will live on.
~Teresa Jennings
I LOVE MOO! Creative.
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