Technical Difficulties Make Bad Bloggers

A long time between posts. I am a bad blogger.

In my own defence, it's a little tough to blog without a computer. I left mine back at Maurice's place in eastern Holland, thinking I would use (a) his Mac in Amsterdam and (b) Lia's Mac in Berlin and Prague.

What I didn't know was that in Amsterdam, Maurice and I would be staying in the itsy-bitsy, weensy attic maid's quarters of a six-story walk-up hotel that had its internet connection on the bottom floor, and the only way to connect (during a full moon) was to lie on your back on the hallway stairs with your computer screen facing down. (Maurice will say I'm exaggerating, but honestly, it was tricky.)

On the plus side, the room was right beside a canal. If you climbed onto your bed and hoisted yourself up to the window, you could almost see the water.

Why, you may ask, were we staying there? Well, here's a fact of traveling. Not everyone makes accommodation arrangements in the same way. I was coordinating with (first) Maurice and (secondly) Lia. Three different styles. My style: book months ahead and spend three full day searching hotel websites until you get the absolutely best value/area/ambience possible. Maurice's style, one week ahead: "The sun's shining. Let's go biking. Book anything! Who cares?" Lia's style, two days ahead: "Oh, um . . . I don't know exactly when I'll get to Berlin, Mom. I might be in Budapest tomorrow and maybe Bruges on Monday and . . ."

Not to mention when you're hiking up and down six flights of stairs all the time, you don't have a LOT of energy to blog. Me on Floor 3: "Why don't you just . . .  go ahead, Maurice? I'll . . . see you up there . . . this afternoon."

So! Amsterdam. Gosh, what a wonderful city. The canals. The bikes. The art. The people. I will post some gorgeous photos in my next blog, which will be (I hope) less whiny than this one.

Time Traveling in Holland

Weird day in Arnhem. We must have wandered into some kind of time warp.

We had hardly gotten started when we ran into a crowd of Dutch-style little people. Maurice, being Maurice, got into an argument with them.

My little toe, broken back home, was bothering me, so we called in at a medical clinic. The doctor was a handsome fellow, but his office could have used a bit of updating.

He told me to stay off the toe. Yeah, right. As we left, we passed the birth control clinic . . .

Moving on, we ran into a few of Maurice's new friends here in Holland:

One of them, he seemed to be particularly chummy with. Downright giddy to see her . . .

Well, of course, my toe was still bothering me, so we decided to rent bikes to get home. It was late in the day, so all of the more modern bikes were gone . . .

Basically, the whole day was a write-off. But not totally. There was still time for Maurice to do laundry when we got home.

Okay, truth. We spent the day at the Openluchtmuseum, meaning "open air museum" -- one of those historical re-creation kind of places. My favourite experience was the bike. Worst design ever. Except for that 10-speed racer I bought when I was 28. Yeah, I remember that bike. Today's bike was the second-worst design ever. 

Traveling in the Low Country . . .

So here it is. The definitive Dutch tourist photo. Riding bicycle, with windmill in background. I took the same photo last time I was here, in 1970.

So today I asked Maurice, "Are there any bad people in Holland?" I hate to generalize, but honestly, the people I meet in this area (Gelderland, eastern side) are just so damned NICE. Kind. Friendly. Cheerful. Hard-working. "Got any jails here?" I ask.

Maurice reminds me that in this little town where he lives (Beek), there have been two recent murders. One was a love triangle in which an unhappy policeman shot his wife and her lover. The other involved a Catholic priest and a Protestant minister. Nope -- not a religious dispute. The two lived together as lovers. Could this happen anywhere else?

And speaking of Dutch tolerance, take the feral cows and horses. This is a small country, heavily farmed. And yet it somehow tolerates the existence of roving herds of wild cows and horses in various preserves where they live off the fat . . . er, grass . . . of the land. They get into burr-and-bramble patches and come out with rastafarian hairdos:

Contradictions abound. Outside a beautiful 12th-century cathedral in Nijmegen sits a 1960s carving of a Moemen (devil). You can fit them into a single photo: 

One of the great boons of travel is to have one's own unexamined assumptions brought into question. Must do more of this!

Op de Zee in een Zeef

"Op de zee in een zeef!" That's Dutch (more or less) for "Going to sea in a sieve!" You've got to love a language that makes such happy uses of z's.

So, lucky me to have an October visit to Holland . . . and other European hot spots. (Cool spots? Note the rain jacket, purchased deliberately in a garish apple green so as not to be run over while riding a bicycle.)

I'm in the sweet little Dutch city of Nijmegen. Pronounced "Niy-may-(clear your throat)-en." It's almost on the border of Germany -- so close in fact, that the place where I'm staying still has schrapnel holes from World War II:

But back to the rain jackets and bicycles . . . I have rented a bike for a week for the great sum of 50 euros (about $63) and am trundling around the polders with Maurice. We brave heavy winds, hide from sudden downpours and try to ignore a broken baby toe (mine). Other than that, piece of cake. Here is Maurice, beside the pony that he is about to pat, and then later touch his face, thereby getting an allergic reaction that will make his eyelids swell up like raspberries. But being tough adventure travellers, we laugh at such hazards. Broken toes, pony allergies -- pah!

Sometimes when you are riding a bike in this part of Holland, you are suddenly in Germany and don't even know it. Here, for example, are some German ponies. At a casual glance, they look quite Dutch.

Sheep and cows also in abundance. Never a dull moment. Stay tuned . . .