Originally, my plan after landing at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam was to immediately catch a southbound train, so I might mooch off of my friend Marieke and crash at her place for a couple of days. But, if there's anything I’ve learned in my months of solo travel, it’s that plans can, and often will, change. Instead of awaiting my arrival in Maastricht, Marieke and her friends were on Terschelling, an island in the North Sea. I was kindly invited to join them for the Oerol ("Everything") Festival being held there, but logistically it would take more than the half-day I had to ride a train to the northern coast and catch the ferry leaving the mainland for a two-hour sail. So, I decided I would try and meet them the following day, especially because there are worse places than Amsterdam to be stuck for an evening.
In fact, Amsterdam is probably my favorite city in Europe. I’d been there more than a decade before, in the dead of winter, and still thought it was one of the prettiest places I’d seen. Now, in the summer, the town was in full bloom like a Dutch tulip, and I was ready to bask in its bouquet. Its status as a world financial capital during Holland’s Golden Age left it with romantic 17th and 18th-Century brick buildings, complimented by more miles of canals than Venice. Upon walking the idyllic alleys, it comes as no surprise that Rembrandt and Van Gogh drew inspiration from them. Sometimes Amsterdam gets a bad rap, resulting from its lax attitude regarding drugs and prostitution, but its dens of dope and decadence are generally confined to their own quarters, leaving the rest of the city so comfortably clean that there were times I felt as if I were walking though a swanky shopping center somewhere in a wealthy stateside suburb.
One of my Mom’s favorite anecdotes from my young childhood involves a time when she took me to church, and I first noticed the practice of communion. I inquired as to why I couldn’t approach the altar for a free wafer. She said, “That’s for people who love Jesus.” Apparently, I misheard “Jesus” as “Cheeses” and exclaimed, “But, I LOVE cheese!” Well, today, I am no different in my affinity for the curdled arts, and the quality and quantity of the cheese available in the Netherlands is without par. Stumbling upon the Saturday Farmer’s Market in Nieuwmarkt might have been one of the most fortuitous circumstances of my entire trip. Puns about Gouda being “Gooda” aside, I seriously left the market with such a satisfied palate that I honestly felt my visit to Holland had already been worth it.
The remainder of my Amsterdam afternoon was spent enjoying the weather and reacquainting myself with the sights. Due to the near-perfect weather, it felt almost sinful to spend time indoors at the Rijksmueum, but as the Netherlands foremost collection of paintings, I couldn’t resist. The most famous masterpiece is The Night Watch by Rembrandt, but my greatest amusement came from eyeing a work called The Syndics of the Drapers’ Guild. I couldn’t stop staring at it and thinking, “Where have I seen that painting before?” After a few seconds, it came to me; “Those are the dudes on the box of Dutch Masters cigars!” It humorously reminded me that my roots are not from the haute couture realm of art collectors. After walking by the Anne Frank House on my way back to the Oostdock seaport near the Centraal Train Station, I retired to my tiny cabin on a “hostelboat”, ready to get up early and make my way to Oerol.
As I mentioned earlier, travel plans often change, and while I was on my way to the port of departure for Terschelling Island, a place called Harlingen Haven, I received a text message on my travel phone from Marieke. The weather out in the North Sea had not been as kind to her and her pals as the weather had been for me in Amsterdam, and after a night of camping in inclement conditions, they had decided to return to the mainland. However, I still made a plan to catch the ferry and join them for at least a day at the festival. But, due to my lack of attention, and incomprehension of the Dutch language, this was not to be. At some point, my train was “split” at a station. Not understanding the foreign announcement over the PA, I ended up in the wrong city, a place called Groningen, some two hours from Harlingen. Still, one of the best things about the Netherlands is that distances are never that great, and there are lots and lots of efficient trains to catch in case you miss one. However, this meant that taking a ferry out to Terschelling was no longer worth the expense and I would have to kill time waiting on a friend in Harlingen. Harlingen is a nice little seaside town, with not much to do but stroll atop the levees along the shore and sip coffee (or beer) at corner cafes. I had no problem with this. In comparison, I think that Harlingen, Holland is much nicer than Harlingen, Texas.
But then, I think most of the Netherlands are nice. The efficiency of their infrastructure and the hospitality of their citizens are both enviable. Unlike in many other places I’ve been on this trip, the way they do things just makes sense. Of course, the Dutch will not hesitate to kvetch about their woes, or their lackluster climate, or their lack of hills. But, when you’re rolling past their verdant fields, the grass in the Netherlands seems greener...and that's not a double-enterndre concerning cannabis.
