The Luggage Slinger

After a little over a month in the Netherlands, I sat down and thought carefully about where I was in this research and writing process.  I decided I was now at a spot where I had completed the research that needed to be done in Friesland and it was time to start writing and using my online resources and my new friends to fill in any missing facts about this country.   So I made a new plane reservation, told my hotel they could have their room back, and let my new Frysk friends know I was leaving.

And then I started obsessing about getting my luggage on and off the train.   I found out that it would be very inconvenient to book a direct train to Schiphol Airport from Leeuwarden (5:00 AM or late enough to be dangerously close to boarding time).   I would have to transfer to another train at Meppel.  It meant getting the 70 pound big suitcase and the three smaller ones off the first train and onto the platform and then back onto the second train – all within the 2 minutes between trains.  I imagined myself struggling with the bags and perhaps seeing one or two of them moving off without me or a couple of bags remaining on the platform as the train and I moved away.  I saw myself realizing I had no passport or had lost my laptop or had just totally missed my train in Meppel.  I thought maybe I should rent a car and avoid the whole train/luggage problem.  But then I remembered being lost and the rental car dying at the stop sign and having no phone and having to find a gas station before turning in the car and paying amazing amounts of euros for gas and…. Or maybe I could hire somebody to drive me to Amsterdam and drop me off directly in front of Icelandair.  Or maybe…. I worked myself into a frenzy for a couple of days, having little nightmares as I fell asleep and thinking about this impossible situation way too often during the day.

I finally remembered that I was a perfectly capable person who was off on an adventure and was unaffected by minor things like luggage.  I remembered that I could sling luggage around without a problem or, in the very worst case, I could ask for help from bystanders.  I chuckled at myself for doubting my adventurous spirit and went out for a glass of wine before dinner. 

And of course when it came time to get on the first train, I loaded three pieces of luggage and a nice man lugged the big one on for me.  People wanting to get on the train at Meppel made sure my luggage came off the train in 10 seconds flat.  When the Meppel to Schiphol train arrived a minute later, I was totally alone but still managed to get my luggage on board without any problem.  Plenty of people at Schiphol to help with luggage.  My obsessive worries were indeed just completely irrational.

Perfect end to this part of the adventure and a good reminder that advancing age has not rendered me unable to cope.   I can sling luggage and I can travel and I can continue this adventure until the books are written. 

More to come.

The Villages

I started out keeping a careful journal of the pictures, the exact location and time of each photograph.  Eventually, I realized that it just didn't matter.  Friesland is Friesland and a Frysk village is a Frysk village:  a brick church, an old windmill, a canal, a collection of houses, and some farm animals.  Because of the almost incessant rain, I didn't get the photos I wanted, but I'll make a composite village using representative examples of those I was able to click.

The lovely canopy road leading to Dragster-Compagnie

The church and graveyard at Twijzel where some of my ancestors are buried. 

The windmill near Wanswerd

House with peat moss roof -- Still frequently used.

Homes come in a variety of sizes and shapes but typically will have a steep pitched roof and brick walls.

And maybe a small shopping section.

Loved the trip through the villages and am so very glad I had the opportunity to indulge myself in this little luxury.





The Gritty City of Drachten

Because one branch of the DeHaan family originated in Drachten, I was anxious to visit the city and photograph the scenic areas and try to imagine life there in the 1800s.  I searched the small city for several hours, covering virtually every block and found almost nothing of interest.  It looked like any small city in any country, with stores and malls and apartment buildings that looked as if they were built from parts that came in an Ikea box.  I ended up photographing a gritty strip mall that went on for several uninterrupted blocks across the street from shabby apartment buildings where clothing hung on lines.  Those buildings seemed to be the essence of the city.

When I thought about it more carefully, it made sense.  Nineteenth century Drachten was a gritty town that had grown beyond any expectations because people were suddenly interested in peat.  The town was surrounded by peat bogs and a group of wealthy investors from Amsterdam sought to exploit the area by having the locals cut the peat and ship it back to Amsterdam.  Their company failed after it made a massive investment in canals and ships only to find the market in peat in a downward spiral.  But the little village of Drachten benefited from the investment and it grew up as a working class port city full of men who made rope and transported goods by sea.  They built bars and stores and small homes, but they didn’t construct cathedrals, monuments or elegant parks. 

This photo I found online shows a handsome bridge built as part of the city’s attempts at public art works some years ago. 

I located this bridge on my travels through town.  It is actually a walkway/bikeway over a series of highways filled with heavy traffic and the years have not been kind.  The colorful circle has chipped and rusted away and the effect is dulled by grime and graffiti.  It is a perfect symbol of the gritty cities that try to remake themselves in a more cultured tone, only to sink back to their working class roots when an economic downturn makes art an extraneous luxury. 

The Waddenzee

The Waddenzee lies at the northern tip of the Netherlands, a mass of sea, mud, islands and dikes that separate the mainland from the North Sea.  There is amazing biodiversity, especially sea birds, throughout the Waddenzee which also ranges into Germany and Denmark.  The German and Dutch portions of the system have been inscribed on UNESCO’s world heritage list.  The area is beautiful and mysterious and I was really looking forward to photographing it.  Unfortunately it rained the whole time I was there so I didn’t get the photos I wanted and this was the best I could do in the circumstances.

I’m on the road leading to the boat that takes cars and people to the island communities in the Waddenzee.  I changed my plans about going on the boat because the weather was cold and wet and windy.  I took pictures from the car, then turned around and came back to the mainland.  On one side of the road is the water.

On the other side of the road is mud filled with waist high reeds and plants.  People come to the islands to hike through the mud flats.

This is one of the main dikes that keep the seas from invading the Netherlands.  Those dots at the top at sheep.

Letting no land go to waste, the thrifty Northerners allow sheep to graze on the dikes.

Going to Dokkum ... and Hallum and Marrum and Ginnum

One of the things that pushed me toward finding out about the family’s history came from the memory everyone shared about playing “Going to Dokkum” with my Grandpa Terpstra -- and Aunt Laverne remembering that part of the rhyme that included going to Marrum and Hallum and Ginnum as well.  With the invaluable help of Google, I found that all three of those villages and the little city of Dokkum were situated within a few miles of each other in Friesland and I had the strong suspicion that the family was connected to that area of the Netherlands.  When I discovered the online resources of the Tresoar Research Museum, I soon found that the family had indeed originated in that area and going to Dokkum was no doubt a big event for those in the little villages nearby.  This weekend I went to Dokkum and Marrum and Hallum and Ginnum. 

Dokkum is a lovely city, the oldest in the Netherlands and I stayed at the hotel that is the oldest building in that city.  There weren’t many people staying at the hotel so I got a free upgrade to a cozy suite with the 14^th century beams and the 17^th century walls and the 20^th century plumbing. 

There was a lovely courtyard just outside my room where I had my morning coffee and made a few notes for the day.

The central square that had been prohibited to cars when we were last there has been turned into a parking lot but other than that rather unfortunate change, everything else looks pretty much the same.  Perhaps a bit shabbier without as many tourists as before the economic downturn. 

The old windmill and the many canals are still there and the sense of history is still strong.

As for Marrum and Hallum and Ginnum, they all looked pretty much alike.  Typical Frysk villages with a central church, a few old houses, a few new houses, an old windmill, surrounded by hundreds of acres of pasture land, a couple of corn fields, lots of cows and some sheep, some goats and a pasture with 3 or 4 beautiful horses.

As I was travelling between the villages, I kept thinking the area looked familiar.  I finally realized that I could be in the Midwest.  It could be Indiana or Illinois or Iowa, the areas where Dutch immigrants flocked in the late 19^th century.  It’s not hard to imagine that my Frisian great-grandparents would have felt right at home when they got to their new farms in Indiana. 

Little Triangles, Petty Irritations, and the Beauty Queen

I’ve always liked those little triangles the maids put on the toilet paper in hotels.  It’s easy to find the end to pull and they just look cute.  I do not, on the other hand, understand this hotel’s policy of taking the last 18 inches of toilet paper and stuffing it into the cardboard roll in the middle.  It means I have to take the entire roll off the holder, remove the wadded mess, and replace the roll before using.  Or giving me one of those step-on-the-handle bathroom waste containers and then placing it so far under the counter that I have to reach in with my hands to bring it out and then step on the handle to deposit the waste.  Or having a bath mat so long that it covers the drain and keeps the shower water from flowing out.  Petty bathroom irritations.

Or filling up the rental car before returning it and watching in horror as the little numbers keep spinning around, finally reaching 68 euros – just under $100 for a half tank of gas.  Or paying $5 for a coffee that comes in a cup about half the size of a cup in the US, making it about 1/6 the size of my morning mug.  Those are petty money irritations. 

Or loving the open door to the balcony, loving the sunshine and fresh breezes…when a fly and a mosquito come for a visit and I spend hours chasing them around my hotel room.  Much like the fly that lands in my salad dressing as I enjoy an elegant al fresco meal.  Those are petty insect irritations.

Or being glad to be on my way to Drachten so I can leave behind all of those Euro Dog Show yappers that took over the hotel, the dining room, and the sidewalks around my hotel.  The sidewalks were soon spotted with little yapper leavings, since there aren’t any laws about dog doodoo deposits on the walkways.  So you can imagine my dismay when I discovered my hotel in Drachten was another central headquarters for the Euro Dog Show gang and the hallway to my room was full of yapping dogs and the smell of kibble.  When I was checking in, I was startled by someone licking my arm.  It was a big black dog with soulful eyes who stared at me in worship.  His owner apologized and said his dog never did such things, that the dog had been the champion in his class at the show as well as the world champion and was very well trained.  Nevertheless, the dog was in love with me and could not keep his tongue to himself.  He licked and licked and stood as close as possible.  The owner was embarrassed but intrigued while I suspect it was nothing more than my hand tasted like hamburger or something.

Or being lost.  I did fine with my rental car, even though it was a stick shift.  It stopped dying in traffic the minute I discovered first and second gears – starting out in third gear is a little harder to do.  But getting lost in Leeuwarden is so very easy to do.  It took me several attempts to get back to my hotel from the Dokkum highway.  After dropping off the luggage and brushing my teeth, I studied the map carefully and decided I knew how to get back to the rental car agency.  I kept getting lost and getting lost and growing more and more frustrated.  When I came to the end of a street and didn’t know which way to turn, I was reaching the end of my rope.  At which point the car died.  When I tried to turn it back on….nothing.  Totally dead, not even a click.  I decided not to cry.

I switched on the emergency blinkers and tried to think what I was going to do next.  The usual highway Plan B (use the cell phone to call AAA) wasn’t going to work here since I didn’t have a phone and there was no AAA. I had no Plan B, I didn’t know where I was, and didn’t know who to call even if I had a phone to use.  The cars kept going around me, giving me those irritated looks of people who have to go around a human barrier.  Then a BMW stopped next to me and the driver asked if I needed help.  She said she was going to park and would be right back.  This woman was so pretty.  Beauty queen pretty, movie star beautiful, maybe a model.  The kind of woman I associate with selfishness and superficiality.  She came back to my car, asked questions, put me at ease, figured out the situation, and knew what she would do.  We decided to try the car one last time and it started right up.  I was going to resume the search for my destination but Miss Beauty Queen was having none of that.  She found out where I wanted to go and then led me there, chastised the Avis agent for giving me a defective car, gave me a hug, and went off.  Once I had checked in the rental car, the agent phoned for a taxi but they were very busy and said it would be an hour before they could send anyone.  The older woman who works as a bookkeeper in the office just got to her feet and said she’d take me back to the hotel.  She refused my money, refused my thanks, and insisted she just wanted me to enjoy my visit to the Netherlands.

One of the things I’m taking away from this trip is the kindness of strangers and the absolute relief I felt when someone took a few minutes to help me with a small struggle.  I’m wondering how many times I could have helped strangers but just passed them by because I was busy or just self-absorbed.  I promise that this is the number one thing I’m going to work on.  I’m going to be more observant about the things going on around me and I’m going to help every chance I get.  Little irritations I have always understood.  What I now recognize is how important little helpful acts can be.

Stick shifts, yapping dogs, and ancestral villages

Well, I finally did it.  I drove like an old lady.  After years of speeding around and taking too many chances on the road in the manner of a 17-year old boy, today I drove very slowly, peering over my steering wheel trying to figure out which way to go, stalling the car, and listening to the honks of impatient drivers behind me.  All because of a manual transmission and lack of street signs.  It really was pretty funny and, after all, I did make it from the Avis (pronounced Ah-Veesh here) car rental place to my hotel.  It’s been years since I drove a stick shift and this car requires pushing certain buttons to get into certain gears and the car is really new so the pedals are quite tight and take a bit of getting used to.  I didn’t have much time to get acquainted with my new car when I found myself in traffic on roundabouts desperately trying to find a street sign so I’d know which of the many roads I should take.  I never did find a sign so I just headed off in the general direction I thought I should go, finally spotted some familiar tall buildings to use as a reference, recognized some streets I had walked before, and found the hotel.  After stalling out the car a few times.

Tomorrow I’m off to Drachten for my mandatory time-out from my hotel.  My usual hotel is filled with dozens of little yapping dogs and a few very large dogs and lots of people speaking various languages and wearing Eukanuba tee shirts.  The All European Dog Show is in full swing and the hotel is very different from its usual dignified self.  There are dogs in the hallways, dogs in the dining room, dogs in the outdoor café, dogs in the elevators, and dogs in the rooms next to mine.  I of course have the yappiest of all yappy dogs in the adjacent rooms as well as an insomniac who slams his door when he goes for a walk with his yappy dog in the middle of the night.  Drachten may be a little more restful.

I got a great weekend deal on my rental car so I picked it up this afternoon and I’m keeping it until Monday.  I’ll spend tomorrow night in Drachten and them I’ll spend Sunday night in Dokkum, returning to Leeuwarden on Monday.  I was able to reserve a room in the same hotel in Dokkum where we stayed in 1998.  Dokkum is the oldest city in the Netherlands and this hotel is the oldest building in Dokkum.   The building itself dates from the 1600’s and some of the beams date from the 1300’s.  This photo is from our original visit to Dokkum:

The plan is that I will visit and photograph the several villages where my ancestors lived.  There are a goodly number of them but they are mostly within a sort of triangle that includes Leeuwarden, Drachten, and Dokkum.  It’s only some 15-20 miles from one of these cities to the next and the ancestral villages are mostly within that area.  I’ll have 2 full days and then some time on Monday as well.  Hopefully that will be enough time for photos.

Then I’m going to assess what comes next.  The research has come so much more quickly than anticipated and the most important thing is that I’ve learned how to access almost everything I’ll need in the future from the online files.  I'm now an official card-carrying member of the Tresoar research museum and have access to amazing pieces of history.  There are only a couple of mysteries still to be solved and then I need to make some decisions.

Decision #1:  Next rental car will have an automatic transmission.

Mara Hari was Born in Leeuwarden

Mata Hari was born in Leeuwarden as Margaretha Geertruida Zelle in 1876. She became a famous dance-hostess in Paris during World War I and was executed for espionage in 1917. The Fries Museum has some of her scrap books as well as her dance costumes, one of which is seen here.

The costume consisted of the head piece with the extensions that covered her ears and the breast plates that attached in some mysterious way.  Mata Hari sometimes wore a body stocking but was also known to perform without the stocking.  She performed with numerous veils that wound around and were removed to reveal her entire body.

She remains a controversial figure in Fryslan with some believing she was a prostitute who rightly was put to death after spying for the Germans in Paris.  Others believe she was a woman forced to support herself after her husband divorced her and obtained custody of her children.  They believe her exotic dancing was an art form that rightfully made her rich and famous.  They also claim that she was wrongfully accused of spying and her death by firing squad was a travesty.  It’s likely she was all of these things and was probably more opportunistic than evil.  She seems to have spied for both the Germans and the French, but rather poorly, coming up with not many secrets and nothing of strategic importance.  There’s no question that she used her body to make a living and was probably executed as much for being a slut with the German officers as she was for being a spy.

Sint Bonifatius Kerk

So there was this perfectly nice priest who thought he would convert the heathen Frisians.  He travelled from England to Rome and the Pope named him Bonifacius in 717 a.d.  The heathen Frisians called him Bonifatius.  The first time he came to Friesland, there was a major war going on so Bonifatius decided he’d wait for a better time.  He went off to Germany and converted lots of heathens there and became sort of famous for being a good converter and church administrator.  But he really wanted to convert Frisians so he came back and headed for Dokkum in 754 a.d.  The Frisians liked being heathens and really had no interest in being converted and poor Bonifatius and his 52 companions all ended up dead.  They were set upon in a field outside Dokkum and were hacked apart by swords and knives.  Some of the artifacts from the slaughter eventually made it back to Germany along with Bonifatius’s body.  An eyewitness account claimed that Bonifatius had, at the moment of his death, held a gospel over his head to ward off blows from a sword.  The story is supported by one of the artifacts, the Ragyndrudis Codex, a testament belonging to Bonifatius that shows deep grooves in the sides that could have been made by a sword. 

 A well on the slaughter site is said to contain water that produces miraculous cures.  There have been a series of pilgrimages from various parts of Europe to the Dokkum fields over the past 200 years.  Bonifatius was promoted to Sainthood along the way and there are several memorials, including churches in Germany, Great Britain, and the US – my Indiana family will be interested to know there is a Saint Boniface Church in Lafayette.   There is also a small chapel in Dokkum and this lovely church in Leeuwarden built between 1882-1884 and designed by the great architect P.J.H. Cuypers.

In 1976 the spire was blown off the tower by a hurricane. In 1979-1980 it was rebuilt following the original design.

The beautiful clerestorey window.

Marcel! Marcel!

I accidentally went to a birthday party this evening.

Last night I ate something that did not work in my tummy at all.  I was awake until 5 this morning trying to deal with the disagreeable foods so I skipped breakfast and lunch, took naps, and read a bit.  By 8:00 tonight I was finally hungry again and felt well enough to go look for some food.  I decided it was a good night to go to my favorite restaurant.  It has food I understand and it’s close to the hotel.

When I got there, I could see that there were exciting things going on.  Parts of the restaurant were closed off, there was a little stage set up, food and drinks were available in the bar, and lots of people were being organized in the closed area. 

Marcel is a first year university student who works part time in the restaurant as a dishwasher.  Today he turned 18 so his Dad organized a party in his honor.  He is very cute and very shy and obviously well loved by his family and friends.  There were some 50 people there to wish him well and they pulled me in to sing and dance to an amazing birthday song full of “hurrah”s and “Marcel”s and shouts and laughs.   It was great fun and I enjoyed the man who used the stage for a birthday show and encouraged everyone to sing along with him as he did a little song about the birthday boy.  I unfortunately didn’t understand enough to get the jokes but still enjoyed singing the syllables I could mimic and shouting Marcel! at the appropriate moments. 

A little singing and dancing, a little food and a little wine and then back to the hotel for a little nap.  Life is good.

Dad and Mom

One thing I’ve noticed in these travels is that the Dutch don’t smile as much as people in the US.  It’s not that they are angry or sad or dour; they just save their smile for an appropriate occasion, unlike the Americans who smile just because we have walked into a room or have made eye contact with a stranger.  The people of Leeuwarden do have a sense of humor as witness this particular joke, which is masterful, if a bit esoteric.

This portrait from the studio of Michiel Jansz Van Miereveld (1567-1641) shows Willem Ludwijk, Count of Nassau-Dillenburg (1560-1620). 

This statue of Willem Ludwijk van Nassau in Leeuwarden is known as “Us Heit” or “Our Father”.  He was known by this nickname throughout the Netherlands after becoming one of the most prominent Dutch heroes during the Revolt of the Netherlands against Spain. He served in the cavalry under William of Orange, and was largely responsible for developing the successful military strategy that led to the defeat of the Spanish Habsburgs. 

The Frisian Cattle Syndicate commissioned this statue of the perfect Frisian cow, an animal renowned throughout Europe for milk with a high fat content and perfect taste.    Leeuwarden has historically been the center of the Frisian cattle industry and the statue has been given a place of honor not far from the statue of Willem van Nassau.  Over the years, the little joke developed and the people of Leeuwarden now call the cow statue “Us Mem” or “Our Mother”.  

Caught in the Rain

For two days, it has rained and stormed and rained.  Lightning, thunder, dark clouds, wind.  So I was stuck in my room for most of the time for two days straight. 

When I saw sunshine yesterday, I was more than happy to grab the map I had drawn for a 4-mile walk through Leeuwarden to find some of the more out-of-the way spots I wanted to explore.  Everything was going well until two things happened about the same time.  The rain returned and I realized that I had made a wrong turn and had gone a mile or more in the absolutely wrong direction.  There was nothing to do but trudge back the way I had come and then correct the wrong turn I had made and struggle on home to my hotel.  This was now a six mile hike and the rain was landing on my nose.  I had my trusty new Ralph Lauren hoodie which for some reason does repel rain a bit so I wasn't totally uncomfortable.  But six miles is really too far for my poor old body so I'm exploring by internet today.  Which is fine because it is again a stormy day.

It isn't hard to get lost in Leeuwarden.  The main part of the city is built in a circle and there are rings throughout the city to route traffic into the several streets leading to the ring.  The streets are not always marked with a sign and it's possible to go several blocks before realizing you are not on the street you thought you were on.  Using a particular street is also dependent upon there being a bridge across the many canals and several bridges are under construction right now with detours to the next bridge necessary.  The street names are challenging and also change frequently for no good reason so the directions from Mapquest can look something like this:

Turn left on Zuiderplein
Zuiderplein becomes Zuidergrachswal
Turn Left
Turn slight Right onto Nieuweweg
Take a slight right onto Keizergracht
Turn left onto Oosterkade
Oosterkade becomes Niewekade
Niewekad becomes Amlandshof
Turn right onto Bonifatiusplein

I completed that walk and the only street sign along the way was the one for Nieuweweg.

On the other hand, there are wonderful street signs available such as this one:

And there are lots of maps posted in big plastic cases that look like the ones in the mall that say You Are Here.

The picture also shows an ad for Meekema Beerenburg.  Berenburg is a local liquor that is highly regulated.  Only a few distilleries are permitted to use the term Berenburg, but there are some pretenders who call their brew Berinbourg and Borenburg or in ths case Beerenburg.  It is a grain vodka mixed with herbs that give it the flavors of citrus, lavender, rosemary, cedar and juniper.  The resulting taste causes some confusion and the liquor is often assumed to be gin rather than vodka.  It's said to be an acquired taste but I thought my Sonnema Berenberg, one of the original distillers, quite delicious when I used one of those miniature bottles from my hotel minibar to ward off any evil effects from being caught in the rain.

Breathing Again

I’m always amazed that I don’t know I’m holding my breath until I breathe.

James met for the first time with his oncologist this week and it is the last time they will need to meet.  The diagnosis has been officially changed to stage one colon cancer, the surgery totally removed the cancer, there will be no need for chemotherapy, there is no need for any additional treatment, and there is no need for follow-up with the oncologist.  James will do his regular checkups with his primary care physician and the only thing added to his usual regimen is an annual colonoscopy.

The reason for this good outcome is of course early detection.  James has always been good about responding to the signals from his body and consulting with his doctor if something is amiss.  He is urging all of his friends to have the tests done that our primary care physicians are always recommending but we might put off because we’re busy.  I'll join him in urging everyone to make sure that any cancers lurking in our bodies get detected early.

I felt the greatest relief when I got the news about James’ visit to the oncologist.  On an intellectual level, I already knew that the evidence indicated that he was going to be fine.  But those worries that mothers carry around in their emotions had been keeping me awake at night and had been skittering around during the day.  The stress was definitely affecting me, although I had no idea that was true until the stress was no longer there.  I’ve had good sleep for the past two nights.  And I’m breathing again.

The Language Tax

This morning I chatted with the room maid, the young man from Vietnam who is so funny and cheerful. He was full of stories because he had walked and walked in the recent sunshine and it made him very happy. And then one of my hotel favorites, a tall brash young woman who is pretty and sunny, came to refill the minibar and we chatted about the book and how my research was getting on. I went downstairs to the main desk to deliver my laundry and the 20-something young woman inquired about my recent visit to the Frysk Museum and whether I had seen the WWII Jewish wing. I went back up to my room and was happily writing away in the sunshine and fresh breezes coming through the open door that connects to my balcony. A young man appeared on my balcony (!) carrying hoses and squeegees. Being a Mensan, I knew immediately that he was there to wash the windows so I asked if he wanted me to close the door. He laughed and suggested that closing the door would indeed be a good idea since he was about to spray it with water and soap. He and I giggled together as he helped me move the balcony furniture and close the door. Then I went over to the money exchange booth at the train station and the young man there helped me find the best nearby ATM. The store clerks at the drug store and the food shop helped me find what I needed today. The waitress at the sidewalk café apologized for greeting me in Dutch and I protested that it was her country and her language. She said, "No, no, my colleague told me you were English and I just forgot when I got to your table. I don’t like to make mistakes like that."

So there we have it. Two hotel maids, a desk clerk, a window washer, a travel assistant, two store clerks and a café waitress were all perfectly able to communicate with me because they were bilingual and in some cases multilingual. And I was suddenly embarrassed by my linguistic arrogance. I am a privileged visitor in this country and can only function because everyone around me has made an effort to learn a language and I haven't.

So tonight I thought I would atone. I ordered dessert from a Dutch menu and didn't ask for any translation. I was pretty sure pears and cheese were the main ingredients and I love pears and I love cheese. And I was right. A great mound of pungent blue cheese came to the table, surrounded by small dices of canned pear, tiny greens, and a scoop of vanilla and pear ice cream on top. Each individual item was OK. Together the mixture was...interesting. And a bit...inedible. When James and Elaine were living in Paris, they would sometimes order a menu item that would turn out to be ... interesting and they called that the language tax -- the price you pay for failing to understand the language. So I paid the language tax tonight but I will continue to atone.

Tomorrw I will say goedemorgen and dag and dank u wel and I'll learn how to pronounce the menu items and what they mean. I'll start learning some basic words and phrases and I'll stop being so arrogant just because so many of these lovely people are better educated than I am.

Cool Things To Do With Cell Phones

I saw a woman walking down the street today speaking into her cell phone.  And realized she was the first person I had seen talking in public on a cell phone since I’ve been here.  I thought perhaps I just hadn’t been noticing so I kept looking for cell phone talkers.  After a few hours, I did see a gentleman sitting in the hotel lounge area and he was on his phone.  I thought back to the last few days in Virginia:  standing in line at Whole Foods with three or four conversations going on around me; going out to my car from Lord and Taylor and finding ten or so people walking toward me, all intent on their phone calls; the woman in the Dulles Airport who spoke loudly and incessantly for the 45 minutes I waited for my plane; the 50 or 60 phones that came out for final goodbyes as we were called to board.  I know the Netherlands is well-wired and most people have a cell phone.  They just don’t use their phone quite the way folks in the US do.  And they are a lot less annoying.

I talked to both of my sons today on the phone.  James discovered that he could download a Skype application to his Android and he could call my computer on Skype.  I can also call his Skype Android app and even leave messages on his phone if he isn’t available.  I e-mailed Justin with the news and he quickly downloaded the same app and we talked as well.  I can of course call any phone number from my computer Skype account but the charges, while more reasonable than many companies, are still pricey for international calls.  Skype to Skype on the other hand is free.  So my boys and I chatted away without having to count the pennies and we had a great time.

To be perfectly clear, Skype to Skype is free for now.  I read today that Skype is being acquired by Microsoft so I’m not sure how much longer we can expect free calls.

Heat Wave

Have you noticed that the photos I've posted all seem to have grey skies and flat light? It's not a problem with the camera or the photographer; it's a problem with the sky, which is grey a lot more often than blue. It's usually cool and overcast and the local joke is that when the temperature hits 72 degrees Fahrenheit that a heat wave is in progress. It happened today.

The person who cleans my room is not the same person every day but often is a young man from Vietnam who chatters happily as he plumps pillows and cleans every surface of the room. He was quite giddy about the weather and really thrilled that it was so warm and sunny today. He said he was hurrying through his work so he could go walking in the sunshine. He kept insisting, "I know you want to write your book, but you must go out and play in the warmth. Walk! Walk! There is sunshine everywhere!"

The temperature has been in the 50s and 60s ever since I got here and this, they tell me, is quite typical for August near the North Sea. There’s a little sun during the day, there are lots of clouds during the day, and most days it rains a bit. There is air conditioning in the hotel but I don't use it. I do use the duvet at night though. It’s really been very pleasant and I got a little uncomfortable this afternoon during my walk in the 72 degrees with the sun shining on my back. Thinking back to the 100 degree Washington DC summer we endured this year makes me wonder how in the world 72 degrees can be uncomfortably warm.

I've eaten my meals at the outdoor cafes almost every day. A couple of times it's been too chilly or too wet to stay outside but usualy it's perfect weather for a breakfast or dinner al fresco. I’m usually glad for the long sleeved shirts and the sweaters and light jackets I brought along with me. I have couple of items that were great for a US summer but really would be inappropriate here so they are back in the suitcase until I leave. I thought about getting that short-sleeved red sweater out today, though, just for this 72-degree heat wave.

Leggings

Leeuwarden is like most cities of 100,000 or so.  Cosmopolitan enough to support restaurants and theaters and antique shops.  Small enough that the cab drivers know where everything is.  I’m sure there must be a “bad part” of town but I haven’t seen a slum nor anything else to indicate that poverty or crime is a major factor in the life of the city.  There’s a young man at the train station, very clean and nicely dressed, who appears to be mentally ill and asks for money.  But there are also hundreds of bicycles parked at the station every day and only a handful of them use bike locks.

Lots and lots of tall white people live here.  I notice when I encounter someone of African or Asian descent; I don’t notice national origin in a more diverse community.  The tall white people come in all sorts of ages and shapes and physical attributes.  If they are male, there is a 99% chance they will be wearing long pants.  If they are female, there is a 75% chance they will be wearing leggings.  Knee length or calf length or ankle length leggings.  Sometimes black but more often made of that ugly thin off-white stretchy clingy cotton that looks like old fashioned long underwear.  The leggings will often be paired with a polyester tunic in a garish print, long enough to be worn as a dress.  Skin tight leggings aren't all that attractive on young girls and on older heftier women, it's an abomination.  Sorry that I haven’t been able to sound neutral about this fashion but I didn’t even try very hard to be fair.

As a university center, Leeuwarden has a fair share of students and I love seeing them and their youth and energy and love of life.  I’ve had coffee a couple of times at a café/bar that attracts university students.  It’s not so much that I need the coffee but I do need to hear the laughter of young people and I go away refreshed.  Besides, the university girls tend to avoid leggings.

Walking for Food

I’ve had some unfortunate food in the short time I’ve been here…overcooked beef, and undercooked bacon (including a pasta salad with RAW bacon), and a strange cheeseburger that tasted like sausage with curry, and pasta cooked to a mush.  But I have it figured out now.  My breakfast buffet is included with my room rate at the hotel and it is amazingly hearty, which it should be since it would cost $25 if I had to pay for it.  Beautiful breads and several kinds of meats and cheese and eggs and yogurt and fruit and juices, including strawberry juice and mango juice, and a variety of coffees.  My favorite waiter is introducing me to the best varieties of each item, especially the coffee, which he personally prepares for me each morning, a double espresso with whipped cream and brown sugar.  So I indulge myself in a protein-rich breakfast, caffeinate myself, and take a couple of pieces of fruit with me, usually a pear and a tangerine.  The fruit goes into the minibar fridge in my room where I also keep some items from the train station convenience store – small baskets of beautiful tiny strawberries and excellent cashews.  I eat the fruit and nuts during the day and as a snack in the evening so the only meal I need to purchase in a restaurant is dinner.  I’ve tried a few dinner locations and it’s pretty hit or miss and sometimes ridiculously expensive.  The only rule is that I must walk to dinner, wherever it might be.  This is my favorite restaurant so far. 

The Grand Café Wouters is actually right around the corner from the hotel and I’ve had two quite good meals there…a mixed grill of chicken, filet and beef and tonight’s salmon on a bed of tagliatelle with a white mushroom sauce, spinach and carmelized onions.  The food was quite tasty and so plentiful I couldn’t finish either dish.  Too bad there is no such a thing as a doggy bag in the Netherlands.  I also enjoyed the Tao restaurant near the hotel.  It is a sushi and tapas bar and has an interesting custom.  For a fixed price, you may order five items at a time and you may order as many times as you wish -- all you can eat -- but you must finish every bite of your food.  Any food left on the plate will be charged a sizeable penalty on your final bill.

I’m trying to walk at least one mile every day and I’ve now found my favorite walk that runs along a row of shops

Then next to a canal and the funny little ‘t Pannekoekschip restaurant situated on a boat in the canal.

Past the park across from my hotel.

Past the beautiful old house.

Then across the street from the Train Station

And back to the hotel for a coffee and research or writing or reading.  I’m loving my life.

No Walking Today, Just Gravestones

Yesterday I was feeling quite wonderful and spent some time exploring Leeuwarden on foot, walking about five miles in the process.  Yes, I know that isn't very far and many of you walk that far just to get to work every morning.  But this is after all an adventure for someone of advancing age and I've spent most of my life sitting in front of a computer.  And I felt those five miles in every muscle and every bone and every fiber this morning.

So it was a good day to move the computer onto the balcony and enjoy the sunshine and look for graveyards.  I've begun planning the road trip I'll take at the end of the month and I was hoping to identify the final resting places of the many ancestors I've identified over the years.  I already knew that the cemeteries in Twyzel contain the graves of many of our ancestors from the Sipkema, Hulshof, and Kloosterman families as we found when we visited several years ago. 

Jimmy is now 16 so you can see how long ago this was taken.

I ran into some difficulty when I went looking for the DeHaan family.  I found that the cemeteries in those villages rarely contained anyone who had died later than the mid-20th century.

You may know that in the Netherlands, land has literally been created from the sea and every inch is used for a purpose, habitation or crops or pasturage.  In order not to waste space on cemeteries, it is customary in many locations for Dutch graves to be rented, and reused after the rental period expires. Headstones and other monuments are destroyed, and human remains removed and often reburied in an anonymous mass grave.  When searching for the Evers ancestors some years ago, we were taken to the village church and given the opportunity to search the church floor, which had been created from the old headstones of the graveyard behind the church. 

I find this custom a little unsettling.  It's practical, I know, but still a little unsettling.

The Archives and de Oldhoven

Today was a fun day.  I spent several hours at the Leeuwarden city historic archives and at TRESOAR where the records of Friesland are housed.  I was tracking down a mysterious notation in the public records that seemed to indicate that one of my female ancestors had divorced her husband in 1845.  Turned out to be very true and I was able to obtain a copy of the original judgment.  I haven’t been able to do a full translation but the people at TRESOAR were wonderfully helpful and gave me a good feel for the juicy details of the judgment. 

Both the city and provincial archive buildings are in the very heart of medieval Leeuwarden and the old city buildings mix in with high rises in a delicious blend of old and new.

Leeuwarden is built around a series of canals and the boats vie with bicycles to be the transportation of choice.  In the historic district there are shops and cafes all along the canals. 

The archive buildings are right across the street from de Oldhoven, a medieval tower with a fun story. 

In the 9th Century a Catholic Church dedicated to Saint Vitus was built on a terp (artificial land mound) that would eventually become the city of Leeuwarden in Friesland, Netherlands. The church survived and in 1529 the citizens of Leeuwarden determined to build a tower for the church.  Now, the neighboring city of Groningen had just built a huge tower and the Leeuwarden folk demanded that the new church tower be even taller than the one in Groningen. During construction of the brick and Bentheim sandstone tower, it began to sag and the builders tried various ways to compensate. Unable to keep the tower upright, the project was abandoned in 1532 or 1533. In 1595 the church itself was demolished but the tower remains. It still sags and in fact now leans more than the Tower of Pisa.

When my son Justin spotted this story on Facebook, he wanted to know if the terp I mentioned had anything to do with the family name Terpstra.  So for those who never read the Terpstra family history and those who have forgotten some of the details (Justin!), I’m pulling up the story of the origin of the Terpstra family name. 

The people of Fryslan had never used surnames.  They had traditionally used a strict system of patronymics for naming their children.  A child’s name was paired with his or her father’s name and there were strict rules about the given name.  The first son was named after his paternal grandfather.  So if the father’s name were Gerrit and the grandfather’s name were Wybren, the first son would be named Wybren Gerrits.  The second son was named after his maternal grandfather.  The third son was named after his paternal great-grandfather.  The fourth son was named after his maternal great-grandfather.  Girls were named after their female ancestors using the same pattern.  Exceptions were made so that the names of babies who had died could be used for the next child of that gender.  Children whose mothers died in childbirth received her name regardless of gender.

Then in 1811 Napoleon ruled the Netherlands and he decreed that everyone had to have a surname.  The head of each family was required to travel to a designated city and register the new surname at city hall.  One of the branches of our family chose the surname “Terpstra”.  The “stra” ending of names is only found in Fryslan (and occasionally in Groningen) and means to originate from somewhere, in this case from the “terps”, the dwelling mounds that saved the Frysians from the rising sea.   

The ancestors of the Frysians colonized the coastal clay districts of current Fryslan and Groningen about 700 B.C.  In 500 B.C. the sea level began to rise, flooding was rampant, and the first terpbuilding period began.  A second terpbuilding period dated from 200 B.C. to 50 B.C.   In 250 A.D. the sea level rose so dramatically that it became impossible to continue living in the coastal areas.  People disappeared from the coastal lands and the area remained mostly uninhabited until 400 A.D. when the sea finally stopped rising.  A third terpgeneration dates from 700 A.D.

The terps were flat mounds built by our Iron Age ancestors on lands prone to flooding.  The terp was an artificial habitation platform on which they erected houses and in which they buried their dead.  Some terps were huge, large enough for several families.  When floods threatened the lands, the ancient Frysians crowded their livestock and perishable belongings onto the top of the terps.  

Flooding continued to be a life-threatening problem for the Frysians until the Middle Ages when an adequate system of dikes, canals and windmills was built.  The dikes kept the sea at bay and some terps were now miles from the waters.  The earth of the terps was very rich and some terps were leveled to provide soil for farmlands once covered by the sea.  

Terps were built throughout the coastal clay district, the prime land of the Netherlands; it was arable young land excellent for growing crops and raising food animals.  This was the first land to be inhabited in Fryslan and was the same land inhabited in 1811 by the newly-named Terpstra family.