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.