A cruise for Dutchmen ... and us

The MS Allegro, docked in the harbor in Zaandam

       We wanted to include a river cruise into our two-week trip to The Netherlands, and we did. It was just right for us.
       First couple of times we searched the Internet for cruises in Holland, what we found was either too long (8 to 10 days) or too expensive ... or both.
       But the woman who took great care of us during our time in Holland, my Dad's cousin Kitty, found a five-day, four-night cruise for us on the MS Allegro through the Dutch travel company -- Kras.nl.
        It was the right time frame and the right price -- and it included the exact element we needed -- a tour of the Keukenhof Gardens, the centerpiece of the abundant flower-growing area in Holland. And mid-April is the optimal time to view the beautiful flower fields. 
        What's more, the cruise fell almost right in the middle of our stay; we had five days before we took the boat, and four days after the end of the cruise. And it gave us a great feel for Holland -- outside of Amsterdam.
---
       We'd seen cruise boats come in and out of the harbor in Zaandam (six kilometers from Amsterdam) -- right below the ninth-floor apartment where Kitty lives -- and, on the eve of our trip, we saw the Allegro docked there. I walked over to take a close look and met one of the crewmen, a young man from Slovakia. 
        With his halting English and my halting Dutch, we had a nice conversation. I told him we'd see him the next afternoon at the harbor in Amsterdam. When we arrived at Steiger 18 (peer 18), he was there to take in our luggage.
         Most of the cruise boats we saw were nearly identical; some, I'm sure, were fancier than others. But we found the Allegro comfortable and roomy enough. Our cabin was half the size of our living/dining room, with a tiny bathroom/shower, but it was OK.
          The crew, perhaps 20 people, was a Dutch/Slovakian mix. Many of these type crew jobs in western Europe are held by eastern European natives, who have the chance to make money they can't make at home.
           What we found was that the crew -- captain, first mate, cruise director, chef and his staff, bartenders/waiters, maintenance -- were totally cooperative and pleasant.
             We also found that our traveling companions, a group of 75 or so, were almost all Dutch, mostly older than us -- at least age 70 and up -- and a dozen or so were infirm enough to require walkers or canes or some assistance.
              No matter, they were all there to enjoy ... and they seemed to. They all took part in the activities/tours at the various stops and the entertainment -- games, cards, quizzes, a sing-along dance, drinking -- in the cozy lounge/bar area. And they all seemed to like to eat.
            Because it was a Dutch crowd -- there was at least one German couple and three people from Canada (a woman who, like me, had been born in Holland then immigrated, and her son and daughter-in-law) -- the directions/instructions/talks were in Dutch.
              This could have been a hardship, but we didn't let it be. I understand just enough Dutch to get the gist of what was being said, and Bea was fine because she gets life.
            I could interpret some, some of the crew spoke enough English ... and then there was Wim Smits.

The cruise director, Wim Smits; that's Bea on the left.
 

           The affable cruise director, whom I have mentioned in a previous blog, made many of the talks to the group, and came to us early and often to give us the English version. He's a veteran traveler -- he told me he and his family had visited the U.S. the year before for a long journey through Washington state, Idaho, Montana and the Dakotas -- and he's been the director for many a Kras.nl cruise.
              He had all sorts of trivia/pop culture/history quizzes for the group, and witty little stories, and he repeatedly connected with us ... and everyone else. Whatever Kras.nl is paying Wim Smits, he's worth it. He made this cruise so much more enjoyable for everyone.
---
              Bea had been on a couple of cruises -- one out of Miami to the Bahamas long ago in a previous life and one recently with neighbors, out of Galveston in the Gulf of Mexico to the Mexican peninsula. She knew what to expect, and -- while this was a smaller version/boat without gambling -- she was happy with it. She had plenty of time to relax and read and play her beloved Bejeweled Blitz on her I-Pad, in addition to touring the towns.
           I'd never been on a cruise like this. My experience on a boat was the 10-day trip in December 1955/January 1956 from Holland to the U.S., a rocky adventure on the Atlantic Ocean that was ... well, sickening. So I was quite leery of extended days on a boat.
             Cruise boats for an hour or two in New Orleans, Shreveport, New York City, Knoxville and Honolulu were OK. Anything more than that ...
              But while the weather while we were in Holland was cool (no shirt sleeves), it was comfortable enough except for some chilly/rainy mornings and evenings by the water. During this cruise, mostly on the IJsselmeer (a shallow freshwater lake), there were only two times when the wind came up and it rained a little ... and the boat was rocking. Once, at midday, it was precarious carrying the lunch plate back to the dining table. 
              So, not too bad. Take another cruise? Let me think about it.
              Next: A garden, a castle, and other sights
                        

A taste (and drink?) of Holland ...

Two paling (smoked eel) ... yes, I
love eating this delicacy.

     Some things I love most about Holland: My old friends -- salty licorice, fresh herring broodjes (sandwiches), Leiden kaas (cheese), beschuit (rusk) with hagelslag (chocolate sprinkles), pekelvlees (corned beef) and, best of all, paling (smoked eel).
      Yes, so Dutch. And so self-indulgent. Sorry.

Dutch cheese ... anytime.

       Bea could only shake her head as my taste buds revisited their roots. There was also Advokaat, an eggnog-based drink -- the only alcohol I ever try -- which was added to the list when my Dad occasionally would receive a bottle, or bring it back on a trip to Holland.
        A few of these treats are available in the U.S., but it takes some effort (and some money). I did not bring back any of these items, so I'll have to savor them through memory. But if you see a bottle of Advokaat in a liquor store, you know where to send it.
---
       We in the U.S. should not take our lifestyle for granted -- our cars, our variety of choices in clothes and food and supermarkets (we have seven in our immediate area), our gas prices (compared to Holland, we have a bargain), postal services (it took us three days to buy the right stamps for postcards and find a postbox; never did see a post office) and ...
       Free public toilets, and free water and ice.

The bottle with the yellow stuff in the
middle: Advokaat (eggnog-based)

       Don't take this as a complaint. That's just life in Holland, and maybe in all of Europe.
        If you need a public toilet -- say, as at Amsterdam's Centraal Station -- have 50 cents ready. That's what it will cost you. Just as you would when you enter a stadium or arena, an attendant will let you through a turnstile after you pay.
        At least, our niece Abby -- who spent time studying at the University of Leiden -- had told us beforehand about the toilet situation.
        Even at a great facility such as the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, toilets are hard to find. They were in the basement of a five-story museum ... a place that just reopened after a 10-year renovation. Obviously, toilets weren't a priority.
         Now, about drinking water ... we looked for public water fountains. Haven't found one yet. At restaurants in the U.S., a glass of water (with ice, if desired) is standard, usually the first order of business. In Holland, this doesn't happen.
         You can buy bottled water ... if it was available. Often it wasn't. You could get soda water or mineral water or carbonated water ... no, thank you. Personal choice: I'm not a fan of any kind of bottled water anyway.
        When Bea asked someone at the Rijksmuseum where a water fountain was located,  she was told she should get tap water from the sink in the basement restroom. And she did.
         When we went to a restaurant near the Rijksmuseum, we asked for a glass of water with our lunch. No, that wasn't an option ... unless we bought a bottle of mineral water or unless we bought another drink (such as coffee for Bea). And with that cup of coffee came a glass with one ounce of water (intended to weaken the coffee, we suppose).
         What we were told was that many people carry a water bottle with them and fill those bottles with that tap water from any restrooms they can find (even if they have to pay to get into the restroom). So next time -- yeah, next time we go to Europe -- we'll carry water bottles.
       Even on our cruise boat, water was hard to get. Water was available for breakfast, but with lunch and dinner, the idea was for you to buy a drink -- bottled water, coffee, tea, soda, whatever.
        My choice, even here since I stopped drinking sweet tea regularly, is always water ... free water. I'll drink bottled water, but only if I really need to.
        Water is one of Holland's most valuable and abundant resources, a vital ingredient in the country's industry -- fishing, shipping, recreation. There are rivers, lakes, canals, polders everywhere, the nearby North Sea. The Dutch's battles with the sea and flooding, the elaborate dikes/drainage systems, are legendary.
        So Bea's view of the water situation was notable.
        "Water, water everywhere," she kept saying, "and not a drop to drink."
         Not free, anyway.
---
         Riding the tram -- streetcar -- is not as enjoyable as riding the trains in Holland. The trams are much bumpier, usually much more crowded, and it takes longer; there are many more stops.
         But riding the tram is something I had to do several times. I wanted to, because in my first 8 1/2 years when I lived in Amsterdam, Dad was a streetcar driver. This is how I first remember him, in his streetcar uniform, the uniform that he said I would try on in the early 1950s. We have several photos of him in his uniform holding me when I was less than a year old.
         So riding the No. 9 line from Centraal Station to Rembrantplein was extra special; No. 9 was the line Dad drove. And riding the 17 line from downtown to our old neighborhood was special, too.
         When I went back to Amsterdam for the first time, in 1991 36 years after coming to the U.S., the first time we got on a tram, Dad took a seat right behind the driver and proceeded to chat him up about his career as a driver. He loved being back in the seat up front. (If the driver had asked him, I'm sure Dad would have changed places with him.)
          Darned right thoughts of that day came back to me this time. And in my mind's eye, I could still see Dad, in his uniform, steering the No. 9 line.
         
     
      

Small world: Shreveport in Amsterdam

With Heleen (Kopuit)  and Jacky Borgenicht, at the
 Portuguese Synagogue in Amsterdam

      Perhaps the most significant "small world department" moments of our trip to The Netherlands came on our first Sunday afternoon in Amsterdam.
       With my cousin Heleen and her husband Jacky, we arrived at the Portuguese synagogue just after 4 p.m., only to find it had closed for the day minutes earlier. We learned this because two women told us this.
        They told us this in English ... or in American. Obviously, they were from the United States.
        Beatrice asked: Where are you from?
        The answer: Louisiana.
        Bea: Where in Louisiana?
        The answer: Shreveport.
         At this point, I said -- laughing -- "that's where we're from." (I'd forgotten that I was wearing a royal blue pullover top with the words "Woodlawn Knights.")
         One of the women looked at me and said, "I know you. I know your voice." Then she asked my name.
         When I told her, she said, "I thought you looked familiar. I'm Karen Gordon."
         She looked familiar; it felt as if we'd met before. Truthfully, for a moment, I confused her with someone else. When she added that she was Karen Gardsbane Gordon -- and considering this was a synagogue we were standing in front of -- I realized that I'd seen her at a few Holocaust-related events in Shreveport-Bossier and at my mother's memorial service.
         I remembered then that she'd introduced herself to us before and had heard me speak, which is why she said that my voice was "distinctive."
         Dr. Gordon -- she's a veterinarian -- and Diane Mastrodomenico (who also lives in Shreveport) were also visiting Europe and, in an e-mail exchange this week, Karen said, "I still can't believe I ran into a fellow Shreveporter in Amsterdam!  ... We had an awesome time in Amsterdam.  It is a
beautiful place.  We weren't as lucky as you, we ran out of time and never made it back to the Portuguese Synagogue."
          (Bea and I indeed did make it back to the synagogue the following Sunday and took the tour of a landmark that has been in that spot near the Waterloopplein since the 1670s, and is still has an active congregation.)
 ---
          One of the most frequently asked questions, here in the U.S. and in Holland, that I received before and during the trip was if we -- my sister Elsa and I -- have any relatives in Holland?
          I've written this previously; the answer is yes ... twice.
         The woman with whom we stayed in Zaandam, Catherine "Kitty" Kruyswyk-van der Woude, and her sister, Reena, are cousins. Their  father and my Dad were first cousins: their father's mother was a Van Thyn, the sister of our grandfather Benjamin Levi Van Thyn.
         Heleen and her younger brother Philip (who lives in Israel) were born and grew up in Amsterdam; their father, Maurits Kopuit, was my mother's first cousin. My grandmother, Rachel, and Heleen's grandfather, Philip Kopuit, were sister-brother.
          My mother and Maurits were always close; when we lived in Holland (my first 8 1/2 years), Maurits' mother -- Helena, for whom Heleen is named -- lived two houses over from us. I remember going to Maurits' wedding (to Henny Springer) in October 1955; Elsa, then 4, was the flower girl.
           And Maurits, who visited Shreveport with Heleen in 1980 (when Bea and I lived in Hawaii), was a newspaper writer and editor. He worked for the Jewish newspaper in Amsterdam for 25 years, much of that time as the editor and lead editorial writer.
           Sadly, he died in 1992, a year after my first trip back to Holland. There's enough about Maurits for me to write a separate blog, and I intend to do so at some point.


With Karen Gardsbane Gordon at the Portugese Synagoge

          Heleen brought us Belgian chocolates -- she and Jacky live in Antwerp -- and also some pictures of my family that my mother had sent them from our early years in the U.S. It was fun to see the photos again, but much more fun to see Heleen and Jacky.
          They didn't make it to Amsterdam until mid-afternoon because Jacky didn't want to miss playing in his every-Sunday soccer game. When I asked him if he'd gotten out of it without injury, he laughed and explained that it was a "friendly" game -- no contact, and players of all ages from the 60s, maybe even 70s, to pre-teens. Just a fun game, good exercise. Jacky is 56 and said he plays left forward because he's left-footed (and probably doesn't want to play defense).           Later, while I was gone, Bea and Jacky were talking about soccer, and Bea told him that Jason, our son, had played competitively as a kid for 11 years and still wanted to play at age 39 but was slowed by bad knees and more a little more weight than he when he was a kid.
           Jacky suggested that Jason could do the same as they do in Antwerp and put together  "friendly," no-contact games, and that "old man Nico could play, too."
           I didn't hear that.
---           
          The time with Heleen and Jacky was a few hours to treasure, and the chance meeting with Karen and Diane made it even better.          
          We asked Diane to take some photos for us, and she did an excellent job. Karen sent the photos  to us this week, and I've included a couple. Nice mementos.
        
         

My take: Dealing with adversity on the trip

     This is my followup to the previous blog, Bea's gratitude for dealing with adversity on our trip to Holland.
     Yes, it's true, we flew to Germany -- to the airport in Frankfurt, not something I wanted to do. Personal reasons; anyone that knows me knows why.
     But our scheduled DFW-to-Chicago connection was delayed by weather; no way we were going to make our Chicago-to-Amsterdam connection that day.
     So, at DFW, while I was off trying to find an Internet connection to send an e-mail to our host in Holland, the gate attendant at United advised Bea we could get on a DFW-to-Frankfurt flight with Luftansha (the German airline) that would be our only chance to get to Europe that day. Otherwise, it meant an overnight in Chicago or back home.
       Bea made the arrangements. When I got back to the gate, she gave me the news: "Hope you're OK with this, but we're flying to Germany -- to Frankfurt."
       I was OK with it, knowing the Frankfurt-to-Amsterdam leg would get us there with only four-hours delay. And to be honest, the Luftansha flight was much more upscale than the United Amsterdam-to-Chicago flight coming back. Plus, people in Frankfurt were just as nice as anywhere else.
       To second what Bea said, people were helpful everywhere we went -- but particularly at our arrival at the Amsterdam airport, when we pretty clueless, too exhausted to think straight and not much had gone according to play.
       Figuring out how to buy train tickets and catch the train to Zaandam was an adventure. So was finding the booth to pick up the Holland-Amsterdam passes we'd already paid for.
---
       Yes, Luftansha failed to get my bag (about 35 pounds worth) on the flight. So before we could leave the Amsterdam airport, it was about 30 minutes worth of filling out forms to have the bag found and forwarded.
       Three days later, it finally got to Zaandam (where we were staying). So it was one set of clothes -- with some casual-wear alternatives provided by our host and some toiletries provided by Luftansha -- for almost four days.
        It stunk. End of this topic.
        Except at the end of our trip, back at DFW, my bag again didn't appear on the baggage-claim conveyor. After a moment of panic, I asked an airport employee where more bags might be; he pointed to an area with many bags waiting to be claimed. My bag, thankfully, was there.
---
        Traffic in Amsterdam, in Holland, period, is a challenge.
        Hundreds, thousands of small cars (I did see a Jeep Cherokee once, about the biggest car I saw there). Even more bicycles than small cars. Motorcycles, motorbikes. Buses everywhere. Packed trains and trams (we were train regulars, and sometimes seats were hard to find).
       All these modes of transportation, on tiny streets, right alongside canals, on streets with tram tracks. Two observations:
       (1) People know how to drive there; it takes a special talent ... and fearlessness. Our friend Patricia DeWeijs and my cousin Heleen, who drove us on back-to-back days, could do it; they were amazing.
      No way -- no way -- I would even dare to drive there (Bea said to say the same for her). No way we would even try bicycles.
      (2) You have to be careful about stepping into the wrong path. Twice I nearly got run down by a bicycle. Just as I had to do with my Dad in 2004, when he was 85 and I had to grab him and pull him back on a sidewalk as a bicyle bore down, Patricia had to put out her arm to stop me as a bicycler -- we think a courier in a hurry -- came close to hitting me. He actually was ringing his bell as a warning, but I didn't hear it.
      It turned out be a funny moment. He screamed, "DOOF," Dutch for deaf. Can't say I blame him.
      By the way, I appreciate the bicycles. That's all my Dad and Mom had when we lived in Amsterdam in the early 1950s; I remember we took vacations, fairly lengthy ones, on bicycles; I rode with Dad; Elsa rode with Mom. We rarely ever rode in a car in those days; few people had them.
      The bicycles are a symbol of how hearty the Dutch people are. It's a cold-weather country, but no matter, people ride their bikes to work, to the stores or outdoor markets, to run errands, whatever. And it's people of all ages -- elderly men and women, women dressed in working clothes, men in suits, young people, teenagers, grade-school kids. Bikes are parked by the hundreds everywhere.
      It's really an amazing culture.
      -- Most people speak some English (thank goodness), almost all in places that deal with the public. I know many Dutch words -- ones I remember from my childhood and from listening to my parents -- and if people speak slowly enough, I can get this gist of what they're saying.
      But what I don't know is how to put Dutch words into a Dutch sentence, much less have a conversation. This was proven without doubt at the dinner table on our river cruise (table No. 23) with our tablemates, two Dutch ladies (ages 85 and 77) who didn't speak English.

Bea with our table compansions on the cruise, Annie and Thea.

     At the first meal, one suggested we find English-speaking tablemates (there was a Canadian family, the woman -- like me -- a Dutch native who had immigrated in the early 1950s -- and her son and daughter-in-law). But we chose to make the best of it.
      So with our ladies -- Thea Bode and Annie Snel -- I began writing Dutch words or phrases, best I could, and we made somewhat of a connection. They realized I could understand some Dutch and we tried to treat them with as much courtesy as we could, helping the older one -- who wasn't all that mobile -- in little ways.
     At the end of the cruise, we each hugged our ladies. When I told Annie "tot siens" -- Dutch for "until we meet again," she laughed, shook her head and said she doubted that. (It's the thought that matters.)
      Because most of the people on the cruise were Dutch, and it was a Dutch company and mostly Dutch crew, much of the conversation was in Dutch. This wasn't easy for me, but impossible for Bea.
      As I mentioned before, the cruise director -- Wim Smits -- translated for us as much as he could, and spent time with us to keep us informed -- and made it much better. And Bea handled it all like a champion.
     One other language-related tale: I went into a fish market to buy some smoked eel (paling, in Dutch) -- one of my very favorite things to eat since I was a boy in Holland. The woman behind the counter greeted me in Dutch. When I asked if she spoke English, she shook her head no and called her male working companion.
      I asked her "waarom niet?" -- why not? -- about speaking English. She was not amused.
      The man spoke to me in English, took my order and then asked me if I could speak Dutch. Before I could answer, the woman indignantly said, "Niet veel" -- not much.
      Good for her.
 

Bea's take: Handling adversity (with lots of help)

       Here is what Beatrice posted on Facebook earlier this week about our trip to Holland: 
       "Today I am grateful for the life-enhancing aspects of adversity. Our trip produced more than ample evidence of connection between the two:
       -- Disjointed travel connections taking us through Germany rather than Chicago as we began the trip, then stranding us in Chicago for hours on our return;
       -- Nico's bag delayed by days upon arrival in Holland and placed aside in a temporary spot rather than arriving ... with my bags on our late-night return to DFW;
       -- Our choice to travel without phones;
       -- Our limited language skills while it seemed everyone we met spoke three or more languages;

Beatrice, at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam

       -- Amsterdam's transportation system which is far more complex than that of the Metroplex so that we needed to navigate trains, trams, buses, subway, ships and ferries in addition to being pedestrians in a city filled with hundreds of thousands of other tourists in town for the queen's abdication, the reopening of the Rijksmuseum, the apex of the tulip season and the endless array of events connected to these;
       -- All of the above amid endless bicycles and scooters and motor bikes clogging streets often no wider than many US alleyways.
         And yet ... in each instance of complication or adversity, we were met by an angel of mercy. Seriously. People everywhere went out of their way to see that our immediate need was met.
         -- A gate attendant at DFW jumped through hoops to reschedule us so that we were not stranded overnight and didn't lose our first vacation day entirely;
         -- A gentleman who loaned Nico his laptop to notify our host of changed flight;
         -- The young man at the information desk at Schiphol Airport who allowed Nico to call our host when we finally arrived four hours late;
         -- A delightful bar owner in the little town of Medemblik who welcomed us and provided the Wifi key necessary for us to send a birthday greeting to our daugher Rachel back home;
         -- People using public transportation for their daily commute who relinquished seats to tired and befuddled travelers;

Model of the original Radboud Castle, built around 1282,
 overlooking the harbor in the small town of Medemblik.

      -- Strangers who eagerly took photographs of us -- at our request -- at stop after stop, and countless others who took time to listen to Nico's broken Dutch and assisted us with times and locations and directions to keep us moving forward.
          Our host kidded us about the degree to which Murphy's Law came into play in our trip. I don't see it that way. I'm absolutely certain that in each instance we met with adversity so that we might experience the "milk of human kindness" which flowed so freely around us.
        Life is so beautiful and there is so much goodness within our fellow man for which we are grateful."   
---
         Nicely said. My wife is as good a writer as she is mother and grandmother, and that's pretty darned good.
        Next blog, my commentary on some of the points she made.

       

Touching home: the old house, the old school

        In Holland, I could see and feel my family's roots. At times, it was emotional.
        As our plane for the return trip to the United States sat in line on the tarmac at Schiphol last Wednesday, waiting for clearance to take off, I teared up.
        The two-week return to the land of my first 8 1/2 years had been everything we had hoped, and the thought of leaving again struck me because I don't know when -- or if -- I'll  return. 
        "I know the way I feel is just sentimental, not practical," I said to Bea.
        "It's all sentimental," she corrected.

In front of the location where my Dad and
his family lived in the 1920s and '30s
(38 Presidentbrandtstraat)

         I felt sad, proud, deeply grateful for the chance to see it all again.
        There were so many highlights on the trip, but among the special ones for me were visits to the streets -- and neighborhood -- where my parents grew up, to some of the Jewish landmarks in Amsterdam and, finally, a return to our old street and house, and to my first school.
          But there was so much to see and do.
          In the first week, we saw the two places that were the genesis for our trip: (1) the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, the national museum reopened last month after a 10-year renovation and (2) the Keukenhof Gardens in Lisse, about 50 kilometers from Amsterdam, and the surrounding fields of flowers (featuring the tulips) in bloom.
        Both were as spectacular as advertised.
        But so was the Royal Concertgebouw (concert hall) in Amsterdam, and so was the orchestra housed there. We saw the orchestra perform -- with some talented guests -- in the Great Hall in a late-night concert on the eve of Queen's Day. And our seats were just to the right of the percussion section, facing the conductor. Again: spectacular.
       And so was the EYE, the new uniquely designed film institute located a ferry ride across from the always-busy train/bus terminal, Centraal Station, with which we became quite familiar.
       We saw windmills everywhere -- the old kind for which Holland is known and the new turbine-powered ... thousands of those. From our host Kitty's apartment in Zaandam, you can see 21 of those windmills from one spot; if you move around the living room, you can see 46 windmills in the area.
       We saw the eight historic windmills that make up the Zaanse Schans, not far from Kitty's place. This was a major area at the start of the Industrial Revolution (1760s to 1820s).
       We saw the Czar Peter House -- a 2-minute walk from Kitty's place. It's a museum around the house where Czar Peter I of Russia lived when he was in Zaandam to study shipbuilding. That was in ... 1697.
        We saw beautiful canals all over -- not only in Amsterdam -- and farmland with polders (for drainage) and picturesque harbors in every city, town and village. We saw yachts, sailboats (including the tall-ship kind), houseboats and just the simple motorboats (like you'd use on Lake Bistineau in North Louisiana).
         And water, water everywhere, especially on our five-day river cruise with stops in Haarlem, Zaandam, Amsterdam (again), Volendam, Hoorn, Medemblik, Enkhuizen and finally back to the huge Amsterdam harbor. So much to see and do.
---
        Just as on my first two trips back to Holland, the excitement built up during the long wait for the journey to begin, and that peaked as the plane made its descent toward Schiphol -- the world-class airport.
        We arrived some four hours after we expected to (airlines trouble, long story) and then strong winds around Schiphol made it a difficult landing (we had to circle the city twice before the final approach). In fact, we hit a turbulent spot -- the plane jolted, and people reacted -- just as we flew over Amsterdam ArenA (we could see the field; the roof was open that day).
       One of my goals on the trip was to see the Transvaalbuurt -- in the old-east section of Amsterdam -- and on our fourth day there, my cousin Heleen (with her husband Jacky) drove us there. It took some effort for Heleen, who grew up in the city and can maneuver the car in all sorts of situations), to find what we were looking for. 
       Then we found the street my Dad and his family lived, the location (38 Presidentbrandtstraat) and I stood in front of the new building on that spot. We saw where my Mom and her family lived (26 Maritzstraat).
       A week later, Bea and I toured the Jewish Historical Museum -- which in pictures, words and videos tells the story of Jewish life in Amsterdam and Holland -- and the magnificent Portuguese synagouge, built in the 1670s, home of the Sephardic Jews (my mother's tribe), known as the "Esnoga" and still in use. No heating/air conditioning, no lights (only candles).
               And we went to the Hollandsche Schouwburg, the former theater which the Nazis used in the early 1940s as an assembly center for Jews being transported to concentration camps. It is now a memorial to those people, and here I could find -- now in digital form -- family members' names and histories.
        Finally, we walked to nearby Wertheim Park to see the Auschwitz memorial, which my Tante Eef (aunt) helped establish. Its broken-glass base is a vivid reminder.
      We then took the "17" tram from Centraal Station to the Kinkerbuurt -- our old neighborhood in old-west Amsterdam. It was a familiar route. 
       We exited the tram at Tenkadestraat (however, I had to ask a tram official for the exact stop), walked through the old market there, four blocks to Janhanzenstraat and then left, two blocks to No. 127. Our old house.

In front of my old school

      I saw it in 1991, and again in 2004, and ... it's still there; it's still the smallest house on the street. It was old when we lived there in the late 1940s/early 1950s; I hope it's been renovated.
        Down the street, the Kostverlorenkade and the big canal I consider the most beautiful in Amsterdam (maybe it isn't, but I think it is). Here, I went ice skating with my Dad when it froze over, and here my soccer ball ended up in the water ... more than a few times.
        We walked three blocks down and there was my old school. It's still there, it's still a Montessori school -- the oldest one in Amsterdam -- and the gate looks the same as it did when I went to school in grades 1-3.
       Think it wasn't a special feeling to see all these places again?
        Holland isn't home anymore; I was just a visitor, an American visitor, with a Dutch name and a Dutch heritage. But a piece of me, a piece of my family, will always be in this beautiful country.

The canal on the Kostverlorenkade ... my favorite
canal in Amsterdam, just down the street from our house.

In Holland, that was a party!

In The Hague, with Ridderzaal (Knights' Hall) behind us.
This is where the King speaks at the state opening of the
Dutch Parliament the third Tuesday each September.

      We spent nearly two wonderful weeks in The Netherlands, two weeks that left Beatrice and me fulfilled and left some indelible impressions.  
    I loved being back in my native country; it's a great place to visit and, I believe, a great place to live. But I have lived there, and there's another country that I now prefer.
       We had some adventures, or that should read misadventures, mostly with the airlines, and also trying to figure out directions and the trains/trams stations and schedules. And we did a lot more walking than we bargained for.
       Still, this journey into my past and into today's Holland was one I'll always treasure.

Kitty, our host

        I have my wife to thank; this was her idea and she invited me, and while we've each been there before (this was my third trip back since my family left late in 1955, and it was Bea's second trip), this was our first one together.
        But there are other people to thank, first and mostly, Kitty. Catherine "Kitty" Kruyswyk-van der Woude is a second cousin of my father's and she was our host. She opened her penthouse apartment in Zaandam -- about 6 kilometers northwest of Amsterdam -- to us for nine days and nights, she gave us her time, fed us and advised us, and played tour guide.

Peter and Patricia DeWeijs, with Bea, in The Hague

      Peter DeWeijs, once a Centenary College basketball player (1977-78) and his wife, Patricia, met us in Den Haag (The Hague) and showed us the International Peace Palace and then Holland's seat of government (the Prime Minister's office, the Parliament buildings and the Queen's working office/palace) and finally drove us through the nearby countryside and dozens of fields, rows and rows, of flowers in bloom.
        The next day, my closest relative other than family in the U.S., my cousin Heleen Kopuit-Borgenicht (who grew up in Amsterdam), and her husband, Jacky Borgenicht, drove from their home in Antwerp, Belgium, to meet us in Amsterdam and showed us some sights significant to my family (more on that in the next blog).
         There was Kitty's sister, Reena, who with her daughter Josine and grandson Sammy, hosted us for a lovely dinner, then provided car rides to and from a concert at Amsterdam's famed Royal Concertgebouw.
          There was the crew of the MS Allegro, the ship (from the Kras.nl travel company) on which we took a five-day, four-night cruise which stopped in several harbor towns in North Holland/Friesland. This was a mostly Dutch cruise -- the great majority of the 70 travelers were Dutch (and older than us), so most of the conversation/instructions/entertainment was in Dutch.
          That made it more difficult -- my Dutch isn't much, except for a few words and phrases (but no sentences) and Bea had little chance -- but we found a hero.
          Wim Smits was the cruise director -- and a more-than-willing interpreter. He speaks several languages, English among them, and he was a congenial, informative conversationalist. Not just with us, but also with another English-speaking group (from Canada) and with everyone on the trip.
         The cruise was the centerpiece of our trip; it fell almost in the middle of our time in Holland. It was relaxing, and interesting, and just right time-wise -- not too long, not too short.         
        And it set us up for the journey's final five days, including the most important day.
---
       For years, April 30 has been Koninginnedag (Queen's Day) in Holland, which annually is a big party. But last Tuesday was the most significant Queen's Day -- one of the most significant days, period -- in Dutch history.
       Willem-Alexander, until that day the Prince of Orange, became the King of The Netherlands -- the country's first king in 123 years. 
     If you love royalty -- and I've always loved Dutch royalty -- this was as formal and dramatic as pomp can be. Overblown? Maybe. Pretentious? Maybe. But don't suggest that to most Dutch people. They loved it. So did I. Watched it all on TV; Amsterdam was far too crowded for us to venture in there that day.
       Yes, England is best-known for this type of theater, but Holland can play, too.
        Willem-Alexander handled it with style and charm, and showed off his beautiful queen, Maxima, and their three young daughters; the oldest, Catharina-Amalia, 9, became the Crown Princess of Orange, the next in line of succession.
       We saw Queen Beatrix -- the elegant, classy woman who I remember as a teenage Princess -- abdicate her throne after 33 years, and become once again a Princess.
        We saw -- and heard -- the Dutch sing in unison, and dance, and party (and drink and eat) ... and they do all these things as well as anyone in the world. (I already knew the Dutch soccer and speed-skating fans were among the best in these categories; now I know it applies to the whole country.)
       We saw people dressed in orange (the national color) ... hats, shirts, scarves, pants, replica crowns.  We saw the national flag -- red, white and blue horizontal stripes -- everywhere.
       I heard the Wilhelmus (the national anthem) at least a half dozen times that day. I do like that anthem and, yes, I can sing it (not in public), but I didn't need that much practice.
        Still, it was a day to remember and -- because Beatrix announced her abdication after we had made our reservations for the trip -- fortuitious that we were in Holland for it.
        One note: Willem-Alexander's birthdate is April 27, which now becomes the new King's Day. Because it falls on a Sunday next year, the celebration will be held April 26. Whenever, Holland will party on. 
         But it's not likely to match this year. Now that was a party -- Dutch pride on display at its absolute best. It was a joy to be part of it.    
        There's a lot to tell about our adventures and I intend to do so in the next several blogs.
        Next: Touching my roots