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May 15 Monday 15º C chilly wind Bicycle touring Holland The sun tries to poke out from behind massive cloud cover. I sit at a picnic table that gets occasional rays as the beams find an open space to shine through. It is warmer than last night, but the wind still makes it a two coat morning. Sharon says she is tired of being cold. Guess that Antarctic bicycle tour is off. We cycle off in time to get to a town before the banks and grocery stores close for lunch. There are two banks in town. The first bank I try only takes Mastercard. Since my card is expired I don't dare stick it in the auto-teller. I go to a clerk at the counter. He phones Mastercard, but they won't authorize a cash advance -- even though I have a credit balance on that Mastercard account, a passport ID identifying who I am, and the exact same identical Mastercard card number in the mail at home with a new expiry date. Hmmm. If you're really in a bind for cash, don't expect to get it out of a bank. I reach into my passport pouch and cash in a Spanish banknote I had left over from bicycle touring Spain. The kind teller exchanges the note for me and I return to our fully loaded touring bicycles where Sharon is waiting. I give Sharon twenty guilders to buy groceries, while I go off and try the other bank. I discover that this bank doesn't do any cash advances. The teller explains to me that I can only put money in this bank -- I can't take it out. I tell him I am going to open a bank like that when I return to Canada. I cash in my Portuguese escudos left over from bicycle touring Portugal. I receive another forty guilders. The grocery store has a post office. I mail home postcards and a roll of film. The postage costs the equivalent as what Belgium wanted to charge me, but, somehow, five guilders sounds less to me than a hundred francs. I didn't have to buy a special envelope though, so I figure I'm still ahead of the game. Besides, it was priceless to see the mugs on those posties faces when I demanded they give the package back. A fella asks what we came to see on our bicycle tour in Holland. "Tulips," I say. "There's some," he says, and points to a plot of fifteen flowers by a bench. "Thanks," I say. Sharon and I sit on the bench for lunch and admire the tulips. At 12:30, all the shops and banks close. I see the fella from the bank ride past on his heavy bike. He waves to us and asks if everything is okay. Yep, Sharon has pickles for her sandwich and she is happy. She doesn't like it when I drink the pickle juice though. "That's so gross!" she says. "Not bad," I respond. "A tad salty." At least I don't throw up like Clint. Cycling on our way to Gouda, I try another couple of banks. Neither accept Visa. At one bank, I ask for a job. I figure that way I can get some money. Or else we just won't eat for a month and we will be very thin and able to wear anything when we finish bicycle touring Holland. The second bank supplies some useful information. The teller tells me (is that why they're called tellers?) the VSB bank in Gouda takes Visa. Sharon and I decide to have our new Mastercard mailed to the address of the folks (Bob and Amy) we met in Luxembourg who live in the Netherlands's town of Hilversum. We want to phone Bob and Amy first to make sure it's okay. Unfortunately, we can't use the phone to make a local call without a phone card. International yes, local no. Sharon tries her credit card, but it only works for international calls. The old section of Gouda is a pedestrian-only area. We push our bikes past a McDonald's and look inside at the menu. Big Mac: $8.95! Gak, folks, it's only a hamburger. I check a store for new pants. My old ones have worn several holes through the seat. I am getting tired of patching them every night. Plus they've faded from a natty dark brown that used to hardly show dirt to a light grey that shows the slightest stain. The store, Zeeland, has pants for $19.95. I see a dark green pair that would fit me into Ireland very nicely. I pick up the pants and ask a clerk if I can try them on. No, I'm told, but I can exchange or refund them up to two weeks. Thanks. They have a tape measure and measure my waist as 58 centimetres. The pants have a tag inside. It reads 48, but when I hold the pants up to my waist they seem about right. The clerk measures the pant's waist and it comes to 64. Plenty of room for expansion after an expansive cycle tourist's meal, I figure. We have exactly $19.95 left, so I take this as a sign and buy the pants. We push our bikes back to McDonald's. I wander into the ultra-clean restroom (hate the food, love the washrooms) and try my newly acquired pants on. They're a little big, but I'm sure I can grown into them. I leave wearing the pants, feeling not unlike one of the singers on the Irish Rovers. We find a VSB bank. It likes my Visa card. Flush with cash, we cycle off to look at Netherlands's longest church at 123 metres long. It has 60 stained-glass windows; they extend from floor to ceiling. A double vault ceiling construction makes this possible. It creates a very bright church with lots of open space. Unfortunately, the church closed at 5 PM. We cycle around its perimeter, admiring the various views from leafy perspectives. Maybe on our next Dutch cycling tour, we'll even get to see what it looks like on the inside. Across the street is an old building which now houses a library. We are admiring the courtyard (I love courtyards), before we cycle out of town to find a camping spot. A chap comes out of a house next door. "Do you need any water?" Mikhail asks us. We have one jug empty only, but he is so pleasant we can't refuse his offer. "Is there anything else you need?" he pleasantly enquires. We mention not being able to use the phone to make a local call, and he invites us in to use his phone. At first, I am going to stay with the bikes while Sharon goes in to phone, but Mikhail says to bring our touring bikes into his apartment's hallway. "Don't leave them out here," he cautions. "What?" I joke. "In front of the church?" "Especially in front of the church," he says. His wife and their four children are inside the ground level apartment. They have three girls and a boy, ages five, four, three, and one and a half. Nice grouping. "Would you like anything to drink?" his wife asks. "Water would be wonderful," we say. The water turns into milk, then bread and Gouda cheese (of course) bought from a local farmer, with cucumbers. After that, we get down to business. Tossed fried eggs, yogurt, and melons for dessert. I start to think these new green pants have the luck of the Irish. And I'm well on my way to filling them out. Sharon phones Amy to ask if we can have our new Mastercard credit card mailed there. Amy says no problem. Sharon hangs up and we get ready to depart. Mikhail says he knows a farmer 500 metres from here. Would we like to camp there tonight? He phones and confirms arrangements. Mikhail is a teacher in a Waldorf school. So is his wife, but she has taken time off from teaching to be at home with the kids. They just bought a new house. It is being built. They have a lottery in Gouda to see who gets houses. Eighty people applied for the 14 houses that are being built. Number 1 house was the best and everyone wanted it. It was bigger, had a better location and a view and landscaping. Mikhail and his wife were 16th on the list. "So we didn't get a house," Mikhail says. "Then the person who won Number 1 got a divorce, so he couldn't afford the house. Number 15 declined. So, here we are. Number 16 with the best house. From none to best," Mikhail says. He tells us that half the cost of a house in Holland is in pilings sunk into the swampy ground to stabilize the building. Some old buildings are actually floating on a thatch of willow woven together. Some are sinking and the house is uneven. We get on our fully loaded touring bicycles and follow Mikhail on his bike to his friend's farmhouse, just on the edge of Gouda. The farm originally was ten hectares, but the owner subdivided it in half. The owner is in Africa. Elizabeth and W* have been looking after the farm for the past four years. They have a large garden, a greenhouse, sheep, and bees. Plus four kids. Sharon goes back into Gouda to phone home. It's her Mom's birthday. I go into our host's house for tea. I am delighted to learn they have cycle toured in Spain, Portugal, France, Norway and the Netherlands. |
