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Luck of the Irish? The sun tried to poke out. I sat at the picnic table eating breakfast and got occasional rays as the beams found an open space to shine through. The wind made it a two coat morning. "I'm tired of being cold," Sharon griped. Guess that Antarctic tour was off. We left in time to get to Streefkerk before the banks and grocery stores closed for lunch. There were two banks. The first said they took only Mastercard. Since my card was expired, when the clerk phoned Mastercard they wouldn't authorize the cash advance -- even though I had a $2000 credit balance, a passport ID and the identical numbered card number at home with a new expiry date. I cashed in a long forgotten Spanish note and gave Sharon the twenty guilders (one guilder was roughly equivalent to one Canadian dollar) to buy groceries with while I tried the other bank. It didn't do cash advances. The teller said, "You can only put money in this bank. You can't take it out." "I'm going to open a bank like this," I told him. I went back to the first bank and cashed in my leftover Portuguese escudos and received another forty guilders. The grocery store had a post office and they didn't make a fuss about putting my envelope in one of their envelopes, so I mailed home postcards and film. The postage cost the same as in Belgium, but somehow five guilders sounded a lot less than a hundred francs. "What did you come to see in Holland?" a fellow asked. "Tulips," I replied. "There's some," he said, pointing to a plot of fifteen flowers next to a bench. I thanked him. Sharon and I sat on the bench eating lunch while admiring the tulips. At twelve-thirty the shops and banks closed. The clerk from the bank rode past on his heavy bike waving and asking if everything was okay. Yep, Sharon had pickles for her sandwich, so she was happy. She didn't like it when I drank the pickle water though. "That's so gross!" she allowed. It tasted better than shepherd's wine -- by a long shot. While eating lunch we observed our new country and noticed that certain cars had an L prominently displayed on the roof. That was to show the driver was a learner. We had seen one on the bike path. Was that where the learner's permits drove? Mother and father cyclist's passed with kids on the front, kids on the back and even kids on front and back. The mode of travel must do something for family planning. When a teenage girl rode beside her boyfriend she often hung onto his arm or hand and he pulled her along. Besides being the gentlemanly thing to do, he couldn't get too far ahead that way. Sharon wanted me to pull her. Guys doubled girls on the back of their racks. The girls rode side saddle on the rack with their feet crossed. "You really have to like someone to offer them a lift home," Sharon said. I noticed that no one had fat girlfriends. If girls rode their own bike it inevitably was a girl's frame. It was common to see them riding with long dresses. I even saw women riding in mini skirts. Talk about causing accidents. On the way to Gouda I tried another two banks. They didn't accept Visa either. I wondered about all those television commercials that Visa was wasting their money on. Accepted at more places in the world than any other card. Here was an entire civilized country that didn't accept Visa. And that was at the banks. When the second bank refused my cards I asked: "Could I get a job here?" The teller gave me a funny look. "I'm going to need one so I have money to buy food in your country," I explained to her. The alternative was not eating for a month. Sharon and I would be very thin by the time we left Holland. But we would be able to wear anything. The teller told me: "The VSB bank in Gouda takes Visa." We decided we had better have Faye mail our new Mastercard to Bob and Amy's. First, we had to phone Bob and Amy to make sure it was okay. But we couldn't use the phone to make a local call without a phone card or coins. Sharon tried her credit card, but it was good only for international calls. The old section of Gouda was a pedestrian only area. We passed a McDonald's and looked inside at the menu. A Big Mac was $8.95! Gak. Come on, it's only a hamburger, and not even a very good one at that. I checked a store for new pants. My old ones had several holes worn through the seat. I was getting tired of patching them every night. They had faded from a dark brown that had barely showed dirt to a light gray that showed the slightest mote. The Zeeland store had pants for $19.95. I found a dark green pair. "Could I try these on?" I asked the clerk. "No," she said. "But you can exchange or refund them up to two weeks." She took a tape measure and measured my waist. Seventy eight centimetres. The pants had a tag inside reading forty eight. When I held them to my waist they seemed about right. The girl measured the pant's waist and it came to eighty-four. That would give me lots of room to fit them over my riding shorts. I had exactly $19.95 so I bought them. I went to McDonald's ultra clean rest room and tried them on. They were a little big but I conceded I could grow into them. I exited the washroom wearing my new green pants and felt conspicuously like a band member of the Irish Rovers. We found a VSB bank and the auto teller liked my Visa card. From there, we went to look at the Netherlands longest church at one hundred twenty-three meters long. The double vaulted ceiling made it possible for sixty stained glass windows to extend from floor to ceiling. It created a very bright church with lots of open space. We cycled the perimeter, admiring various views from leafy perspectives. Across the street was an old building housing the library. We admired the courtyard before leaving town to find a camping spot for the night. A chap came out of the building next door. "Do you need any water?" he asked pleasantly. We only had one empty jug, but he was so cheerful we couldn't refuse his offer. Taking our jug he asked: "Is there anything else you need?" We mentioned not being able to use the phone. He invited us in to use his. I was going to stay with the bikes, but he said: "Bring them into the hallway. Don't leave them out there." "What?" I asked. "In front of the church?" "Especially in front of the church," he half-joked. Mikhail's blond wife and four golden-haired children were inside the flat. There were three girls and a baby boy. They tiered in age five, four, three, two. "Nice grouping," I told him. "Now that I have a son, we'll stop," Mikhail grinned. Mikhail was a teacher at a Waldorf school. His wife was also, but they had decided she would stay at home with their children until they were old enough to go to school. The flat was small for two adults and four children. Mikhail said he often took the children over to the church to play. They had wanted to buy a new house. But buying a new house in the Netherlands wasn't the same proposition as buying one in North America. The town had a lottery to see who would get a house. They applied along with eighty other people for the fourteen houses being built. Mikhail said, "Number one house was the best and everyone wanted it. It was bigger, had a better location and more landscaping was included." "But we were chosen sixteenth, so we didn't get a house." "That's too bad," Sharon and I consoled. "Then the person who had been chosen for the number one house," Mikhail continued, "got a divorce and couldn't afford the house. The fifteen person on the list declined, so there we were, number sixteen, with the number one house. From none to best!" Mikhail happily concluded. He told us half the cost of the house was in pilings sunk into the swampy ground to stabilize the building. Some of the old buildings were actually floating on a thatch of woven willows. Some were sinking and the house was uneven. "Would you like anything to drink?" his wife asked. "Water's fine," we answered. It must have been magic water because it turned into milk. Then bread, Gouda cheese bought from a farmer friend, cucumbers, tossed fried eggs, yogurt and melons. After our feast, Sharon phoned Amy to ask if we could mail our credit card to their address. Amy said no problem. As we went to leave Mikhail said: "I know a farmer five hundred meters from here. Would you like to camp there tonight?" He phoned and confirmed arrangements. I was beginning to think my new green pants had the luck of the Irish. Mikhail got his bike and we followed him to his friend's farmhouse on the edge of the city. The farm was five hectares with a large garden, greenhouse, sheep, bees. And four kids. After introductions Mikhail left for home. Our new hosts graciously invited us in for tea. They turned out to be cyclists and had cycled in the Netherlands, of course, as well as Spain, Portugal, France and Norway. |
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