So my husband, The Captain, is Dutch. To clarify, he is not technically a captain, he's simply the captain of our family and I think that's a bold and courageous position to take up every day. But as I was saying, he hails from the small land of windmills, dairy products beyond your wildest imaginings, and proclaimed open mindedness while bums are pinching creases into chairs. I love Holland. We lived there when we first got married (almost six years ago) and The Captain was finishing his undergrad degree. We lived in a snug apartment in a building called De Schelp (The Shell) in Zandvoort. Zandvoort is a classy beach town due west of Amsterdam. The North Sea is brown and green and freezing cold. The Germans come in the summer and dig holes in the sand and sit in them all day drinking beer. Families come to the beach with their children and their dogs. They don't come like Americans with buckets of beach supplies and sun tents and boom boxes. They walk there, or take the train. So they strip the kids down to their undies or less (the adults do much the same) and the children run wild with the strong wind whipping their blond hair about their faces and the salty spray crusting their bodies. I love Holland.
One of the best things about living in Zandvoort, or anywhere on the North Sea coast is the storms. They blow in with fury and last for days. Our little apartment was ground floor, on a hill, next to the dunes. One of my favorite memories is the way the wind would whip sand against our windowpanes and the rain would be driving sideways. Sometimes the storms scared me, they were so strange and alien. I am a southern girl used to rocking thunder, wild lightening and tornadoes. These were howling gales that screamed around the rooftops and beat against the doors.
I was so excited because they've been having sea storms in the last week or two and the forecast for next week looked like I might get to enjoy one. However I checked again today and now it looks like we'll just get to partake in Holland's usual snoggy rain that falls from a gray sky and chills your bones, summertime or not. We used to have an old Jetta where the back windows didn't quite close and the rain seeped into puddles in the back floorboard. When you braked you could hear it slosh around and sometimes mushrooms began to grow. This time we've rented some perfectly normal economy car. Even so you're always walking in Holland so I'm sure I'll get my share of the skin soaking drizzle. However, when you get home from being out and about in the bad weather, the houses are well built. The door closes behind you with a firm thud and you are enveloped in a warm atmosphere created by hundred of years of politeness and propriety. We drink tea, we talk for hours, we exchange gifts in every home, we are comforted by a culture that has been enduring through wars and oppression. I can't wait to be there. And who knows, we may get a good storm yet.
Mmmm sounds like fun! Actually I am hoping for some sun this weekend... but rain is nice too. And the sea.... lovely. Viya Con Dios!
My aunt and uncle lived in Holland for a while... my uncle is Dutch too. I remember my cousins used to go to take out the trash in their wooden shoes, after they moved back here. I was so jealous! To have wooden shoes and use them to do your chores!
Posted by: cloudscome | 26 May 2006 at 02:57 PM