I'm writing this entry on a ferry between Holland and England. This is significant because it indicates both the amazing technological advances of my time and the astounding disregard my mother and I have for efficient travel. We're boat people.
We floated to Holland four days ago and made friends with the museums guards and waffle salespeople. For two days we train hopped from tiny Dutch city to tiny Dutch city following the feigned insight of the world's worst tour book and whatever wifi we could scrounge.
Under the guidance of this waste of weight and tree tissue, we hiked to the outskirts of Lisse in search of glory and riches (tulips and bulb gardens). And we found them!... two months too late. I miss you, Rick Steves.
The last day of May, we took on Delft and Schiedam. If you think you're pronouncing the latter correctly, you're probably wrong. Unless you speak Dutch or German. Then you might be right. The "sch" sound comes straight from the back of your throat, like your uvula is trying to communicate. The taxi driver's brief instruction to the sound resulted in several days of growling attempted Dutch consonant blends. I could brandish my nationality with equal effect by flashing my passport or asking directions to Schiedam.
Despite our horrid tour book, we did find the Royal Delft factory (their café sandwiches were wonderful!) and the five biggest windmills in the world. I happened to have a loaf of bread in my bag (because who travels without emergency bread?) so while my mother took pictures of the WWII armories and ancient abbeys and cathedral spires, I fed the cutest baby ducks ever I've ever seen in the canals.
-- This building looked important. --
-- with the Delft cow --
-- Feeding ducks is my favorite. --
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