Alone in Kyoto

Kinderdijk, Zuid-Holland, Nederland. Yet another UNESCO World Heritage Site. In retrospect, we may have to chronicle all the World Heritage Sites we visited on this trip, because it's a lot. 

Michael Patrick Rooney is famous for his obsession with two genres of structure -- lighthouses and windmills. Of the latter, Kinderdijk, Holland is famous for its windmills. 19 in total, lined up on eitherside of a reservoir meant to keep Holland habitable. Some still functioning, others just for show; the windmills have stood there since 1790 and are both an early success of land reclamation and the benefit of a familiar, Dutch tale. 

"God created the world, but the Dutch created Holland."

                                                                -Old English saying

Holland is created. A natural marshland that was frequently flooded throughout the year, the Dutch created a series of dikes and polders to control water levels and maintain useful land. A polder is the low-lying land between embankments, natural or not, that creates a hydrological entity. Essentially, the early Dutch were master engineers and learned how to control both seawater and river water levels to shore up land. The Kinderdijk windmills were built to manipulate water levels within the polder.

Kinderdijk is instrumental in this process; it means "Children's Dike". The legend foretells that a great flood sank the Grote Hollandse Waard and that nothing there survived, except for a cradle that was found by a young boy named Dirck. Inside the cradle lay a baby girl and its guardian -- a cat. It is said that the cat loved the girl and when the flood came, abandoned its own kittens, who had grown, to protect the baby in the cradle. Dirck eventually married the baby girl and they birthed a child who then lay in the same cradle -- Ludiger. Ludiger, a missionary, taught the people how to build dikes and therefore, Holland was spared any further flooding. This cleared the way for Santa Klaas to arrive, and each year on his day, December 6th, Dutch children place a new collar on the statue of the cat built over the tomb of the baby in the cradle, who became the mother of the missionary who built dikes, who cleared the way for the arrival of Santa Klaas. All hail the cat and the cradle!

All legend aside, Kinderdijk is truly a magical place. The day was gray and cool when we were there, but I don't think we would have enjoyed it the same had it been any other way. We spent an hour or more walking down the reservoir, sitting on bridges, benches and approaching the windmills that were built where "the cat saved a baby's life." People still live in them, too, and it really makes you wonder how much more one needs than a boat, a reservoir, a garden and a windmill to call "home".

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amsterdam

"Snap, Crack! BOOM! Grumble... grumble... grumble... shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... snap, Crack! BOOM! Grumble... grumble... grumble..."

So we were nothing short of riders on the storm on our way into the Netherlands, as a torrential squall had moved in from the outer fjords. For the second time this trip we found ourselves in a listing vessel midst a sea of thunder and lightning, and our Dutch greeter came with roadside lightning and veritable waterfalls cascading from the darkening sky. We turned every which way, but it was inescapable, and traffic on the highway came to a complete stop. Visibility was literally zero. It defined "intense".

Onward we pushed past Amsterdam -- the most overpriced city in the World -- and into quaint, little Haarlem. What a gem decision that wound up being! Haarlem was disgustingly adorable and the hotel we found for cheeeaappp on a last minute deal website, was smack in the central plaza with wall-sized windows that opened up to the cathedral clock tower that is Haarlem's centerpiece. It's good we found it for cheap, because nothing else in Holland is, and we returned to our supermarket snackery ways, with one, kingly meal in a vibrant and family-owned Italian kitchen (possibly the best meal of the trip), complete with active puppy and a newborn cure for Ali's baby-deprived arms.

We strolled the streets and canals of Haarlem, passing between the quintessential Dutch buildings and plazas, stopping for our espressos, beers and regional deserts. We crossed bridge after bridge, and then the same bridges again without ever really noticing, and never really caring, and feasted on Dutch bread and tried to keep clear of the rain.

There were options for Amsterdam -- train or bicycle -- so we rented bicycles, because, well you know, this is Holland, and off we set on the 18km ride between quaint and metropolis. We got a little lost, we stopped so Ali could pet cows; the countryside, while being under gray clouds, was a shade of green reserved only for Holland and we biked through many little villages that sparsely populate the way.

Into Amsterdam, Ali was awestruck. I had tried to prepare her for its grandeur, but there really was no effective way. Straight in, we stopped in Damrak and ate our lunch on the steps of the statue there. The active square where Jenna once ran a cancer benefit was now housing the Homeless Cup soccer tournament. Classy. We people watched, had a beer and then visited Anne Frank House. If you haven't gone, go. If you have, then you'll understand Ali's three-day solemnity that followed us out of there. Upon leaving, distressed, she was hardly bike-ready, but she trooped it up and off we set. We rode the canals, took in the beauty, more beer, pictures when the rain allowed, fueled Ali's intense fascination with the Red Light District (she was like a kid at Disneyland for the first time), Ali hit a car with her bike and fell off it and scraped her knee... it was a tough day for her, but she's a tough gal and she fought through it with the strength of a Dutch rower.

Our bike back proved to only improve the day's "eventfullness". It rained. It was dark, chilly, we were on bikes and it rained. Moreover, it was 11pm and we had just spent a whole day in Amsterdam, and Ali's knee was burning in pain with every pedal stroke for 18km. But, we made it (obviously), returned our bikes, and strolled back to the hotel for a long night's sleep; but, not before we made a detour through the previously unseen, tiny red light district of Haarlem and its amazing 65 year old prostitute that made me shutter. It was disturbing; it was amazing -- hell, it was the Netherlands! And it wasn't the last we would see of it...