In which we Holla! in Holland. Part I.

Surprise international flashback! Once upon a time last April (ha), the parental units hopped across the Big Blue to visit their far-flung offspring. One of the many adventures in which we partook during this visit was an excursion to the Netherlands, where a delightful reuniting of childhood friends took place. There was much laughing, much listening to the reliving of memories, much indulging in incredible cuisine, and much photographing of nifty sights. After three failed attempts to reach this supposedly windmill-speckled land while living in Belgium for a year, I was excited to certify its existence at last.

We played hide and seek with the sun out the train window as we wormed our way west. The fiery ball of gas was a better hider than seeker, though we caught glimpses of it from time to time as it crouched in the blooming rapeseed fields. It was impossible to hide all that beautiful brightness all the time.

After five or so hours of this game, we finally arrived at the semi-circular wetropolis of Amsterdam. In order for the desert residents among us to get the most out of our visit to this water-happy city, it was decided that we should spend the next couple evenings on a passenger ship. This turned out to be a fantastic idea, as the lodgings were lovely and included the warm presence of a big, floofy creature. The parentals thus oogled the H2O while I oggled the D0G and everyone was happy.

Then we left.
By which I mean, Childhood Friend put us in his car and drove us on an epically beautiful adventure across the big-skied countryside to the little ex-island of Marken (plutoed to peninsula) in the IJsselmeer.

Marken's claim to fame and tourism is its wee little fishing village with traditional wooden houses. Wikipedia says it became a hub of anthropologists and folklorists in the late 19th and 20th centuries when it became clear that its culture was doomed by the country's modernization. There were only a few tourists to be seen on the evening of our arrival. The rest must have been blown away by the strong winds whipping at our jackets and filling the eerily empty village with the sound of its screeching and jangling through the sails and ropes of the boats in its little harbor.

Somehow its personless streets had decorated themselves with flags and lights in preparation for the upcoming Queen's Day festivities.

While the sun peaced out for the day with great soporific splendor, we cozied ourselves into a feast of fresh fish and Indonesian tales in a warmly wood-paneled restaurant.

Brains and bellies full and content, we braved the wild wind once more and wound our way back to the big city and our gently rocking beds, give or take a hilarious adventure through the red light district with my parents. My friends, more and more I am convinced that-- in this wacky and wonderful world-- anything is possible.