Tulip Fields of Holland

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amsterdam, Europe, European travel, Netherlands, Netherlands. Holland European travel, Tulip Fields, zoe travel

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” -From Matthew 6:28.

This passage is also quoted as inspiration in the movie “lilies of the Field.” One of my favorite Sidney Poitier classics from the 60’s.

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These two thoughts flashed through my mind as I strolled the tulip fields of Central Holland.  The fields are drenched in bright yellow, fuchsia, gold, crimson and purple. Some pigment so brilliant they defy description. So rich and colorful they inspired Van Gogh to capture their luminance with his thrashing brush and vibrant palate.

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In the Golden age of Holland, tulips were so valued they were even used as currency.  Many Dutch measured their wealth by the amount of financial interest they had in the tulip trade. Until the market crashed in 1637.

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Just beyond the outer rim of the North Sea dunes, slightly west of Amsterdam, the bountiful pastel fields spread as far as the eye can see. Strewn aghast, sprawled, multicolored layers of pigment spilling across the lowlands, creating a picturesque kaleidoscope of hues reminiscent of Van Gogh’s master work, Tulip Fields.

The fields, aflush with tulips of of every variety. It is as if the colors of the rainbow exploded and fell onto the open lands of Holland. And it is here they lay, flaunting themselves in the brightly colored beds, like pigmented stars soaking in the sun.

They may not be traded as currency anymore but their richness and value will long endure.~ZT

 

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Do they have Hurricanes in Holland?

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amsterdam, European travel, Netherlands, Netherlands. Holland European travel, zoe travel

I have often pondered this question on numerous occasions while exiting the cafes in Amsterdam on many rain filled, windy nights. As a product of  the eastern coast US I have encountered hazardous experiences with hurricanes more times than I care to remember. I recall while away at college my roommates and I romping around in tempest tossed gales of torrential rain. Downed power lines and trees scattered like toothpicks in places they were never expected to be. Of course in college we did not have the brains of a tape worm. That’s the reason we were in college in the first place. To learn some sense.

 

In Amsterdam the winds can be extremely strong. Often times mixed with horizontal rain and ice, a predicament certainly not for the feint of heart while riding a bike. Its’ not for nothing the Netherlands is know as one of the leading  wind energy countries of the world. A true testament to the famous windmills we have all come to recognize as iconic symbols of Holland.

Anyway I did some research on the question at hand regarding hurricanes in the Netherlands. This is what i found: Per the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane classification scale, gale force winds need to be at least 94 mph to be in the category as a hurricane. And accompanied by relentless torrential rain. The past weekend’s storm measured in at 136 kilometers per hour. Which measures quite close for the requisite of hurricane force winds. Perhaps we do have hurricanes in the Netherlands. The Dutch however don’t call them hurricanes. They prefer to use a more genteel word. Storms.

 In the dog days of July when most of the world is slurping down umbrella cocktails at the beach we had such an occurrence in Amsterdam. Yes in July! But don’t take my word for it. Check out the photos I have submitted  for your appreciation.

And to think I was biking in this stuff.  I guess I have not learned much from my college days.-ZT

The old man…

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amsterdam, Netherlands, Netherlands. Holland European travel, zoe travel

The old man frequently had too much to drink. But I was happy to indulge him for he was the most absolute gentleman. His eyes widened as he recounted to me fantastic stories of World War II when he was a child. Stories of strife, courage, raw with the full range of human insouciance and indifference. Accounts told to  me first hand from someone who actually was there and lived to tell about it.  I eagerly listened, giving my full attention. Salivating at every morsel he uttered. His stories  seemed more like fables or fairy tales rather than historical events and personal accounts of someone’s life.

I ordered another round of beers.

 

It  occurred to me that those of his generation who lived through that turbulent time would not be around too much longer to retell these experiences. Most people outside of the Netherlands are familiar with the story of  gentle Anne Frank and the horrendous conditions under which she lived. And ultimately died. But living in Amsterdam you come to understand that there were so many Anne Franks. Millions of them with their own stories of human tragedy and cruelty. Not only in the Netherlands but all across Europe.  I was privy to receive these stories and deeply honored the old man entrusted me with them. This was the gift he gave to me for the price of a beer.  And for that I am eternally grateful. It is a debt I can never repay.~ZT, From My Amsterdam

Amsterdam Bridges

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amsterdam, Bridges, Netherlands, Netherlands. Holland European travel, zoe travel

Shit happens here too.

It’s not all wine and roses.

I was riding my bike over the bridge that crosses the Amstel river on one of those beautifully cold, wet, rainy days. You know, one of those wonderfully nasty days when the wind is so strong its blowing you backward and the rain is coming at you sideways so there is absolutely no place you can hide except maybe say…hell. This kind of weather even the most hardened Dutchie can tell you is certainly not for the faint of heart.  But I made peace my with  the weather a long time ago as it is part of the deal for living  in Amsterdam. So onward I rode backwards!!

Suddenly a motor scooter came speeding by from a side  street heading straight towards me. I knew that in this rain it was going to be difficult to avoid. I only had a split second to react.

So I dumped my bike and

took a spill right at the end of the bridge. I was the lucky one. I was ok.The guy riding in back of me was not. From my vantage point on the ground I watched the scooter  careen head on into the elderly man resulting in a  obscenely loud crash.

I jumped up and quickly rushed over to the scene of the accident. The driver on the scooter began to get up as well and she seemed to be alright. However, the older gent was laid out  like a rag doll in the rain. He laid there motionless on the bridge, blood gushing from his forehead.

The scooter-girl and I began administering aid to the man, I took off my

scarf, wiped away the blood and pressed it firmly against the gash above

his right eye. The girl was on her cell phone with the ambulance while

simultaneously placing her scarf under his head. All the while we kept asking, are you ok? Are you ok? He started to move his

head from side to side. The scooter-girl and I let out a deep sigh of relief. We sat there, the three of us waiting for the

ambulance. In the rain. We kept talking to the man and he began to regain consciousness. We exchanged names, forced smiles

and waited. On the bridge. In the rain.

The Ambulance finally arrived and took Jost, I learned he was called,  to the hospital. Explaining that he suffered from a concussion but he should be fine. We all said tot zien, and left.

A few days later I got a call from Jost. He said that he had contacted Anne, the scooter-girl and wanted to get together with us to celebrate that the rain had stopped.  So there we were, a patchwork of characters three days later at a quiet little cafe sharing beers. Somewhere near a bridge on a canal.

The bridges in Amsterdam support the canal system and connect the streets, boulevards and passageways. But there are other more subtle bridges being constructed between the people of the city every day.  New relationships being forged  between strangers in a cafe. Clandestine meetings among would be lovers.  People of diverse backgrounds and nationalities of every stripe finding common ground to travel by. Profound and deep relationships develop beyond the cheap narrative  and popular stereotype being built daily in this amazing town. It is indeed something to celebrate.

Three people were randomly slung together and shared a fortuitous experience at a bridge on an awful day in the Amsterdam rain. On occasion the three of us still get together for beers. Despite the rain.

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A friend of mine once mused that people are so busy building towers that they have little time to build bridges. Here in Amsterdam you will find your bridge.~ZT

Backstreets and Catacombs of Amsterdam

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amsterdam, Europe travel, Netherlands, Netherlands. Holland European travel, zoe travel

Herenstraat, one of the many picturesque streets in de Jordaan area

Oftentimes I wander the back alleys and catacombs of the city. In those first quiet hours in between rolling mist and the first rays of the sun. It was  one of those dusky mornings when the rancor of the previous nights hoopla had subsided and revelers are at peace with themselves. It is the time when I appreciate the city the most. There is a quiet solemnity. A lull after the storm that allows your mind to be divested of distraction. If you be still, and listen carefully you will hear the heart beat of old Amsterdam whispering in the gale winds sweeping through the backstreets. In lulled tones just beneath the surface of the beveled stone. In the canals as they snake and twist meandering the maze connecting the waterways. I walked in the morning haze full of insouciance, determined to lose myself in this perpetual labyrinth of gabled buildings, cobblestone bridges and dank alleys leading to nowhere.

Leliestraat on a misty morning

The backstreets are the backbone of Amsterdam. They support the old dutch houses lined up like wooden soldiers along the canals protecting some secret treasure. Many are standing aslant, bereft of direction giving the scene even more character. The canal boats too are posturing  for their rightful place in this masterful illusion. They are not really boats but instead are floating houses juxtaposed along the waterways and bridges tethered to the banks of the city streets.

In reality they are the linchpin that binds this charade. I contemplated, bemused that I, above all else was enamored as well by this melodramatic facade. This splintered mosaic of triangle houses, rambling canals and boats without bows occupying singular space in the panorama. I suppose then, for all my  global traipsing my child like wonder had not dimmed my adoration for frivolous old things, flung together askew. Singly, these enduring relics are impressive enough. But when thrown about in such a hodge-podge fashion they create if you will, a cacophony of symphonic truism unveiling the purest heart of the city. In short order, one could not exist without the other to produce the colours and flavors that make up Amsterdam.

These catacombs and passages stand as a time worn homage to what greatness can be achieved when man has so little space, or lack thereof. Oh what grand drama you will find enacted in these streets.~ZT