The flight to Schipol Airport in Amsterdam was uneventful, thanks to the wonder of modern drugs. The brand new Boeing 777-200 plane which we looked forward to experiencing, was – well a plane. It only has 2 engines though, and on intercontinental flights, I would have preferred the safety of four. We made it safely there in any event. As we exited the gates on the other side, I immediately felt at home as a Tennant Model T3 and T15 Scrubbers stood just beyond the gates to welcome us. But I digress.
While we waited outside the terminal for the owner of the camper van company that was to meet us, Carmen and Kerry disappeared and returned with the first of what will probably be many Starbucks hot chocolates and Caramel Lattes. Starbucks makes Hot Chocolate. Not a hot chocolate, but the hot chocolate that all other hot chocolates want to be.
Off to the Camper van place we went, passing many Dutch cyclists, whose taste in fashion in no way corresponds their country’s relatively close proximity to Paris. Warm people to be sure, but where on this beautiful planet of ours do they buy their clothes? I purposely looked into as many of the shop windows as I could to see what their strange concoctions would cost, but there was no sign of any of the clothes that they wore! Only normal clothing. Because my internet access is limited, I could not do proper research on Wikipedia and have resolved as soon as I return home to test my theory that the Dutch are a major exporter of fashion: much as we who live in the Western Cape refer to the best of our fruit produce as export quality, and treat it accordingly.
Our camper van man, Robert was exceedingly accommodating and provided us with exceptional service. The attached picture is of the offices of the camper van people. Cute hey? The city of Rotterdam, for all its reputation as an industrial centre, actually looks quite pretty. Perhaps it was a case of nice from far but far from nice as we merely drove through en route to Calais, but it certainly looked like a charming city which I would like to visit one day.
If Switzerland has not been attacked because of its steadfast neutrality, Belgium has somehow avoided large scale war by pure stealth. Does anybody actually know where it is? One moment we were travelling through The Netherlands and the next we were not quite sure where we were until we saw a sign announcing our entry into France. We had passed through an entire country and not noticed! Sure we saw signs indicating Brussels and Brugge, which even I knew from my limited knowledge of Geography were in Belgium, but was I in Belgium when I saw them or already in France or still in the Netherlands? It really appears to be a country without borders – literally. If somebody invaded Belgium, how would they know? The land of Justin Henin and great chocolate will forever remain an enigma to me unless curiosity overcomes one day and we mount an expedition to go and find it. The only useful purpose I can think of our passing through it, is to one day earn cool points with my teenagers. If they ever ask me if I have been to Belgium, I will say that I am sure I have, but it was such a wild trip, I couldn’t be sure.
Our firdt leg of the trip nvolved a brief stop for a bite at Burger King where our English was met with blank stares. Until my wife struggled to communicate the same message in the particular way that people do when there is no common language and it is believed that the addition of an accent will trigger a memory that they suddenly realise they had forgotten that they could speak the language and it was only the accent that prevented understanding. Against all odds though, my wife’s attempt at the repetition of the same request for a cheeseburger in her best Dutch accent, that sounded remarkably similar to a Salvadorian, triggered a response: ‘Ah! U American? Wait, I come now.’ And we were perfectly served in somewhat broken but perfectly useable English by an expat from the Caribbean. In a Burger King in The Netherlands. Or Belgium.
While we waited outside the terminal for the owner of the camper van company that was to meet us, Carmen and Kerry disappeared and returned with the first of what will probably be many Starbucks hot chocolates and Caramel Lattes. Starbucks makes Hot Chocolate. Not a hot chocolate, but the hot chocolate that all other hot chocolates want to be.
Off to the Camper van place we went, passing many Dutch cyclists, whose taste in fashion in no way corresponds their country’s relatively close proximity to Paris. Warm people to be sure, but where on this beautiful planet of ours do they buy their clothes? I purposely looked into as many of the shop windows as I could to see what their strange concoctions would cost, but there was no sign of any of the clothes that they wore! Only normal clothing. Because my internet access is limited, I could not do proper research on Wikipedia and have resolved as soon as I return home to test my theory that the Dutch are a major exporter of fashion: much as we who live in the Western Cape refer to the best of our fruit produce as export quality, and treat it accordingly.
Our camper van man, Robert was exceedingly accommodating and provided us with exceptional service. The attached picture is of the offices of the camper van people. Cute hey? The city of Rotterdam, for all its reputation as an industrial centre, actually looks quite pretty. Perhaps it was a case of nice from far but far from nice as we merely drove through en route to Calais, but it certainly looked like a charming city which I would like to visit one day.
If Switzerland has not been attacked because of its steadfast neutrality, Belgium has somehow avoided large scale war by pure stealth. Does anybody actually know where it is? One moment we were travelling through The Netherlands and the next we were not quite sure where we were until we saw a sign announcing our entry into France. We had passed through an entire country and not noticed! Sure we saw signs indicating Brussels and Brugge, which even I knew from my limited knowledge of Geography were in Belgium, but was I in Belgium when I saw them or already in France or still in the Netherlands? It really appears to be a country without borders – literally. If somebody invaded Belgium, how would they know? The land of Justin Henin and great chocolate will forever remain an enigma to me unless curiosity overcomes one day and we mount an expedition to go and find it. The only useful purpose I can think of our passing through it, is to one day earn cool points with my teenagers. If they ever ask me if I have been to Belgium, I will say that I am sure I have, but it was such a wild trip, I couldn’t be sure.
Our firdt leg of the trip nvolved a brief stop for a bite at Burger King where our English was met with blank stares. Until my wife struggled to communicate the same message in the particular way that people do when there is no common language and it is believed that the addition of an accent will trigger a memory that they suddenly realise they had forgotten that they could speak the language and it was only the accent that prevented understanding. Against all odds though, my wife’s attempt at the repetition of the same request for a cheeseburger in her best Dutch accent, that sounded remarkably similar to a Salvadorian, triggered a response: ‘Ah! U American? Wait, I come now.’ And we were perfectly served in somewhat broken but perfectly useable English by an expat from the Caribbean. In a Burger King in The Netherlands. Or Belgium.
2 comments:
Now i know why i can't get hold of Richard :) have an awesome time and I look forward to your next blog :) drive safe :) - Michelle :)
Hey Michelle, this is Richard - sorry about that! Will let you know once we're back in SA.
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