Weesp to Edam

No matter how I try, I butcher the Dutch language. Some words are pretty much the same as German as are several pronunciation rules for certain letters. I can get by in German for simple exchanges. But somehow, when I’m doing something as rudimentary as ordering a beer here, I’m met with perplexed looks and in isolated cases (today), am served the wrong beverage. I ordered a Van Het Moment Saison – and was careful to pronounce the “v” with the “f” sound that is characteristic of German (and, I thought, also Dutch), but instead the bar tender delivered a Dubble of some sort. At least it was still a beer.

A similar snafu occurred in Italy a couple of years ago when I attempted to order  two Proseccos and got two (shitty) beers instead. It’s also reminiscent of the “balsamico” incident – also in Italy – in which I requested, in what I believed was perfect Italian – balsamic vinegar to go with my panini. Nobody in the entire restaurant could interpret my request. I was brought everything from extra napkins to sparkling water to a knife. Five minutes later, a light bulb switched on with one of the servers, who yelled out, “AAAH, BAL-SA-MEE-KOH!” It sounded to me like a precise replica of the word I’d said 40 times. The man finally produced the coveted item.

The big difference here is that Dutch people on the whole speak English IMPECABBLY.

We pedaled out of Weesp (“Veysp”) today after a surprisingly ample breakfast buffet – surprising because it seemed that NOBODY at our Hotel (Hart Van Weesp) really seemed to care about acting remotely hospitable. I went down in the evening to get a corkscrew and spent five minutes pacing at the front desk craning my neck in attempt to see anyone behind the door as a group of people in the lobby eyed me over their shoulders until finally one of them – the front desk attendant – begrudgingly got out of her chair to find out what I wanted.

As we walked into the breakfast room this morning I said good morning to the hotel staff representative and she met my greeting with a cold glare and said nothing. She then proceeded to slam plates down right behind us as the hotel dog begged at our table. M was obviously not pleased about this but I couldn’t help but find it hilarious. For whatever reason, her hatred of dogs somehow morphs into a warm, inviting aura in canine vibes. 

We skirted the industrial side of Amsterdam before plunging into the lake and bog district that lines the northern coast at the bay of Markermeer. At one point, we were riding over a spit of land measuring about 20 feet across, containing a narrow road and a raised grassy knoll with a skinny path on which we rode. It was sunny as we left Weesp but black clouds loomed. It rained hard a couple of times, but only for a few minutes. Rain is not so bad on a bike tour when one has waterproof clothing. We pulled over and squirmed into our rain pants and jackets the minute the first drops started falling. Oddly, the Dutch appear to be bionic, freeze-immune life forms who ride around without gloves or proper jackets … we even saw a couple cyclists in shorts.

Lunch in the cute fishing village of Marken was pleasant, then we put our bikes on the ferry to Volendam – another adorable village a few kilometers from Amsterdam, but more overrun by tourists than others we've visited.

We then rolled into our current town of Edam, home of the cheese bearing the same name. It is, of course, like a fairy tale again, with picturesque canals running through it, over which are a few narrow white draw bridges operated by hand (for when the pirate-looking sailboats float through). Besides the people working at our hotel (we're calling them grumpfish), everyone seems very friendly here. We bought some gifts, had a gelato during the five minutes of late afternoon sun which was quickly replaced by clouds and a frigid, wet breeze. We opted for pizza for dinner at La Galera. The man we spoke to upon entering (who turned out to be one of only three or four highly industrious employees running all over the place all night) informed us that the place was booked but he’d check the bar next door (same owners) for a table. Happily, we got one and although it didn’t have quite the elegant atmosphere, it was cozy with a candle on every table and not another tourist in sight.

We haven’t seen many windmills so far – besides a pair of enormous metal structures functioning for wind farming. They didn’t fit the bill of the quintessentially Dutch wooden contraptions you see on your grandma’s blue and white plates. That should change tomorrow when we ride to Haarlem. It’s also King’s Day – one of the biggest holidays in Holland. We’re told there should be a lot of orange clothing (we have none. Is orange anyone’s color?) and partying …