A Splash of Holland-Days

We like to think of ourselves as travellers with a 'more-less' philosophy. We want more locals and less cash registers. More or less, it says you can have twice the experience for half the price. What a great travel philosophy! Rick Steves calls it Europe through the Back Door.

Despite our 'more-less' indoctrination, we still came into the Netherlands through the front door. It was a safety net. Nevertheless, Amsterdam proved an interesting safety net.

Amsterdam, in many ways, is a liberal city. The chance to legally use drugs and sex workers lures many travellers, especially backpackers, to Amsterdam. While we skipped both the drugs and sex workers, we did indulge in the Dutch Art Amsterdam had to offer.

I have read that Dutch Art was considered to be very quiet, especially compared to the drama in Italian Art. It was quiet, but still displayed the mastery over the canvas and colours. It was a highlight, particularly for Kristen.

This still life, for example. The closer I got the better it looked. Rembrandt's Night Watch was incredible to see, especially because it was the size of an entire wall!

Our night in the Amsterdam hostel was an 'experience'. We slept in a dorm with 18 other backpackers, most of whom chose their days wardrobe only after conducting the all-important 'smell-test'. It was there that we realized backpackers are not all created equal. Truthfully, though, it was a fun and funny experience.

We wanted to stay outside of Amsterdam and return to our more-less philosophy. So, taking full advantage of our Eurail Pass, we took a 25 minute train ride outside of the big citz to a small town.

Zandvoort is a tiny sea-side getaway for the Dutch and the Germans. With having no Dutch or German in our blood, we were lucky to even hear about Zandvoort. Our guidebook barely made mention of it; recommending it only as a half-day trip from a day trip from Amsterdam. It was a town with real Dutch people and a lot of cheese! Today I saw a 1 kg hunk of Gouda cheese for about $5 CDN. If I were flying straight home from the Netherlands, I would definitely be over my cheese exemption (Don't worry, Dad, I wouldn't bring back more than one turkey!). And the Dutch people have been so friendly. They offer to help when I am standing helpless in the deli section and actually stop on the street when we look a little lost. When I started planning this trip I really would have never imagined that I would see the ocean from Belgium and the Netherlands, but I am really glad that I have. We strolled for hours along the beach today. The waves were HUGE! There were sea kayakers, swimmers, surfers and lots of frolicking dogs. I honestly think everyone in Holland has a dog (big ones, small ones, some as big as your head!). The lady who is running our B&B is so welcoming. We are a three minute walk from the North sea, a 5 minute walk to the train station, and just down the street from Dirks Supermarket (notable because of its gouda and availability of my favourite Belgian Chocolate, Cote D'Or. TRY IT!!)

With Zandvoort as our worthy home town, we took our time going through manz of the surrounding cities. Haarlem, for its cobblestone and architecture. Leiden for its prestigious universities and gardens and Delft, with its well-known blue and white Dutch ceramics. There then came a time when we realized we had not seen enough of what every good tourist really comes to Holland for: windmills.

After chatting with a local, we were on our way to Rotterdam. It seemed weird that we were going to an uber-modern city in search of countryside and windmills, but after a little bit of navigating (I will spare you the details) we made it from Rotterdam to the land of 30 windmills, known to the rest of the world as Kinderdijke! We wandered around the windmills which lined narrow rivers and farmers fields. We were offical tourists of the Netherlands, with dozens of windmill pictures to prove it!

Our guidebook, and others we have read, suggest using big cities as 'hubs' to visit smaller localities. We think thez have it all wrong. The more-less philosophy uses less-expensive, friendlier, close-by local towns as the perfect hub to the larger, less-friendly and more expensive bigger cities. The trip has been great so far!

I would like to take this opportunity to also thank my Dutch friends, especially Lindsay and Laura. Without them I don't think that I would have appreciated Holland nearly as much I have. For example, those little sprinkles zou put on toast: well thez are everywhere, in all flavours, colours, shapes and sizes! And cheese? The good gouda kind, cut straight from the circle that Laura's mom always sent her as a treat? (The good cheese that you need to use the cool cheese cutter for...although Laura always says its a normal cheese cutter, I personally think that it is a genius Dutch invention.)

The Best of Belgium

We have heard that Belgium is often side-stepped on a casual tour of Europe. After now coming here for a second time, I realize it is a matter of Belgium lacking only major tourist attractions; it is deprived of nothing else. Filled with vintage
windmills and fields spotted with uninterested cows and divided by tall deciduous trees, its country side is nothing less than charming.

Let me tell you how I know.

Our main plan for Belgium was to take a guided tour just outside the city limits of Brugge. It was a nice idea, but Belgium did not go as planned: we were bit by the adventure bug!

"Who needs a tour guide," we mused.

Our logic was that, equipped only with a bike, enthusiasm, and an interested frame of mind, we would see more for less than if we took the safe way, a guided tour.


With our freshly-rented bikes, a vsague sense of direction and armed with bike bells, we took to the paths.

Belgium must really like their bikers because we had our own wide, paved paths, lined with towering trees right along the canal. Cows and sheep grazed on the banks. The countryside was incredible and the canals reflected the lining trees and sky. Even better, though, was the smell (and no, I don't mean cow manure!!). It smelt like fall, but sweet somehow. Leaves were floating to the ground. After riding canals and down narrow cobblestone streets, we made our first stop in a cute little historic town, Dammes.

We did a quick jaunt through the town and fields and then headed towards our next stop: the Netherlands! Oh yes, that's right, we biked to the Netherlands. Man, we are so European!

We stopped in Sluis, Holland for a few pictures, but since we wanted to make it to the coast, we kept trucking. And it was well worth it! I never even thought of Belgium as having a little sea-side town.

Knokke Heist, Belgium, however, has it all: white sandy beaches as far as the eye can see, a great view of the ocean and a huge bike path all the way along! We got off the bikes and got sand between our toes! The perimeter of the beach was sand dunes covered in ornamental looking grass.
We couldn't not run through it. But then I heard it, a rattle. Does Belgium have rattle snakes? We didn't hang around and find out.

We were now 18km from our home base, Brugge. I wondered if we were actually going to make it back. My bum was already numb! The scenery distracted us though, and pretty soon we were back among the canals and cobblestone of Brugge.

Of all the people and animals we met along our bike ride, the rooster was the most peculiar. I suspect they were Irish roosters. In Ireland we were told there are no strangers, just friends who have never met. Belgians, however, were not quite as welcoming. The Irish are a hard act to follow. Never=the-less, every time we needed them, they pulled up their socks. Strangers, presumable locals, are unresponsive to smiles. Tourists, many are easy to spot, are no different than Niagara FAlls tourists: unresponsive to the entire world around them. Even most of the Belgian farm stock in unresponsive. Cows don't respond to your mooing, horses to your naying and sheep to your baaing. Never do they respond, no matter your expertise in farm animal noises. And then there is the rooster. Even in the middle of an intense 'pecking the ground' session, he will show you the utmost interest if you cluck at him. Before our bike ride I was rather impartial to roosters. Now, that has all changed.

To give our bums a well-needed rest, we spent the next day wandering the city. I have officially given Brugge the title of 'Romantic City'. Even Jonathan was persuaded by its cute buildings, canals and cobblestone. In such a romantic city, I decided it would only make sense that he should kiss me every 10 minutes. So he set his watch. This lasted all of 20 minutes. Suspiciously, the watch "broke" and Jonathan couldn't fix it.

It was a mere inconvience. I just replaced him with some Belgian chocolate. We bought some hand-made Belgian Chocolate, ate a picnic lunch beside a canal, and got lost in Brugge's narrow streets.

It was neat because the cute houses and streets were not just in the tourist areas. They were everywhere. It was just real Brugge.

One of our stops was at the Basilica of the Holy Blood. We stopped because of its connection to John 19:41: "Taking Jesus'body, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus wrapped it in strips of linen." It held a relic; apparently a strip of this linen, covered in Holy Blood. I had never before seen a relic and I did not know how to approach it, or even if I should. I was sceptical about the origins of the blood. Would it be wrong to venerate the blood, the relic, if it really was not Holy Blood? I didn't know and I still don't. I did, however, choose to go up, and even touch, but not as a sceptic. I went as a Christian. My time in front of the relic was spent not wondering "is this Holy Blood?" but quietly and thankfully reaffirming my faith that "In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace (Eph 1:7). I am glad I went up.

Let's move on...to FOOD! Imagine this: a real Belgian waffle, crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, just barely poking out from underneath a mound of creamy ice cream, liberally drizzled in chocolate sause...for dinner! We paid no attention the surrounding awe-inspiring gothic architecture, the marching band, or the Belgian festival that we were right in the middle of. It was just me and my waffle.

On a much less important note, we finally saw the Mannekin Pis. You know, the little boy peeing fountain. Brussels is pretty obsessed with it. The locals have made hundreds of little outfits for him, all with a strategically placed holde.
They even have them on display at a museum! There is a Mannekin Pis restaurant, Mannekin Pis hotel, Mannekin Pis store, heck you can even buy your own little Mannekin Pis to bring home...in chocolate if you'd like!

Belgium has been great. We might miss its slower pace when we roll into wild and crazy Amsterdam. Of course, we'll let you know.

ps. thanks for the interest! My camera is a Kodak z650. It is a 6MP, 12X optical zoom, and it comes with lots of automatic and manual functions. I love this camera!

Ode to Belgian Chocolate

Many nights you have danced in my dreams
But now, I see you through the shop window
For too long we have been separated.
No more can this be!
I go inside only to again be separated from you.
Oh what I would give to be that glass counter!
Gazing at you day and night,
always near and never far.
I could smell always your sweet aroma.
But wait no longer, my love.
You have chosen me and I, you.
Together at last, me and you, you and me.
My heart will go on, Belgian Chocolate.

A Jingle from Dingle

An Daingean Peninsula must be one of the most beautiful places on the earth. The bus ride in was so Irish, with massive fields of sheep and cows all over the mountains, all right on the coast of the Atlantic. Dingle town itself was cute It had all the typical Irish looking shops, but unlike Galway, it felt like fishing and farming really did fuel the economy, not just hordes of tourists. The town centered around a harbour, which also happen to be the home of Ireland's most friendly dolphin, Fungi. Apparently in 1984 Fungi adopted Dingle as his home town (The way Bennet the Cat adopted us). In his younger years he would jump over small zodiacs and fishing boats and play with local fisherman and scuba divers. In his old age, although still active, he more swims beside and jumps alongside boats, as opposed to over them.

The really impressive part of Dingle was the surrounding peninsula. Our B&B host (who baked delicious homemade bread, pies, cakes and museli (muselage, as Gramma calls it.)) called and set us up with a private tour of the peninsula for a group-rate price.

Now, instead of boring you with more description about how incredible the most Western tip of Europe is (plus I'm running out of adjectives), I will let the pictures do the talking and tell you some interesting facts about Ireland (ps. the tour guide said that I was very lucky to be able to actually get out of the tour bus and no be blown away by the coastal winds). But don't fret, my avid fans: I would have risked it for these pictures, regardless of the threat on my life. So, anyways, when Ireland joined the EU, it was one of the poorest countries, but as promised, the other EU countries helped build it up to is luxurious position today. Unfortunately, payback time had come, and many Irish aren't pleased about the cost. For example, Ireland has experienced a huge wave of Polish immigration since Poland recently joined the EU, and since the minimum wage in Ireland is almost 3 times as much as it is back home , many Polish people are making the obvious choice and are either moving to Ireland, or at least working here for the summer. It just so happens that we met a Polish student in Dingle who had been working in Limerick for the summer, who confirmed that she didn't end up have to speak any english at all in Ireland, as the Polish community is so large. During the famine, Ireland lost almost 4 million people. We toured a famine village in Connemara that had ruins of the tiny stone houses with very few windows. The more windows your house had, the more taxes you would pay! When Ireland was ruled by the British and there was no work in the small communities, people would get paid to build walls out of stones piled on each other. The walls did not divide anything, and served no purpose other than to provide work (the British gov't didn't believe in handouts). A final intersting fact is that it pays to have a thatch roof. The Irish gov't actually gives out grants for people to maintain and install thatched roofs!


Tides. Tides are so cool. I think this because yesterday I got to walk on the ocean floor when the tide was out. They actually had steps down the cliff! There were underwater plants growing on the rocks and little fish who got stuck in puddles and missed the ride out. We were standing at the tip of Dingle Bay looking out at the Atlantic, watching Fungi having fun with the fishing boats, about 20 ft under water! (Well, if it were about 5 hours later!) We took some great 'water crashing on rocks' pictures, talked to some fishermen fishing for sting ray, snuck through cow fields and hopped some fences. After all this adventure, the only logical thing to do, was to enjoy some good old live trad. Irish music. So we did. Then we walked the 5 minutes across town (yes, thats all the way across) back to our B&B, which btw, our rooms were about 20 ft from the Atlantic with a great view, and slept with the ocean breeze on our faces. (because I insisted the windows be left open!). Dingle is now tied with Northern Northern Ireland for most beautiful places on our trip thus far,in case you were keeping track.

A note about sheep. I would like to take this opportunity to express my love for sheep. They are just so entertaining! If they aren't trying to escape their huge lots (where would they go anyways?) or narrowly diving out of the way of on-coming tour buses, or being chased by tourists (ahem, Jonathan), they really are just little fluffy and unaware entertainers. I think I am going to get a pet sheep when I come home. Just think about it Dad: you would never have to cut the grass again!


ps. sorry if the title of this entry misled you. I don't actually have a 'jingle from dingle'. Gramma, however, will be home Saturday and will be more than willing to lead a round of 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling'.

pps. if interested in an exact ply by play of Ireland 2006, Gramma has recorded every detail right down to the fresh squeezed orange juice we had for breakfast this morning, for everyone's reading pleasure. Just another example of why she is the cutest Gramma in all of Ireland (and Canada).

ppps. SARAH, we said 'hi' to Fungi for you! He wants to see you back on the Emerald Island soon.

A Typical Day in Ireland?

Our time in Galway was building up to an Irish Medieval Banquet, in the style of Oh Canada Eh?! Dinner Show, which was held several town over at Dungire Castle. We booked tickets in advance and, the day before, double checked which bus we needed to take to Dunguire. It left at 200. We double checked. Our plan was as follows: We would arrive at 145 for our 200 bus to Kinvara, the city that boasts Dunguire. It would arrive at approximately 230 in Kinvara, which would leave us 3 hours to enjoy the quaint town and tour the castle before the 530 banquet. Our day was perfectly planned; nothing could go wrong.

Now fast forward to the day of the banquet.

Although the bus people had told us which bus wee needed twice already, we triple checked at 1100am that morning.

"There is no 200 bus to Kinvara," the bus laady said, "the only bus going there leaves at 600 tonight."

We now had a 530 banquet and a 600 bus that would get in half way through our dinner show. Our hopes and dreams were shattered, and, one of us became moody and cranky.

It was looking dim: the closest town to kinvara we could get to could have still left us with a 4 hour walk to the castle. What were we going to do? Hitch-hike (with Gramma), of course! So we hopped on a bus going in the general direcion of Kinvara and started into uncharted territory (for us, anyway). I started chatting with the Irish lad next to me on the bus and learned Kilcolgan, the town the bus would leave us in, is a one-horse town: 3 stores, no gas station, no taxis, population about 200 (including sheep).

Unbeknowst to us, our conversation sparked the interest of a lady sitting a seat beyond. She made her way into the conversation. Whe was a tri-lingual Irish high-school teacher, was married to a man from Italy, had 2 girls, and was a traveller herself. She said her car was in Gort, a stop 30 minutes past our Kilcolgan stop. If I could convice the bus driver to let us stay on, she would drive us to Kinvara! I convinced him (with no extra charge!) and we were off to Gort.

It was a beautiful town full of beautiful people, much like our new-found friend/chauffeur, Pauline. Pauline didn't just drive us to Kinvara, she gave us our own private 1 hour tour of her region, the Burren, and told us the history and legends surrounding it. The Burren, we learned, has no dirt to bury a man, no tree to hang him, and no water to drown him; a unique landscape for sure! We are very thankful for her.

Until 530 we sight-seed (sight-sawed?).

The banquet was worth every penny! The actors/servers certainly knew how to entertain; and the cooks certainly knew how to cook! We ate like the 'Lords' and 'Ladies' we were that night. In the photo, if you see any looks of fear or pain on the faces of the banquet guest, it was probably because I had just finished serenading them with my rendition of Mull of Kintyre on stage. When the banquet,, filled with Irish culture, literature, and music, finished, we thought our night would start winding down.

Again we were wrong.

Half-way back to Galway, our bus driver picked up rowdy Irish boys, with beers in hand, from the Annual Oyster-Fest. They sloppily staggered to the back of the bus where our trio sat. Gramma soon became the apple of their eyes. We traded stories and accents and all were merry. At the back of the bus there were 5 steep steps leading down to an emergency exit. That staircase was out with a vengence that night: it claimed 2 Irish boys. One second they were in front of us, the next second: gone. They laid crumpled at the bottom of the stairs while their remaining pints of Guinness found a new home at the top of the stairs, sprayed across the windows. That was the grand conclusion to a rather eventful day in Ireland.

We have learned to expect the un expected when travelling Europe. Only now, we look forward to it.

ps. After that last photo was taken I was immediately informed that, apparently, it is very uncool to give the peace sign while having your picture taken. I will try not to make that same mistake again.

The Wild West (of Ireland)

I am going to say two things that I NEVER thought I would say. Brace yourselves.
#1. We have met some very nice Americans
#2. I have a problem: I take too many pictures. (although you wouldn't know it with the measley amount I am allowed to post)

This has to be quick... we are being kicked out of Dingle's cute little Gaelic library in 24 minutes.
We will start with Galway... at first I (Kristen) HATED Galway. I figured that if I had wanted to spend a weekend in a touristy, overpriced town, I should have just stayed in Niagara Falls. However, as Jonathan Buchanan Mooney predicted, within a few hours, I had been won over. Let me tell you about the incredible day that won me over. It started normally. It was Saturday morning, and we had planned, after going to the local market and seeing the Galway Cathedral, to take the 2pm bus out to Kinvara for a Medieval Banquet. Upon arriving at the bus station however, at 11am, just to confirm our bus our (although we had already done so the day before as well). To our horror, we discovered that, in fact, the bus did not leave at 2pm, and that the next one didn't leave until 6pm. Since the banquet started at 5:30, we took the more adventurous option... we hopped on the the next available bus to the closest possible town. A town, that we we told, had no bus services, no taxi, and was about 10km from Kinvara. We were assured by locals that hitchhiking was a safe and almost reliable way to get to Kinvara. With Gramma in tow, and ready for an adventure, we set out to Kilcolgan. On the way, Jonathan started chatting up a local Galway-ian sitting beside him. After the young boy got off the bus, the woman across the asile began talking to us. She was very friendly, and right before our stop, she offered to drive us to Kinvara herself, if we kept on the bus a little longer to her town! It was incredible! Not only did she go out of her way giving us a presonal narrated tour of the Burren (a really cool rocky region south of Galway) but she then dropped us off right in the harbour of Kinvara, across from the castle. Someone is definitely watching over us. Corny, I know.


The banquet was awesome! Gramma got to hear some of her favourite Irish songs, and Jonathan seranaded the ENTIRE crowd with his rendition of "Mull of Kintyre." On the bus ride home, we drove right through a town that was having an oyster fest and a number of very drunk Irish boys got on, pints and all! They loved Gramma Mary! Although none of them believed we were from Canada. That, in part was because Jonthan was talking in this ridiculos "Canadian" accent (think 'hockey hick meets newfoundland meets something definitley NOT Canadian) and also in part because, according the the Irish guy who 'really knows Canada', Niagara Falls, is not actually a city, but a site. I told him that about 80,000 people would probably disagree with him.

Thats Galway, and our 24 minutes. We will post pictures from Dublin, and believe me, they are BEAUTIFUL!!


ps. mom and dad: you don't have to write my personal messages in the blog comments! Just EMAIL me!! We can check our emails! You guys are hilarious!

pps. If my spelling and grammer were not up to par, sorry. You try typing with someone yipping over your shoulder. No names.


Wish you were here .. with us and Fungie (the dolphin!)