Holland Journal, from Ellie -- Part 1

Hi from Rotterdam. A five day journal, starting on June 14.

We arrived yesterday, a flight of one hour and ten minutes. We flew in over a sea of windmills, literally: the windmills are all over the sea as you approach Amsterdam, like fields of wheat except (from the air) it’s little white stalks with three twirling blade. Then as we flew over land it was more fields of white stalks. I was reminded of the Duke of Plazatoro's line, that owing to an unusual amount of rainfall, the streets are filled with water (or something like that!), for truly there are canals and canals and rivers and more canals criss-crossing the landscape. On the train from the window I saw what appeared to be boats in dry-dock, all in lines, and then saw that they were berthed in miniature canals about eight feet wide. And bicycles absolutely everywhere. At the train stations there are covered bicycle racks that stretch for what looks like a city block. It's my kind of biking territory--not a hill in sight.

Our hotel is a throw-back to some sort of Soviet-style ethic; pretty grubby, in modern parlance. There are two cigarette butts on the carpeted staircase that I'm tracking to see if they ever get removed, the hallways smell like mildew and when you look up the ceiling tiles are either water stained or missing, the room has an eau-de-stale cigarette, the pillows are dinky and the towels likewise, and the dining room floor has a fair amount of food debris. All night long there were punctuations from across the "courtyard" of loud Dutchmen, but thankfully it didn't keep me awake because I had no idea what they were saying. The noises from the other guests are, ahem, audible and sometimes of an intimate nature....

This part of Rotterdam looks like the set of a sci-fi movie: tall cylindrical buildings with round windows; ovoid buildings; sunken shopping areas dipping in front of you; pointy buildings….I'm sure there are some old buildings, or an older section, and I look forward to finding them this afternoon. I'm trying to stick to a plan of schoolwork in the mornings, exploring in the afternoons. I'm a little excited because I found a reference to a Dutch architect that was very influential in the chair-making trade of the seventeenth century, a Huguenot named Daniel Marot, and perhaps I can find a reference while I'm here in Holland.

That's all for now, Ellie.


Yesterday, Tuesday, Bruce got away from the conference and we took the train to Amsterdam. The train is a marvel of smoothness, quietness, and timeliness. It is expensive, but it's about half price for Dutch residents (those with Dutch bank accounts), so it's nice to know they are getting around cheaply. We rode on a double decker train past canals and cows and sheep and lots of waterfowl. Saw some windmills of the grain mill type, though none of them were wearing sails.

I'M IN LOVE! Amsterdam is exquisite. The first sight is the train station itself, absolutely huge and beautiful mid-19th centuryish spires and brickwork. The next sight is outside the station, a parking lot for bicycles, probably about a hundred thousand of them. How does anyone find their own bike? A miracle. The bicycles are a big part of the utter charm of the place. They are actually the main mode of transport, as far as I can tell, and as a result the city is quiet. Peaceful. The other transportation is the tram. Yes, there are some cars but they are outnumbered. It's quite a sight to see the intersections: a complexity of bike lanes, tram lines, and cars. Each group has their own light signals. The bikes are large and the seats and handlebars are set quite high so everyone sits very upright, old ladies, old men, businessmen in suits, young women in skirts, scarves and jackets billowing in the wind. It's a truly beautiful sight, I hope it's the sight of the future for all cities, and of course it's a sight of the past.

The second thing you notice is all the canals and bridges, close to the sidewalks. There are as many canals as there are streets, because they run in the middle of most streets. So to the mix of bicycles, trams, people, Vespas, and cars, add BOATS!

We went to the Van Gogh Museum. It was the most rewarding time I've ever spent in a museum. I thought, stupidly, there might be a dozen paintings by Van Gogh, and then paintings by others. As it turns out, half of the entire museum is Van Gogh. It was stupendous. Seeing his paintings, probably 70 of them (more?) in chronological order, close up, was strangely moving. What you miss by seeing prints is the thickness of the paint, the three-dimensionality of the brush strokes, which makes it seem as though the painter has been here recently. I don't know why it's so interesting to see paint in little blobs, but it is. And it is fascinating to see the colors Van Gogh sees in things, and how he outlines things with the opposite color. I stood in front of these pictures, bending in, peering at the brush strokes, getting inside his mind, at least a little bit. What an incredible luxury to look at so many of his paintings from ten inches away.

When we came out (having bought some large prints, of course!) we wandered over a bridge or two, dodged a thousand bicycles or so, looking for a bite to eat, and found an Argentine restaurant with a man playing tangos on a mandolin, right next to a Greek restaurant, a Spanish tapas bar with a man singing Spanish songs (beautifully, in fact) and playing the guitar, and sat at a table on the cobbled street.

After supper, we decided to look at Anne Frank's house, which was about eight blocks away. We found it, a completely ordinary Amsterdam house, three windows wide and three stories tall, just like its neighbours. It ordinariness is unnerving. It is obviously someone's home, and there are no big signs saying "here it is!" And right here, on this ordinary leafy street, with the ubiquitous cute canal in front, such misery, such fear, such horror. Unlike Dachau, which looks so cruel, this house looks completely homey and safe.

More later, Ellie.