I have to finish these instalments before I forget the trip! Heaven forbid!
So the next morning was Sunday; my great-uncle and great-aunt went to church and Ang and I slept in a bit. After breakfast and some laundry (whew, finally clean clothes!) Ang and I decided to go out for a walk, since my uncle and aunt seemed quite tired after yesterday’s excursion.
We wandered out through Veenwouden, passing by numerous sheep and cows, vast expanses of grass, canals and, well, “irrigation ditches” I guess (although there is probably a specific term for them in Dutch). We stopped to get some pictures of the lambs gambolling across the lawn in the neighbouring village. The houses and landscaping were so quaint and so different from what we have in North America; oozing history and culture indeed! It was as if we had stepped into another planet where time went by more slowly, and I noticed each breath of air (damp and smelling vaguely of livestock, but not unpleasant!) Some runners were out, some of the first I’d seen on the trip. In fact, I noticed more fitness-oriented people in Friesland than anywhere else.
We arrived back at the main road in front of the train/bus station. As we were standing there on a gorgeous spring day, contemplating what to do next, I thought perhaps we could go back to Dokkum and peruse the shops and cafés for awhile. A few minutes later, we were trying to decipher the signs at the station and ultimately figured out which bus to take. However, shortly thereafter, when a MINIVAN pulled up at the stop, we doubted ourselves! Using my best sign language and as few words as possible I managed to get things straight. First, a confused look. Then, “Dokkum?” The driver says something which sounds positive. I say “Two euro?” and hold up two fingers. “Ja, dri euro” a woman says. I hand over 3 euro. She gives one back. Ahhh…. “dri” is “two”, not “three”. We clamber into the van and listen as Dutch chitchat ensues. I have no idea where to get off, but I hope the driver will stop in Dokkum. The air is rife with a sense of adventure.
I recognize Dokkum from our trip yesterday… the driver stops regardless. She says something but I don’t understand, so I just say “Dank u” and wave. We disembark and venture into what is now a ghost town… What a difference from yesterday’s carnival atmosphere! Everything is closed except for one café by the canal. The wind has picked up and we’re getting chilly, so the scarves went on and we headed to the café for some coffee and lunch.
Ordering was done by the “point-and-smile” method… I doubt the waitress was impressed. She either spoke no English or decided that we weren’t worth the effort, and we sat for 2 hours to get a sandwich. However, it was still a nice afternoon to get some sun and watch the bicyclists go by on the cobblestone streets. We then headed to a small pub with various international flags hung over the door… a good sign, we thought. To our relief, the friendly couple who ran the place spoke English and let us sip a cheap glass of Heineken in the warmth of the bar while we awaited the bus (van?) back to Veenwouden.
Getting back to town wasn’t that difficult, but after we got off the bus we had quite a time finding my great-uncle’s house again. The streets curved and wound every which way, and we wandered in circles for almost half an hour when Ang suggested we give them a call. I felt kind of embarrassed, but we’d said we’d be back by dinnertime so, as it was 5:15, I gave in.
Well! Lo and behold, my great-uncle was beside himself with worry, and my aunt was close to phoning the police! Apparently there had been a misunderstanding! I felt terrible and apologized profusely… Wondering when my parents would get the phone call complaining about my behaviour! They picked us up (we were actually only about 500m from their house…) and we sat down to a lovely dinner with plenty of wine to soothe the afternoon’s anxiety!
So the next morning was Sunday; my great-uncle and great-aunt went to church and Ang and I slept in a bit. After breakfast and some laundry (whew, finally clean clothes!) Ang and I decided to go out for a walk, since my uncle and aunt seemed quite tired after yesterday’s excursion.
We wandered out through Veenwouden, passing by numerous sheep and cows, vast expanses of grass, canals and, well, “irrigation ditches” I guess (although there is probably a specific term for them in Dutch). We stopped to get some pictures of the lambs gambolling across the lawn in the neighbouring village. The houses and landscaping were so quaint and so different from what we have in North America; oozing history and culture indeed! It was as if we had stepped into another planet where time went by more slowly, and I noticed each breath of air (damp and smelling vaguely of livestock, but not unpleasant!) Some runners were out, some of the first I’d seen on the trip. In fact, I noticed more fitness-oriented people in Friesland than anywhere else.
We arrived back at the main road in front of the train/bus station. As we were standing there on a gorgeous spring day, contemplating what to do next, I thought perhaps we could go back to Dokkum and peruse the shops and cafés for awhile. A few minutes later, we were trying to decipher the signs at the station and ultimately figured out which bus to take. However, shortly thereafter, when a MINIVAN pulled up at the stop, we doubted ourselves! Using my best sign language and as few words as possible I managed to get things straight. First, a confused look. Then, “Dokkum?” The driver says something which sounds positive. I say “Two euro?” and hold up two fingers. “Ja, dri euro” a woman says. I hand over 3 euro. She gives one back. Ahhh…. “dri” is “two”, not “three”. We clamber into the van and listen as Dutch chitchat ensues. I have no idea where to get off, but I hope the driver will stop in Dokkum. The air is rife with a sense of adventure.
I recognize Dokkum from our trip yesterday… the driver stops regardless. She says something but I don’t understand, so I just say “Dank u” and wave. We disembark and venture into what is now a ghost town… What a difference from yesterday’s carnival atmosphere! Everything is closed except for one café by the canal. The wind has picked up and we’re getting chilly, so the scarves went on and we headed to the café for some coffee and lunch.Ordering was done by the “point-and-smile” method… I doubt the waitress was impressed. She either spoke no English or decided that we weren’t worth the effort, and we sat for 2 hours to get a sandwich. However, it was still a nice afternoon to get some sun and watch the bicyclists go by on the cobblestone streets. We then headed to a small pub with various international flags hung over the door… a good sign, we thought. To our relief, the friendly couple who ran the place spoke English and let us sip a cheap glass of Heineken in the warmth of the bar while we awaited the bus (van?) back to Veenwouden.
Getting back to town wasn’t that difficult, but after we got off the bus we had quite a time finding my great-uncle’s house again. The streets curved and wound every which way, and we wandered in circles for almost half an hour when Ang suggested we give them a call. I felt kind of embarrassed, but we’d said we’d be back by dinnertime so, as it was 5:15, I gave in.
Well! Lo and behold, my great-uncle was beside himself with worry, and my aunt was close to phoning the police! Apparently there had been a misunderstanding! I felt terrible and apologized profusely… Wondering when my parents would get the phone call complaining about my behaviour! They picked us up (we were actually only about 500m from their house…) and we sat down to a lovely dinner with plenty of wine to soothe the afternoon’s anxiety!
