Tuesday, 7/26
Neither Greg or I were prepared for just how much we would love the countryside of Holland, so when it came time to leave this morning, it was hard to get motivated to move too fast. Plus we had experienced another mid-night round of fireworks, once again no one knew the occasion and we had to get resettled after looking outside to see what all the commotion was. We drug ourselves out of bed listening to the morning barnyard serenade and enjoyed one last breakfast delivered to our door. Hannie always rotated in something new to keep breakfast exciting each morning. Today, three types of cereal with dried fruit was added to our bread, jam, butter, yogurt, coffee, and eggs. Finally we realized if we were going to make the train we'd have to hustle. Bags were quickly packed, animals were bid a hasty farewell, and Hannie hauled us off in her van toward the bus depot. Once at the depot we realized the bus we meant to catch for Gouda had already left. We still had enough time to make the next bus and connect with our train but it would be tight. Hannie didn't want us to have to rush, so she insisted on driving us to the train station another twenty minutes away. Wishing Hannie a fond farewell at the station, we made it to our train with plenty of time to spare. The first train of the morning took us from Gouda (locally pronounced like HOW-DA as the Dutch 'G' sounds like the 'CH' sound in the Hebrew pronunciation of Chanukah...) to Rotterdam. Since it was another day the Eurail pass would be earning it's worth, we sort of went the long way around in order to utilize to the trains, then made several different connections until we were headed in the right direction. So the first leg to Rotterdam was only about twenty minutes by train from Gouda; in fact we could see it down the river on our bike ride yesterday. Rotterdam is a town that was leveled in the bombings of World War II. Hannie had explained on one of our many car rides that when they rebuilt the city, they decided to go very modern, the sky scrapers and big buildings are very unusual for this area. I have noticed a stark difference between American and European perceptions of the permanence of that war. While in the U.S. most of our WWII vets have passed away by now and the war seems a distant memory (as it was not fought on our land most of us don't have daily reminders), here in Europe people speak of it as if it just happened last year. There is no clarification about which war, it is "the" war. The landscape and the communities are still physically scarred by it. This was most prevalent in Eastern Berlin where certain areas were only now starting to be renovated, even in the last ten years since Greg's initial visit to the area he noticed that parts of eastern Berlin that had been sort of a wasteland were just now starting to be built up again. We hope that no one will ever forget that war, the injustices that were being combatted and the atrocities that were committed, but it is a much sharper reminder for Europeans who still see the destruction it reaped on their homeland and are still trying to heal it.
Enough with the historic commentary... From Rotterdam we caught a train to Antwerp which took us across the Belgian border. More flat green expanses and farm land paved our way. Antwerp to Kotrijk was a tight transfer. We had to run up the stairs to our platform and landed in our seats, huffing and puffing as the train pulled away from the station, barely making it. From Kotrijk to Poperinge it was only another twenty minutes. The larger cities in Belgium have reminded me a bit of San Francisco in that there are lots of tall skinny buildings that are shouldered right up against each other (but certainly a much less colorful, less hilly version of S.F.) The countryside is more spread out. We arrived at Poperinge hoping to make the transfer to the Belbus. We waited and waited, it didn't come. Hmmm....Greg asked in the train station. Apparently you have to call the Belbus two hours in advance, sort of like a taxi. We'd never heard of a bus like that. Could we get a taxi? No, the town has no taxi service. So Greg gave Jackie at our B and B a call, sure enough she offered to come pick us up. This has been our lucky day. As Jackie drove us through the fields of hops, she commiserated with us about the frustrating Belbus system and said she'd help us reserve a bus for our trip back to the station. We learned that Dutch (aka Flemish, around here) and French are spoken here, but most everyone has a little English. When we arrived, we found beautiful English garden like grounds. So you know I'm loving it. We also learned that we are on the property of the Brewery, so now you know Greg is in heaven. He watched each town that passed by on the train and counted signs advertising his favorite Belgian Brews. So we will be spending two nights at the St. Bernardus Brewery. There is a main house where breakfast will be served and a common room with serve yourself beer. Our room is off the main house, in a separate wing of rooms, with little patios out front. It is a large comfy room with a giant bathroom. We learned that these rooms were converted from a part of the property that once was the cheese-making facility. They've since gone to brewing and bottling exclusively, and run a tight ship operating six days a week to supply the world with at least six unique Belgian ales. To get into the little town of Watou, we were going to require transportation. Jackie showed us a variety of bikes. The fancy new beach cruisers were for rent at 10 Euro a day, but since we were just going to dinner there were a variety of less fancy bikes that we could take for free. Super, we'll ride a free bike any day. This ended up being hilarious. The bike I tried to mount was way to tall for me, the seat was locked in place, so it couldn't be adjusted. Greg kindly traded with me and his seemed to work better as I could touch the ground with my tippy toes if we had to stop. For some reason my bike fit Greg strangely and he sort of resembled the typical clown riding a tricycle. Aside from that the bikes squeaked and rattled so on the path to town that I had the cartoon image of all of the pieces falling away and us pedaling mid-air holding onto disconnected handlebars and eventually falling into a heap of rubbish coursing through my mind. We did arrive in town after some effort on the up hill as the gears didn't really work. We were starving by the time we got to Hommel Haus. We were pleased that it looked like a really nice restaurant but unfortunately the prices reflected this as well. What the heck, we are nearing the end of our trip and this place was recommended for pairing fine Belgian Beer with cuisine. I settled on a salad with warm goat cheese and croutons, crowded with fresh berries and a honey raspberry beer dressing. It was amazingly delicious. Greg ordered the monk fish with carrot and potato puree in a lobster beer sauce. The texture of the fish was like lobster, it was all excellent, as well as the two beers we sampled. After coasting back down the path to our B and B (it was much easier riding the bikes home, as it was down hill), we spent some time in the sitting room at the B and B sampling some beer from the fridge. I can't think of a better way to end the day.
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