There were red ones, yellow ones, orange ones, white ones, purple ones, pink ones, multicolor ones, feathered ones, spiky ones, peony-like ones, tiny ones, short ones, big tall ones, small fat ones and tall fat ones and more -- every kind of tulip imaginable. Thousands and thousands of them, millions of them, planted in solid waves and mounds, nestled among trees and spilled onto pond banks, crammed into pots and raised beds. They were massed in all one color and flower type, and they were mixed all ways among hyacinths, daffodils, little windflowers and more.
They were tulips to tiptoe through for hours, and we did. I could usually pick out the white, yellow and pastel-colored ones -- they all looked white to me -- and once I was able to sort out the shadows of light and gray, I'd get an idea of the flower and leaf shapes. Then Linda would give me the colors, and they'd pop out in my mind's eye like turning on the Christmas tree lights.
"Oh Mary, look at these, they are the softest pink with deep salmon cups in the centers!" And the white and light gray shapes among the dark stripes of leaves would light up into the loveliest daffodils. Dark gray- and khaki-striped soccer-ball size blooms flamed into torches of vermillion, red-orange and yellow. A mottled gray ground cover transformed into a deep purple blanket of low-growing tulips and little tiny grape hyacinths. I was so engrossed in watching Linda's colors explode into my images that sometimes I forgot to blink.
I paid for that lapse with a couple of torturous knives in my eyes, and had to stop Linda in the middle of a crowded walkway so I could get some drops in. After that I made sure to give my eyes more drops more often.
The part of the gardens I liked best was out among the trees and little waterways. We would come upon beds of tulips and hyacinths in shades of pink, purple, and red, sprinkled with slender white tulips, little tiny white grape hyacinths and small windflowers, and we'd feel like we'd wandered into a magical fairy garden amid the trees.
Linda was happily taking iPhone pictures at one of these magical surprise gardens when a very American voice said, "You know, when you get home all those pictures will never look exactly like it really was when you were here."
Linda, of course, was not fazed one bit. She was busy prodding me into the exact perfect position for a selfie. "Well, maybe," she said pleasantly, "but we like our selfies anyway, so we can prove we were really here!" Whereupon she ordered me to squat, and took our photo.
They were a nice couple from Cleveland, Ohio, amused by us two squatting Californians, but they eemed to like us anyway. When Linda was through with the selfie, they offered to take a photo of us togeher (standing, not squatting). I think they wanted us to have some normal pictures. We accepted anyway.
LInda was very happy with all the selfie and photo opportunities at the tulip gardens, and now has enough flower mug shots to fill a substantial catalogue. She even had me hold up the iPhone and take a video of her wandering among some tulip and hyacinth beds. I was proud to be useful even if I did feel like I was playing Statue of Liberty, rigidly holding the iPhone up on its tripod handle like a torch.
We both bought an assortment of a couple hundred bulbs, to be shipped home to us in October when it will be time to plant them. It takes about 80 tulip bulbs to fill a square meter of garden space. The really small bulbs, like the little grape hyacinths, take about 130 to fill up just one square foot. So a couple hundred bulbs should be just enough for us to liven up our spring flower gardens. That was the single major "tourist souvenir buy" for either of on this whole trip so far. What better souvenirs from the Netherlands than beautiful flowers blooming in our yards every spring?
Canceling the tour yesterday and doing it today instead was a stroke of good luck. It was cold, cloudy and windy yesterday but today we had bright blue skies with only a few fluffy white clouds, and it was breezy rather than windy. Still warm jacket weather, but what a pleasure to be out and about among all those gorgeous flowers on such a beautiful sunny day. The fresh air was full of flower fragrances -- the hyacinths were the most aromatic and intoxicating. What a day for the senses!
Our walk yesterday afternoon in the park near our hotel was a treat for the senses, too. After shutting down so we could recover from our "hitting the wall" wounds, it felt good to get out, even in the windy weather. We bought cappuccinos at a nearby cafe and took them to the park and found a bench in a small spot of sun to sit and enjoy our cuppas. Then we toured the park and, yes, caught some more selfies, including another one with a statue in the background.
Unlike the statue in Gothenburg, "this one has pants on," Linda said. It also had a pigeon atop its head and was surrounded by masses of tulips in all colors, so it was good selfie background material. The best selfie background we found was a reflecting pond. It was a beautiful smooth mirror for the cloudy sky and trees, and framed by a ring of daffodils all along its banks.
The trees here are leafing out and I could imagine that lovely new spring green fuzz on all the branches. Every now and then the sun would break through the clouds and light the green fuzz into a dazzling dapple glow. There were groves of new young trees here and there, as well as several larger and very old trees.
We were admiring an especially old gnarled black-barked tree with high branches beginning to sprout that new green fuzz, when someone said, "a hundred years old, that one." He wore one of those caps that looks a bit like a beret but has a visor (I disremember what those caps are called), a big nose, and a friendly voice. He said his name was Jon, and we chatted about the trees in the park and various trees in California, including the sequoias. His English was heavily accented but we understood him perfectly, and we learned that he'd been a truck driver before he retired, and spoke five languages. He said he was enjoying his retirement, and we said we were enjoying ours too. "So, this is your mother?" He asked, looking at Linda.
"No, we're soul sisters," I said. "But I'm older so I get to tell her what to do!" Linda's six years younger than I am, and a lot cuter and skinnier, so I'm not surprised people may think the gray-haired frumpy lady with the cane hanging on to her arm is her mother. Ah well. I can take it.
On our way back to the hotel to meet her friend Marieka for dinner, Linda stopped suddenly to take a good look through a shop window. "Let's go in here," she said, "I think I see some mosaics."
It was a studio, and the mosaics were designed to be integrated into interior design. The man we met showed us some mosaic tiles he was working with that were made of cut abalone shells, polished glossy-smooth and rippling with the shell colors. There was a mosaic of a daisy that was about a square yard in size, made of 1/2-inch squares of transparent glass and mounted on mesh, hung against a window so that it was all a luminous glow with the sun shining through it. We exchanged business cards, and he told us that mosaics were becoming very popular in Amsterdam.
So who knows. Maybe this new mosaic popularity will end up making me a rich mosaic artist instead of one who is glad her husband has a day job! (I won't hold my breath.)
Dinner with Marieke was delightful -- Marieke herself was delightful, in fact. She and Linda met nine years ago when they were both taking a six-month French language course near Geneva, and have kept in touch ever since. Marieke took us on the tram a few stops away from our hotel to a restaurant called "Mr. and Mrs. Peterson's" (but not likely any relation to Mr. P in Gothenburg). We all had a great dish of baked cod served on top of a kind of pilaf of whole grains, fresh asparagus, cubed sweet potatoes, onions and other good things in a big bowl. Marieke told us the ingredients were typically Dutch even if the presentation might be innovative. I liked it so much I actually scraped the bottom of my bowl to get every last bit of it.
Apparently I'm enjoying all this great food a bit too much for my system to handle, and I wasn't feeling very chipper when we got back to our hotel. Dr. Linda has prescribed a cup of strong Smooth Move tea. Hopefully that will set me right tomorrow in time for us to have an uneventful flight to London.
Some short shots:
Biker freeways:
Bicycles are ubiquitous here, even more so than cars. When we were walking in the park near our hotel, we had to stop before crossing what Linda calls "biker freeways" so we wouldn't get run over.
Besides bikes, the Dutch are big on cell phones, which is fine, but it's disconcerting to see almost every bike rider speeding along with both feet on the pedals, one or no hands on the handle bars, and one or both hands as well as both eyes on the cell phone. I'm amazed paramedics aren't peeling smashed-up bikers and pedestrians off the streets several times every day, but we didn't see s single collision.
Although we did see one accident from the bus on the way back into the city after the tulip gardens tour, or rather Linda did. I winced when she described how we were passing a motorbike and its rider thrown down flat onto the road.
Amsterdam's nonexistent substance abuse problem:
We were walking along a park path that was leading us through a grove of young trees, and I was just beginning to tell Linda that I was detecting some strong marijuana essence in the air when she smelled it too. We just shifted direction and waked on. Later, at dinner with Marieke, I asked her if, as far as the Netherlands government was concerned, there was a substance problem in her country. "Oh no," she said, "it's not illegal here, but we don't use it. It's only people from other countries." She was totally sincere about this. I don't necessarily disbelieve her but I do wonder.
Amsterdam's cute young chicks:
There are a lot more women than men in Amsterdam. Consequently, Marieke said, Dutch men don't feel needy about women, because there's always another woman to run to (and usually one who is younger and more beautiful). I told her any woman in Amsterdam who was feeling "excess" should move to Alaska.
And Alaskan men, take note. The girls really are gorgeous in Amsterdam.
Traveling within Europe:
Ir's ironic that, in spite of the fact that Marieke's traveled widely around the world just as Linda has, she considers a three-hour drive within Europe to be a major trip. When Linda told her that one of Bill's daughters lives about three hours from Sacramento, and that she and Bill often make the drive to visit, Marieke said, "But that would be like driving to Paris from here!" It made me realize how we Americans, especially in the western states, are so used to wide open spaces and think nothing of driving for hours. We can drive for three thousand miles and still be in the same country, but in Europe, three thousand miles would take you through multiple countries and to another continent.
Just another aspect of the difference between the European and American outlooks on life.
And yeah, 28 years after hanging up my car keys, I still miss driving. Ah well. I can take that, too.
Every kind of tulip:
But no blue ones.
They were tulips to tiptoe through for hours, and we did. I could usually pick out the white, yellow and pastel-colored ones -- they all looked white to me -- and once I was able to sort out the shadows of light and gray, I'd get an idea of the flower and leaf shapes. Then Linda would give me the colors, and they'd pop out in my mind's eye like turning on the Christmas tree lights.
"Oh Mary, look at these, they are the softest pink with deep salmon cups in the centers!" And the white and light gray shapes among the dark stripes of leaves would light up into the loveliest daffodils. Dark gray- and khaki-striped soccer-ball size blooms flamed into torches of vermillion, red-orange and yellow. A mottled gray ground cover transformed into a deep purple blanket of low-growing tulips and little tiny grape hyacinths. I was so engrossed in watching Linda's colors explode into my images that sometimes I forgot to blink.
I paid for that lapse with a couple of torturous knives in my eyes, and had to stop Linda in the middle of a crowded walkway so I could get some drops in. After that I made sure to give my eyes more drops more often.
The part of the gardens I liked best was out among the trees and little waterways. We would come upon beds of tulips and hyacinths in shades of pink, purple, and red, sprinkled with slender white tulips, little tiny white grape hyacinths and small windflowers, and we'd feel like we'd wandered into a magical fairy garden amid the trees.
Linda was happily taking iPhone pictures at one of these magical surprise gardens when a very American voice said, "You know, when you get home all those pictures will never look exactly like it really was when you were here."
Linda, of course, was not fazed one bit. She was busy prodding me into the exact perfect position for a selfie. "Well, maybe," she said pleasantly, "but we like our selfies anyway, so we can prove we were really here!" Whereupon she ordered me to squat, and took our photo.
They were a nice couple from Cleveland, Ohio, amused by us two squatting Californians, but they eemed to like us anyway. When Linda was through with the selfie, they offered to take a photo of us togeher (standing, not squatting). I think they wanted us to have some normal pictures. We accepted anyway.
LInda was very happy with all the selfie and photo opportunities at the tulip gardens, and now has enough flower mug shots to fill a substantial catalogue. She even had me hold up the iPhone and take a video of her wandering among some tulip and hyacinth beds. I was proud to be useful even if I did feel like I was playing Statue of Liberty, rigidly holding the iPhone up on its tripod handle like a torch.
We both bought an assortment of a couple hundred bulbs, to be shipped home to us in October when it will be time to plant them. It takes about 80 tulip bulbs to fill a square meter of garden space. The really small bulbs, like the little grape hyacinths, take about 130 to fill up just one square foot. So a couple hundred bulbs should be just enough for us to liven up our spring flower gardens. That was the single major "tourist souvenir buy" for either of on this whole trip so far. What better souvenirs from the Netherlands than beautiful flowers blooming in our yards every spring?
Canceling the tour yesterday and doing it today instead was a stroke of good luck. It was cold, cloudy and windy yesterday but today we had bright blue skies with only a few fluffy white clouds, and it was breezy rather than windy. Still warm jacket weather, but what a pleasure to be out and about among all those gorgeous flowers on such a beautiful sunny day. The fresh air was full of flower fragrances -- the hyacinths were the most aromatic and intoxicating. What a day for the senses!
Our walk yesterday afternoon in the park near our hotel was a treat for the senses, too. After shutting down so we could recover from our "hitting the wall" wounds, it felt good to get out, even in the windy weather. We bought cappuccinos at a nearby cafe and took them to the park and found a bench in a small spot of sun to sit and enjoy our cuppas. Then we toured the park and, yes, caught some more selfies, including another one with a statue in the background.
Unlike the statue in Gothenburg, "this one has pants on," Linda said. It also had a pigeon atop its head and was surrounded by masses of tulips in all colors, so it was good selfie background material. The best selfie background we found was a reflecting pond. It was a beautiful smooth mirror for the cloudy sky and trees, and framed by a ring of daffodils all along its banks.
The trees here are leafing out and I could imagine that lovely new spring green fuzz on all the branches. Every now and then the sun would break through the clouds and light the green fuzz into a dazzling dapple glow. There were groves of new young trees here and there, as well as several larger and very old trees.
We were admiring an especially old gnarled black-barked tree with high branches beginning to sprout that new green fuzz, when someone said, "a hundred years old, that one." He wore one of those caps that looks a bit like a beret but has a visor (I disremember what those caps are called), a big nose, and a friendly voice. He said his name was Jon, and we chatted about the trees in the park and various trees in California, including the sequoias. His English was heavily accented but we understood him perfectly, and we learned that he'd been a truck driver before he retired, and spoke five languages. He said he was enjoying his retirement, and we said we were enjoying ours too. "So, this is your mother?" He asked, looking at Linda.
"No, we're soul sisters," I said. "But I'm older so I get to tell her what to do!" Linda's six years younger than I am, and a lot cuter and skinnier, so I'm not surprised people may think the gray-haired frumpy lady with the cane hanging on to her arm is her mother. Ah well. I can take it.
On our way back to the hotel to meet her friend Marieka for dinner, Linda stopped suddenly to take a good look through a shop window. "Let's go in here," she said, "I think I see some mosaics."
It was a studio, and the mosaics were designed to be integrated into interior design. The man we met showed us some mosaic tiles he was working with that were made of cut abalone shells, polished glossy-smooth and rippling with the shell colors. There was a mosaic of a daisy that was about a square yard in size, made of 1/2-inch squares of transparent glass and mounted on mesh, hung against a window so that it was all a luminous glow with the sun shining through it. We exchanged business cards, and he told us that mosaics were becoming very popular in Amsterdam.
So who knows. Maybe this new mosaic popularity will end up making me a rich mosaic artist instead of one who is glad her husband has a day job! (I won't hold my breath.)
Dinner with Marieke was delightful -- Marieke herself was delightful, in fact. She and Linda met nine years ago when they were both taking a six-month French language course near Geneva, and have kept in touch ever since. Marieke took us on the tram a few stops away from our hotel to a restaurant called "Mr. and Mrs. Peterson's" (but not likely any relation to Mr. P in Gothenburg). We all had a great dish of baked cod served on top of a kind of pilaf of whole grains, fresh asparagus, cubed sweet potatoes, onions and other good things in a big bowl. Marieke told us the ingredients were typically Dutch even if the presentation might be innovative. I liked it so much I actually scraped the bottom of my bowl to get every last bit of it.
Apparently I'm enjoying all this great food a bit too much for my system to handle, and I wasn't feeling very chipper when we got back to our hotel. Dr. Linda has prescribed a cup of strong Smooth Move tea. Hopefully that will set me right tomorrow in time for us to have an uneventful flight to London.
Some short shots:
Biker freeways:
Bicycles are ubiquitous here, even more so than cars. When we were walking in the park near our hotel, we had to stop before crossing what Linda calls "biker freeways" so we wouldn't get run over.
Besides bikes, the Dutch are big on cell phones, which is fine, but it's disconcerting to see almost every bike rider speeding along with both feet on the pedals, one or no hands on the handle bars, and one or both hands as well as both eyes on the cell phone. I'm amazed paramedics aren't peeling smashed-up bikers and pedestrians off the streets several times every day, but we didn't see s single collision.
Although we did see one accident from the bus on the way back into the city after the tulip gardens tour, or rather Linda did. I winced when she described how we were passing a motorbike and its rider thrown down flat onto the road.
Amsterdam's nonexistent substance abuse problem:
We were walking along a park path that was leading us through a grove of young trees, and I was just beginning to tell Linda that I was detecting some strong marijuana essence in the air when she smelled it too. We just shifted direction and waked on. Later, at dinner with Marieke, I asked her if, as far as the Netherlands government was concerned, there was a substance problem in her country. "Oh no," she said, "it's not illegal here, but we don't use it. It's only people from other countries." She was totally sincere about this. I don't necessarily disbelieve her but I do wonder.
Amsterdam's cute young chicks:
There are a lot more women than men in Amsterdam. Consequently, Marieke said, Dutch men don't feel needy about women, because there's always another woman to run to (and usually one who is younger and more beautiful). I told her any woman in Amsterdam who was feeling "excess" should move to Alaska.
And Alaskan men, take note. The girls really are gorgeous in Amsterdam.
Traveling within Europe:
Ir's ironic that, in spite of the fact that Marieke's traveled widely around the world just as Linda has, she considers a three-hour drive within Europe to be a major trip. When Linda told her that one of Bill's daughters lives about three hours from Sacramento, and that she and Bill often make the drive to visit, Marieke said, "But that would be like driving to Paris from here!" It made me realize how we Americans, especially in the western states, are so used to wide open spaces and think nothing of driving for hours. We can drive for three thousand miles and still be in the same country, but in Europe, three thousand miles would take you through multiple countries and to another continent.
Just another aspect of the difference between the European and American outlooks on life.
And yeah, 28 years after hanging up my car keys, I still miss driving. Ah well. I can take that, too.
Every kind of tulip:
But no blue ones.
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