I believe my time away from home has given me a wider perspective on other cultures and customs, leading me to greater acceptance of diverse traditions and ways of life. But come on - clogs?!
These shoes, made from material that no shoe should ever be made from, were everywhere on our recent trip to Amsterdam. In shops, on signs, as decorations...but tellingly not on anyone's feet. Are clogs simply a ridiculous myth dreamed up for tourists, like the Loch Ness monster or the British royal family?
I mused on this as we wandered around the capital of the Netherlands, another fabulous European city an easy train ride from Brussels. Like many others, this is a romantically medieval town of cobbled streets and narrow bridges over canals. Yes, lots of canals. It's completely unsuited to modern car traffic, which doesn't stop the residents zooming down the streets, no doubt constantly cursing at directionless tourists.
We were here mainly by Pete's request. He had read Anne Frank's Diary of a Young Girl back in Houston, while far too young himself really, and wanted to visit her house. The warehouse where the Jewish family and friends hid has been completely preserved and surrounded by a modern museum, and it's as devastating as you might imagine. There should be a list of places it's mandatory for world leaders to visit before being allowed to take office, and this should be on it.
After our time in the city, we moved to the countryside and an outdoor museum. Here was the real Holland: windmills, cheese, and more clogs. It wasn't quite the Dutch Disneyland, but we did get to tour a "colour mill" that was used for crushing all manner of minerals into dyes and paints. The sails were turning, but I didn't get to commit the health and safety violations that Windy Miller used to in Camberwick Green.
We had lunch at a nice brewery by the river. Though I may get extradited, I have to say that Dutch and German beer is much more to my liking than Belgian, mainly due to it being less that 10.5% strength. You can still function after a glass! Perhaps that's why bureaucracy takes so long in Brussels; don't bother trying to open a bank account after lunchtime.
Our 48-hour whistle-stop Netherlands tour complete, we caught the train back to Brussels with our bags full of stroopwafels and our tummies full of stamppot. And - much to our downstairs neighbour's relief - no clogs.
I always told Pete he had big shoes to fill.
