Amsterdam

We awoke convinced Emily would have to spend the day at the hotel.  A decent night's rest resulted in a slight fever rather than a decline in coughing.  At breakfast,  she begged to come.  We all anticipated the amazing pancake lunch and could not imagine missing it.  Gotta have priorities.  Once again, at the seven year-old's urging, we drugged her, bundled her up, and packed tissues.

Last year, we easily found a "Park and Ride," bought our train tickets, and enjoyed a 5 minute ride to the city center.   Unbeknown to us, the concierge directed us to a lot farther away.  The "P and R" changed its ticket process, and the tram ride required thirty minutes.  All resulting in arriving to Amsterdam late for a two hour children's private walking tour I had organized through my favorite company, Context Europe.

We planned to meet our guide at the West India House - an "easy" to find location.  Unless you are as directionally challenged as myself.  I led our crew up and down back streets stopping periodically to inquire this mysterious place's location.  My stress increased by the block since we had our neighbors in tow.  Dave and I are now used to the uncertainty and chaos of foreign travel, but it's awkward leading others through it.  (Except you Allison.)   40 minutes late for the tour, I cheered internally when we spotted the guide.

Claire, a British ex-pat living in Amsterdam, brought pads, pens, and binoculars for the kids.  She told them to draw pictures of the buildings they see.  She began the tour explaining the deep connections between Amsterdam and Manhattan, originally called "New Amsterdam."  The West India House, home to the Dutch West India Company in the 1600s, is the actual location where a group of Dutch entrepreneurs decided to colonize our favorite city.  Claire explained it was in the room through this window where all the plans were laid.

Pieter Stuyvesant, a man with little tolerance for religious freedom, was the director-general for the company, and a pioneer in New Amsterdam.

She taught us about the interesting architecture and city structure.  The three main canals Herengracht or ‘’Patricians' Canal’’; Keizersgracht or ‘’Emperor's Canal’’; and Prinsengracht or ‘’Prince's Canal’’ are the result of successful city planning during the 17th century - the Dutch Golden Age.

The ornate buildings are governed by strict rules including brick color and porch structure.  We studied and identified the different gables - the tops of the buildings.

After the tour, we returned to the Pancake Bakery for our favorite Dutch food.  In the evening, we visited the windy North Sea in the town of Noordwijk.

Holland Take 2

Our neighbors from home planned a German adventure for their spring break.  They braved an all-night flight with two small children for the opportunity to drive the autobahn, visit a castle, and eat schnitzel.  We took them to our favorite farmer's market for waffles and then walked by the major Frankfurt sites.  Sunday morning, with Emily hacking away in the back seat, we left in separate cars for the Netherlands.  (Dave spent Saturday morning at the pediatrician ensuring no antibiotics were required.)

I thought repeating last year's Easter weekend the perfect trip for four children under age 8.  Unlike most European hotels, the rooms at the NH comfortably fit four people.  We loved breakfast, and a pool always attracts the kids.  Dave and I hoped the warm weather guaranteed tulips.  (Recall last year - not. one. flower.)

By the time we reached the hotel, I feared Emily would lose a lung.  She insisted on going out to dinner.  Of course, we let the 7 year-old make the decision.

Trusty Rick Steve's recommended Delft, a college town adjacent to the Hague, for a quick bite.  Delft is based around two main canals and is home to Vermeer - though none of the 34 paintings attributed to him remain in the city.

 Emily and I decided to take pictures of the colorful houses, which we both loved.

Reading Lessons

Most mornings, I don't require an alarm clock.   "Mommy, she hit me."  "Well he threw a block." "She won't stop singing."  Somebody drops to the floor next to my bed.   I am now awake.

Yest sometimes, these two share an unexpected moment.  While I prepared dinner, I heard "Emily, what's this word?"

Thai Cooking Class

While Dave played a 153 holes of golf in Scotland, I took another Thai cooking class.  I adore Wan, my instructor.   This community draws people from all over the world.   We started at the Asian cooking store where we discussed ingredients like fried flour, frozen lime leaves, and bean thread noodles.

We started with Pad Woon Sen (Glass noodle stir-fri).  The noodles are made from beans and are very healthy.  We slices some ginger and talked to the food as went - an important technique according to Wan.

She showed me how to use the stalks of Asian spring onions.

We then made Tom Kha Gai (chicken with coconut milk).

Finally, we cooked the chicken in the fried flour and coconut oil for Kai Med Ma Muang (Chicken with cashew nuts.

Just Pictures

The kids were busy….


Working on school projects

Playing in fire pits

Building with Legos

Being dramatic

And eating ice cream

The Ides of March

We filled the last few weeks with cooking classes, skiing lessons, and bike rides downtown.  Sunshine and 60 degree weather beckoned us outside and we enjoyed open windows and fresh air.  Dave introduced sports day - biking, baseball, soccer, and basketball folded into the weekend afternoons.  We biked downtown to the amazing farmer's markets.  Huge change from last year when it snowed EVERY DAY from Thanksgiving to Easter.

Wan, an amazing Thai cook, introduced me to her native cuisine.    Her mother ran a food truck in Bangkok.  She took us to an Asian grocery store and showed us the various vegetables, coconut milks, curry pastse, and fish sauces.  We returned to her house where she showed us how to make Red Curry Pork, Pad Thai, and Thai Fried-Rice.  This class was the last in a series of six.  I only learned about it recently, so I talked her into a doing a private one in April.

Last weekend, we traveled back to southern Germany for a weekend of skiing in Garmish.  The unseasonable warm weather created poor conditions for real skiers.  Thankfully, I can barely stand in my skis, so I welcomed the sun.  I spent the first 90 minutes of my class cursing the graceful kids cruising around me in this "Kinderland."  How can I cut my all-day class down to two hours without looking like I a drop out.  I looked at the snow "beach" chairs with envy.  My calves screamed at me and I wondered at what point this activity would become fun.  Of course, my kids already graduated to the next level hill while I could barely make a wedge.  I did enjoy the long lunch break, and two cappuccinos eased my afternoon.

At 2:30, I met the kids at the mountain restaurant to conclude the lessons.  Their instructor said, "Owen and Emily did a great job.  Have a safe trip home."  "What??  You are not coming with me??"  I silently yelled, "You expect me to get myself, these two kids, and this equipment back down the mountain by myself??"  "Pull yourself together,"  I thought.  I mentally broke the journey back into three parts.

Part 1: Emily, Owen, and I slowly sludged to the ski lift.  A few tears.  A few panicked yells, "Keep walking." We made it.

Part 2:  I pushed the two kids onto the moving ski lift, secured my skis, and jumped in.  A huge sigh of relief.  Yes, I managed to get everyone safely in - my first time ever going down a ski lift.

Part 3:  At the mountain bottom, we jump off.  Owen notices his $32 gloves remained on the moving box.  I try to grab them.  My awkwardly huge boot gets caught.  The kids start screaming in panic.  The German ski worker does not offer to help or stop the lift.  Instead, he starts yelling at me in German.  The lift continues moving.  A kind person picks me up.  The German guy continues to yell at me.  I look at him and yell back in English, "Look this is my first time," grab my screaming kids, and attempt to walk away with dignity.  Never again.

We always stop at our favorite donut store when we bike downtown.  America… and Germany… Runs on Dunkin.

Cultural Differences

Dave spent the winter working at the Consulate in an office with German Nationals.  Each morning he greeted Claudia, "How ya doing."  When he returned from lunch he would again say, "Hey, how ya doing."

"Still fine," Claudia said irritated.

"Oh do I say that a lot?"

"You all do."

"Does that bother you?"

"It seems…..what is the word for plastic?"