Volendam, Marken and How

On the last morning of our Legendary Rhine and Moselle cruise, the only passengers rushing to disembark had planes to catch.

Most of us enjoyed leisurely breakfasts followed by checking e-mails and chatting with our new friends who had shared the amazing sojourn.  Exchanging contact information, most of us understood we probably wouldn't actually stay in touch, but some lasting bonds were formed.

Julie and I had a room booked at Inntel Hotels Amsterdam Centre, so about ten we bid farewell and strolled into the city, pulling our rolling suitcases behind us.

Our hotel was located at the junction of a major boulevard and the cobblestone walkstreet I described previously.  Like at most hotels, check-in was 3 PM, but we planned to leave our bags with the bell captain.  As it turned out, the receptionist assigned us a nice room immediately.

The Inntel has a modern, international city vibe.

Julie took some time to relax in the room, but I headed down stairs to hang out in the lounge area.

Eventually, I wandered outside where the adjoining restaurant had some inviting cafe tables and chairs on the sidewalk.  I sat down and watched the world go by, which is something I always enjoy in nice cities.  I went back to the room at the appointed time, and apparently I passed Julie in the elevator, but we soon hooked up and headed out to meet the tour to the countryside that we had booked the previous day after visiting the Rijksmuseum. 

It proved to be a great tour, beginning with our visit in historic Zaanse Schans, where we caught our first glimpse of the "real" Holland.

Our next stop in the fishing village of Volendam revealed other aspects of the Netherlands' past.

At Cheese Factory Volendam, we saw milk being churned and molded into finished cheese.  The presentation was hosted by an actual pretty milk maid wearing a traditional Dutch dress with apron (though not the white hat).  I volunteered to help with the demonstration, which basically meant I tasted the cheese first and then choose who else got samples.

After the presentation, we filtered upstairs where lots of milk maids handed out samples of sundry delicious cheeses.  Many people on the tour purchased rounds of cheese for themselves and as gifts.

Apparently the village of Edam, which of course is the namesake for a famous Dutch cheese, might be an even stronger choice for cheese lovers, but dairy food wasn't the primary reason for stopping in Volendam.

Volendam has a quaint seafront area with restaurants and shops where we had an hour or so to get something to eat or shop for souvenirs.  Seafood, naturally, is the specialty there, but Julie developed an allergy to fish a few years back, and since we woud be splitting a snack, we ordered nachos.

I think the chef had a photo of what nachos look like and simply tried to match it using ingredients he had in his kitchen. 

The guacamole tasted like sweet pickles.

I kid you not.

The "salsa" was a little less off base, maybe pasta sauce with ketchup.

And it took an inordinately long time to get those weird nachos.  Having seen some guy leave and return with a grocery bag, I have to assume he ran down to the local market to buy some tortilla chips (and obviously guacamole and salsa were sold out or too expensive to include).

I had only planned to have one of the dark Dutch ales, but it evaporated before the weird nachos arrived, so I ordered a second.  Julie's wine apparently had a lower evaporation rate.  Despite the odd toppings, we managed to eat all the chips (but not the toppings).

Nonetheless, I don't think Dutch Nachos will be the next hot food trend.

By the time we paid our bill, it was time to catch the tour's cruise to Marken.

On the ferry ride, we learned how Marken, a former isolated island in the Zuiderzee, had been connected to the mainland in 1957 by a dike with a major dredging project.  We would later take a highway from what is now the tip of a peninsula back to Amsterdam.

In the gentle twilight, we could see historic houses, green meadows and bright red leaves on decidous trees of this lovely village while walking to the wooden shoe factory.

The clog maker displayed his wry Dutch sense of humor as he showed how he made these odd shoes.

Knowing that Hollanders pretty much started the industrial revolution, I guess it shouldn't be too surprising that the shoe maker used power tools rather than simple chisel and hammer to mass produce the famed pointed shoes, but it wasn't what I expected.

The reason for wearing wooden shoes traces back to the abundant water of the Netherlands once again.  With soggy fields being the norm, farmers wanted to keep their feet dry, and in an era before rubber boots, waterproof wooden shoes seemed to be a logical solution.

I have unusually high arches and wide feet, so I doubted I could get these shoes on, but once I squeezed into some a couple of sizes too big, they weren't that uncomfortable.  Nonetheless, I wasn't tempted to join the queue to buy clogs.

When we arrived back in Amsterdam, the electric nightlife in the city had sparked, but Julie preferred a quiet evening of rest before our early morning flight, so I ventured off to get McDoubles which we ate in the room.

At the airport the next morning, we ran into some folks from our cruise, and they had all enjoyed their extra day in the Netherlands, too. 

For my parting experience in Amsterdam, however, at the security gate, I was told to take off the fedora which had become part of my signature look throughout our cruise.  The security guard took my hat, put it on top of my raincoat already overflowing the basket and then squashed it down so it would go through the x-ray machine. 

Somewhat shocked by this inconsiderate and totally unnecesary act that damaged what had been a gift from my old friend Pete a few weeks before our vacation, I had to ask, "Why would you possibly crush my hat?"

"Oh, sorry," she replied.  "I didn't think about it."

I can't decide if she was a fascist or fashion critic.

The one-stop plane ride was long but generally uneventful, and when we arrived at LAX, we took a stretch limo back home.

Well, actually, it wasn't a stretch limo. 

It was a public bus that slowed every 27 feet to check for passengers at designated stops, but our driver did a good job getting us to within a couple of blocks of our condo.

Ah yes, we had gradually made the transition back to reality, where the Uniworld River Queen staff isn't there to fulfill our every need with gourmet meals and anticipatory service.