Holland; Wooden Shoes and Windmills

Along with most people I had always pictured Holland to be full of people walking around in wooden shoes, woman in long dress and bonnets, tulips every where and men working in windmills. Being from Canada I should know better than to stereotype seeing as I don’t live in an igloo or ride a dogsled to get to work.

The scenery flying into Holland was similar to Ireland, patch work fields of greens and gold, but the rolling hills were replaced by complete flatness and canals. Our mood was definitely different flying into Holland seeing as our last night in Ireland made our early morning departure a little rough (to say the least). But it was on to the next leg of our journey and we were excited despite the pounding headaches.

Upon arriving at the Eindhoven airport we realized we had absolutely no real plan. We knew that we eventually wanted to make it to the towns of Barneveld and Voorthuizen (where we would visit family) but had never really thought about how we would get there. After grabbing some maps and a few directions at the information booth (I was surprised to find out how many people spoke English) we headed outside the busy airport to wait for our second source of transportation; the bus.

The bus promptly brought us to the train station where we were to take 4 trains to get us to the town of Barneveld. After switching trains and navigating through the stations and platforms and only taking one wrong train (turning our 4 train journey into 5) we finally arrived at our destination. Now all we needed was to find a place to stay.

Wandering around town we located a little tourism shop where we bought a few maps and had a wonderful lady give us directions to the closest Bed and Breakfast where we decided we would spend the night. After agreeing on a price and paying for the night we were escorted to our room. What lay behind the door was a bit alarming, but after getting up at 4:00am, catching our flight, taking a bus and 5 trains I was ready to lay my head down just about anywhere, even in a pink and purple room I dubbed ‘Arabian Nights’.

Bicycles are Holland’s main source of transportation; there are around 16 million bicycles in the country, just about 1 for every inhabitant. So after planes, train and automobiles we decided it was high time to rent a bicycle. I loved biking through all the little towns, I just felt like waving at everyone. Bikes had their own lanes and all traffic (whether car or pedestrian) would yield to their right of way. And if you happened to step in front of a bike without looking; you would receive a sharp ding from the bell and some words (that I am sure were swear words) muttered at you. We spent a day biking (around 20 km each way) to a little town called Otterlo and through the Hoge Veluwe National Park where we sat and had lunch (cheese and fresh bread we bought that morning at the market) and visited the Kröller-Müller Museum to see the Van Gogh exhibit. Needless to say after so many hours spent on a bike my poor little behind did not want to see another for a very long time.

My husband’s family are originally from Holland so we have spent countless hours listening to his Oma (Dutch for grandmother) recount stories of living in Holland and surviving the war. Whether it was biking to town to get medicine for her brothers and being shot at or jumping from a train with her husband so he wouldn’t go back to the German work camp; her bravery and strength always amazes my husband and I, no matter how many times we have heard the story. With some family still living there we had a wonderful opportunity to be able to stay with some cousins and the privilege of getting to know them.

Every evening we were feed a wonderful meal with endless drinks and chatter about Holland and Canada, family and friends, life and politics. And everyday we were left to explore the towns and the country side. On her days off our hostess would bring us sightseeing; to see a windmill, buy some wooden shoes for our little niece, eat raw herring (not as bad as it sounds) and my favourite; visit a dairy and sample cheese.

With Holland so vast with history we could not leave without learning a little more about the Second World War. It was a difficult decision but we decided that it was important for us to visit one of the many (too many) Nazi work camps that had occupied Holland; Camp Vught. It was a very sombre experience and most of the 2 hour visit was spent in silence and disbelief. We had been aware of the many horrors that occurred during that time but it was so eyrie to walk through where the occupants had slept, ate and died. (I have no pictures to share of this part of the trip; it just didn’t feel right to take any)

After spending nearly a week, biking around the country side, learning our history and getting to know family, our time was almost up. We had a day and a half left and we had decided to spend it in the famous city of Amsterdam. So after saying our goodbyes (and fighting back tears) we hopped on yet another train, waved goodbye and were on our way. Once we settled into our hotel and locked away our valuables (we heard way too many stories of being pick pocketed) we headed out on the town to see what we could see. Of course our first stop was a café along one of the canals to sit and have a Heineken and watch the people go by. Amsterdam definitely had a different pace and mix of people then the rest of Holland. We spent our evening walking through the winding streets, stopping at cafes to have a glass of wine or two (not the other things that were offered on the menus) and wandering through the Red Light District to catch a glimpse of what everyone talks about.

Our last day in Holland was spent walking through the Anne Frank Museum where we got to see where the family lived in hiding from the Nazi’s; hard to believe this all happened only 67 years ago (which really isn’t all that long when you think about it). After leaving the museum we decided our last and final adventure in Holland would be too spend the afternoon taking a canal tour. Amsterdam has more than 100 kilometres of canals, so it seemed like something we needed to do to complete our experience. It was fun to see the city from the water and it was amazing to watch the captain navigate and turn around in the narrow canals.

So the sun was setting on our final day; our week had once again flown by and it would soon be time to pack up our things and climb aboard our plane to meet our friends in Spain for the last leg of our tour. With absolutely no plans or expectations when flying into the country we were leaving with so much more than we came for. We had experienced history, travelled the countryside and got to know my husbands family. We were sad to leave, it almost felt like we were leaving home.

Ireland; The Land of Shamrocks and Leprechauns

I don’t think I ever stopped smiling in Ireland. Every morning I would wake up and say ‘We’re in Ireland!’ as if my husband was unaware of the situation. I never believed in love at first sight until my first glimpse I caught out the airplane window while leaning over a stranger’s shoulder.

From the moment we landed every little experience seemed amazing there. Everything from having my passport stamped, (with my very first stamp I might add) to climbing a 100 narrow stairs to kiss the Blarney Stone. Even being bit by a donkey (an Irish Donkey of course) didn't seem so bad. I was in love!

Or first stop was Dublin: the city that seems to be one giant pub, you can’t walk a block with out walking by one. The Brazen Head, The Stags Head, The Temple Bar; you could spend months doing a pub crawl. We tried out our fair share; every one had it's own atmosphere and mix of people.

While in Dublin we took in as many sights as we could see. We were the typical tourist (which we usually don’t do) with our bus pass in hand we would hop on and off the double-decker bus that drove around town stopping at all the famous sites. We explored St. Patrick’s Cathedral, wandered through the Dublin Zoo and took the guided tours of both the Jamison’s Distillery and the Guinness Brewery.

After taking in all the sites we could in Dublin we decided to rent a car and head out to the country side. Which ended up being an adventure all in it’s self. Not only are we in another country trying to navigate through the city streets, but we were driving in a standard car on the other side of the road. Needless to say there were some very stressful moments, mainly because my map reading skills are not the best… to say the least. “Oh those numbers are the exit numbers…I was wondering what they were for.” My poor husband I don’t think he knew whether to laugh or cry at my inability to read a map.

We drove across the country travelling through all the beautiful counties; Wicklow, Wexford, Kilkenny, to spend the night in Cork, where the next day we would visit the famous Blarney Castle, that I so desperately wanted to see. After starting the next morning the usual way; with a traditional Irish breakfast, we made our way to Blarney Castle. We spent hours walking the grounds, exploring the castle and climbing the stairs to kiss the legendary Blarney Stone.



After kissing the stone and receiving my gift of eloquence we decided to head north to Galway Bay where we spent the night. The next morning we packed up and headed back on the road, with no real set destination. We ended up driving through Connemara National park and ending up in a town called Clifden were we decided to stay in a little Bed and Breakfast run by a gruff man named Eddy. Eddy insisted that we take a drive on Sky Road which had the most spectacular view. He guaranteed that we would not be disappointed. So once again we piled back into the car and headed out for some more adventure. As we drove up and up and up the sky road I started to look around and see that Eddy was right, this is what we had come here for. After reaching the top and parking the car. We stared in disbelief; it was one of the most beautiful things that we had ever laid our eyes on. This picture explains it all.



Our last day in Ireland was spent driving across the country, back to Dublin to return our rented car and to enjoy our last night with a pint or two. We decided to head over to the oldest pub in Ireland; The Brazen Head where we met the most wonderful trio of Irish gentlemen who we spent the night chatting with and sharing stories. A pint or two quickly turned into a pint or two too many and our last night in Ireland turned out to be one of the most fun; which we paid dearly for the next morning when we had to be up by 4 and on a plane to Holland.

So it was farewell to Ireland. In hopes of one day we would be able to return, I sadly watched the patch work fields getting smaller and smaller as we flew on to our next adventure.

Ireland you hold my heart.

The Beach

Every time I look at this photo I think about how HOT I was while in Spain. I had big plans of touring around, going to a local festival, shopping the markets, visiting a vineyard and riding a donkey...but the only thing we could bare the heat to do was walk from the car to the beach. With daily temperatures of 35 degrees it was hard to find the energy to hike up a mountain or go for a run on the beach. We already risked burnt feet running across the hot sands to get to the water.

I am usually not such a beach bum; I grow restless way too quickly. There are only so many magazines I can read and so much people watching I can do (which to be honest is one of my favourite pass times). But this time around was different; there was no where else I wanted to be, than beside the beautiful blue waters of the Mediterranean basking in the (abnormally) extreme heat of the September sun, sipping from my juice box wine (that's right the sell wine in convenient little juice boxes, amazing).

On one adventurous day my husband and I decided to take out two kayaks for a little tour in 'The Med' I reluctantly agreed seeing as I have a fear of water, especially large opened water. But hey how often do you get to kayak in the Mediterranean right? So off we paddled across the bay, along the shore line and out in to open water. We had a lovely 3 hours paddling around, exploring little beaches, ones that can only be reached by water, picking seashells and taking pictures of the amazing things we would see. I often had to pinch myself to say ‘Hello! You are in Spain right now. Take it all in.’

After we decided we had done enough exploring and figured we should probably use the last hour of our rental time to head back. We left our little hidden beach cove and headed back into open water where we discovered that the wind had picked up, as did the waves. So here we are, heading back to the rental shop paddling and rolling through 6 foot waves. Did I mention I have a fear of water?! I don’t think I have worked that hard in all my life, paddling as hard as my little arms would paddle. Stopping every once in a while to catch my breath and trying my hardest not to cry my eyes out. My husband paddling beside me; encouraging me to keep going and to keep my kayak straight so I didn’t end up tipping into the water and have even more of a panic attack. We finally made it back to dry land which I had never been so happy to see. I don’t think I said one word the whole way back other then letting out little whimpers and a few sobs here and there whenever I felt it was safe to cry. In hindsight I am glad we did it. Although there was a good half hour of shear terror for me, it was worth it for the 3 and half hours of bliss we shared exploring waters and beaches together.

Looking back there was really no other way I would have wanted to spend my time in Spain then baking in the sun, floating in the salty sea and enjoying some vino, even if it was from a box.

Hillside in Spain

Night Fall

Spanish Beach Houses