German Farewell
We rolled west out Hameln just as a major thunderstorm rolled in. We passed through a number of heavy downpours, but, nothing like the storm we encountered on our way from Ferrara to Venice.
After spending our last night in Germany at this pretty campsite
about a couple hours from the Germany/Netherlands border (not that you'd ever know you've crossed a border when you get to it) we returned to Amsterdam.
We had been directed to a campsite a short walk from a commuter train-ride into downtown, so, after "popping the top" of the van and plugging in we packed our backpacks and went to downtown Amsterdam to wander. Walking up the main street from the central station Mark was struck by this recorder player… especially after having been in Hameln only two days earlier… "there but for fortune?"
We saw the flower market with the tulips and an assortment of bulbs, a candy shop that sold coffee candies Debbie remembered from her maternal grandmother's home…
which we hadn't seen since our visit to Delft, though we'd enjoyed a wide variety of other coffee candies… as our "morning cup of coffee", bought some fruit and vegetables, looked for Internet, ended up at Café Luxemberg with a sign announcing WiFi but it didn't work. In fact, none of the places that "had" WiFi actually did… one was "going to have it in a week". Nonetheless, we sat at the Luxemberg drinking our tea and coffee, near the plant in the background (of thei café's official photo)
We worked on updating the website and returned to the van for a good night's sleep. On the walk back to the train station we noticed something that Debbie had earlier said would be a good business opportunity for someone. Someone in Amsterdam has already done it.
While studying the map on our way back to the campsite, we realized that "our" train makes a stop at Waterlooplein nearly across the street from the Jewish Historical Museum. So, Monday morning that became our first stop. The museum has many interactive video stations which give much information through recollections, history, observances, film clips and music in a compact space. Sadly, once again the Nazi-destroyed Ashkenazi synagogue (How many synagogues are now museums and not living houses of worship because of the Nazis?) now houses the museum which contains rich information about the Dutch Jewish community. One of the clips portrays a man's recollections of his childhood in the synagogue--where there was a "police warden" to keep everyone quiet, especially also one for the women's gallery. It was, apparently, a position with much authority. Debbie wishes she could have such a warden.
Not seeing any sign, and disappointed not to have photographic record of some of the items we'd seen in other locations, Mark took a number of photos of things that help close the circle:
We also enjoyed our visit to the Portuguese Synagogue, the Esnoga where we were reminded that this was not a Spanish population and that the architecture is not Moorish. On Shabbat they light candles all around the building and it must be glorious. We took our "official" portrait there that day. Other than all the candles, the place is relatively simple. It's good to know that the shop there sells Judaica made from Delft..
Mark has been interested in places that are known as "the Jerusalem of…" or "The Little Jerusalem" and has long wondered (along with other puzzlements) how a particular place acquires that title. In a little two-room museum in the low building surrounding the Esnoga he found a document dated September 1, 1927 declaring Amsterdam to be the Little Jerusalem!
We asked the proprietor of the Judaica shop at the Esnoga about WiFi. He directed us to the Rembrandt Corner, a little café next door to the Rembrandt House. Sure enough. We sat outside eating our packed lunches, checked our mail and uploaded some pages.
Then, suddenly we noticed flurries. There were flurries the day we left Amsterdam and drove to The Hague and here, ten weeks later in mid May:
The stuff accumulated on the ground
and did not melt when it hit the water in the canals.
Mark picked up a sample. The following day, we asked a number of people--proprietors of bookstores, street cleaners, clothing store owners, clerks at the Post Office--what it was.
Finally, someone explained that these are Linden fruit. It is an annual event. Entire street-cleaning crews were out collecting the stuff.Many years ago, our first apartment in Los Angeles, Debbie and I lived on a street called Lindenhurst. The main street along which we promenaded in Berlin is lined with and named for these trees. And at the end of the trip [… flurries of the "fruit" of the] Linden Tree.
Later that day, we were about to purchase tulip bulbs in one of the many open air stalls along one of the canals. Mark fortunately remembered that the flowers had just bloomed and, therefore the bulbs would either be not fresh, or not local. Asking an honest bulb-seller, we learned that at this time of year, to satisfy the tourist demand, the bulbs are imported from Tasmania. So much for the bulbs.
Debbie was able to unload some of the books she had read at an English used book store and received euros in exchange; much lighter than the books.
