Home again, home again, hippity hop...

Well, as Mr. Wizard used to say on the old Tutor Turtle cartoons, “Drizzle, drazzle, drozzle drone; time for this one to come home.” After a long, long day (or two or three – I've lost track) we're in O'Hare Airport waiting for our flight back to Phoenix.

Weighing time at the Alkemaar cheese market

All in all, a most superior vacation. London feels like months ago already. We spent our last couple of days at a cheese market in Alkemaar, about a half-hour train ride from Amsterdam; cruising through several outdoor markets; chowing down on pickled herring; visiting one of our area's many coffeeshops for some, ummmmm, coffee; circling Amsterdam in a canalboat; visiting and having a couple of beers at the Heineken Experience (a big walkthrough commercial with a beer-fueled mini frat party at the end.); walking through the infamous red light district and chowing down on some excellent Indonesian food.

We came, we walked, we ate, we walked, we drank, we walked, and we came home. And now, we're back, experiencing the darker side of America's airports.

Walking through Chicago's O'Hare Airport, past the TSA workers with the minimum wage glaze in their eyes, you can't help but feel pity for the many unfortunate homeless people stretched out on the cold stone floors.

Wait a minute! They're not homeless! They're juice heads who've found open electrical outlets to plug in their computers, Ipods, phones and other devices that are particularly essential to bored-to-death travelers. At many airports, the outlets are plentiful. “Charging station here!! blare the signs at Dulles Airport and others. But O'Hare, with its fetid air of not-so-benign neglect and a thin, but noticeable film of scuzziness, is way short on necessary outlets. Some charging stations are hidden; some are invisible. So people huddle around floor sockets, looking for a hit of juice. One woman we met, who grabbed a piece of real estate and an outlet hidden behind a couple of trash cans, told us that people were plugging in their gadgets in the ladies room. “It's come to that,” she said. She considered it, but that's when she knew she had hit rock bottom.

On the other hand, the quest for voltage is a potentially great market opportunity for entrepreneurs who can't bring themselves to enter the drug trade or pimping, but are looking to capitalize on people's desperate need of a fix. Any fix!!

“Hey man! I got what'cha need here. You looking to get hooked up? I got 110 volts; I got 220. You need a converter – I got converters. First one's free. You ever do it with 4-socket power strip? I got what ya' need, baby.”

Okay, I gotta wrap up. There are a bunch of tough looking kids with Nintendo game systems in their hands giving me the stink eye, and I don't trust this neighborhood.” I gotta head home, and plug in there. Practice safe sockets.

You heading for O'Hare anytime soon? Bring a gas powered generator and a shotgun. The TSA people will never notice.

Three obeservations about Amsterdam and the Dutch

Thousands of bikes parked at Amsterdam's Centraal
railway station

1. You think people texting while driving is nuts? How about texting while biking? As I've mentioned previously, Amsterdam is a biking paradise. The streets are packed with bicycles, which have the right of way, and your chances of getting nailed while crossing the street by one of them is far greater than your getting hit by a car. Nevertheless, I've seen numerous people riding with one hand on the handlebars and the other feverishly pecking away at a mobile phone keyboard. Nuts, I know. When I see a guy shaving or a woman putting on makeup while biking, I'll know there is real trouble.
   
   
2. Dutch is a deceptively difficult language for outsiders to speak. The guttural “g's,” which show up all over the place, aren't natural to a native English speaker. After wrestling with street names for awhile, I realized that my Dutch was sounding a lot like Klingon. (On the whole, though, the Dutch people are WAY nicer than Klingons.)
   
   
3. Despite their outward friendliness and openness, I've come to the conclusion that the Dutch people are planning to take over the world by killing the rest of us, one tourist at a time. It doesn't take much observation to notice that, on the whole, the Dutch people are very fit. Either they're hiding all of the fat people somewhere (maybe Luxembourg) until the tourists go home, or obesity is the very rare exception rather than the rule here. But what do they tempt the tourists with? Beer, cheese and Dutch pancakes. Delicious? Yes, but the calories and cheese aren't doing any of us visitors any good. So, when we die off, the Dutch will be free to take over. Pickled herring all around! So don't fall for their diabolical plan. Don't eat Dutch pancakes or drink their beer. That way there will be more for me.

Like a picture postcard, only better!

Greetings from Amsterdam: the land of bicycles, canals, cafes and, yes, coffee shops. We arrived via high-speed train from Brussels this a.m. (Have I mentioned in the last 60 seconds how much I like trains?). One very short cab ride later, and we were at our new digs – a beautiful little apartment in the fashionable Jordaan section of the city. I've enjoyed the homey B&Bs and small hotel that we've stashed ourselves in during the past 10 days, but nothing beats coming back to your own apartment – especially one as nicely appointed, well-located and well-kept as this one is. For those of you looking for an interesting change from hotels, try renting a vacation apartment through Vacation Rental By Owner, Air B&B or similar outfits. We've stayed in four apartments during the past few years, and we haven't gotten a turkey yet.

Welcome to our Amsterdam neighborhood

Jordaan is an old working-class neighborhood in the northwest corner of the city that is home now to artists, cafes and, undoubtedly, the very well-to-do. I can't imagine what the cost of property here must be. But in this compact city, where one of the biggest dangers you face is being run over by enthusiastic bicyclists, walking is a joy. After resting up for an hour or two, Judy and I set out on our first walking tour, which took us over canal after canal, past gabled brick buildings and through historic neighborhoods. What can I say – it looks just like the pictures. It's that good!!

Of course yesterday was pretty special as well, as we took a day trip from Brussels north to Brugge. Lots of wandering amid medieval buildings including, believe it or not, a Crown Plaza Hotel under which the remains of a medieval settlement were discovered during construction. The hotel displays many of the finds in its conference center, and the walls of the conference rooms are lined with stone from the dig. Not your average conference center, if you ask me.

Brugge

Two disappointments however: a crappy waffle (Hard and dry; not fresh for sure) and the French fries. Maybe our “frittes” were inferior, but apart from being served in a paper cone and dipping them in mayo, they were, well – fries. Nothing special. Again, maybe we just had bad examples. C'est la vie.

By the way, mention “French fries” to a Belgian, and watch his hackles rise. You'll instantly be instructed that they have nothing to do with France (French refers to the cut – not the point of origin) and that they were invented in Belgium. So there!! It sort of reminds me of the old Hercule Poirot TV episodes, when Poirot would constantly have to correct people who thought he was French. “No, monsieur, I'm Belgian,” he would say through gritted teeth. Have a little respect, people!

These culinary disppointments, however, were offset by a visit to a local brewery. (What, again?? Yes, again!!) Great beer at De Halve Maan (The Half Moon) Brewery – the only one in Brugge. Drank the beer. Bought the glasses.

Anyway, we're in the home stretch of this visit. Three days of touring Amsterdam and the surrounding area and then we're airborne, headed for Phoenix (provided that the canals don't rise here and the dust doesn't blow in from Iceland). Between now and then, I'm going to try to get Judy on a bicycle to do some local touring and pay a visit to a cafe that serves more potent refreshments than coffee.

So many beers, so little time...

Hello from Brussels, the capital of Europe. This is my fourth trip to Brussels, but the first for pleasure. It's Judy's first time in this centuries-old city.

Danielle, Judy and Pol

Brussels is an enormously interesting city and is rich in history. For the casual visitor, to be honest, it has limited sightseeing charms. Nevertheless, the highlight of this stop has been the chance to spend time with our friends Pol and Danielle vanden Ende. Pol and I became friends while we both worked for Honeywell – me in Phoenix, Pol in Brussels. We haven't seen each other in about 10 years, so it has been great catching up with him face to face.

We spent yesterday evening and Pol and Danielle's home in Rebecq, a pastoral farming village just outside Brussels. After a delicious dinner at their home and much conversation, we made our way to La Taverne Du Moulin, a local pub located in a mill dating back to the 1100s.

Ah, beer! Have I mentioned lately that Belgium is the most amazing country in the world for beer? Lambic beers, abbey beers, brown ales, wit beers. You name it, they've got it. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail here about the subject. Suffice it to say that both Pol and I love Belgian beers, and it was good to get a chance to once again indulge our passion.

Pol and Dan

Today, after a visit to Brussels' famed Gran Place and surrounding attractions (including the city's symbol, Mannekin Pis), we met Pol at Cafe Mort Subite, downed a quick lunch and a beer or two and set out through Brussels on foot. Later, we met up with Danielle at the Hotel Metropole, a sumptuous old hotel where I used to stay on Honeywell business trips. Another beer or two, and it was off to dinner. Finally, we said our adieus, and it was back to our B&B.

Speaking of our B&B – in contrast to the comfortable but slightly cramped quarters we've had at other stops on our trip, we're in a huge room at the Brussels Guesthouse. Plenty of room to spread out, which is a nice change.

Tomorrow, we board a train for a day trip to Brugge, in northwest Belgium. Brugge is a stately, gorgeous city known as the Venice of the North. Lots of sightseeing, canal boat riding and, of course, eating and drinking ahead. We haven't had any Belgian waffles or chocolate yet, so we'll have to indulge tomorrow. Must – go – on – diet – back – in – Phoenix!! Must – go – on – diet – back – in – Phoenix!!

What Rick Steves doesn't tell you

Here's what Rick Steves tells you about York: it's a lovely English city, the capital of the north, filled with colorful history involving Romans, Anglo-Saxons, Vikings, kings, princes, derring-do, derring-don't, blood, guts, etc.

Here's what Rick Steves doesn't tell you: on Saturdays, York turns into something akin to the Jersey Shore. That is, people pour into the city to troll the streets of the old walled city to shop, to drink, to celebrate, to drink and – oh yeah, did I mention that there's a lot of drinking going on?

First here are the stag and hen parties. I'll not say much about the stag parties in that they consist of a bunch of rowdy young guys, who maintain their balance by holding on to drink glasses and yelling (volume and comprehensibility is directly proportional to the of drinks they've sucked down). In other words, they're generally indistinguishable from most of the rest of the crowd in the city.

A York hen party

Then there are the hen parties. This is a trip! According to Helen Mildner, owner of the Farthings B&B where we stayed (highly recommended, by the way), young bachelorettes about to pack it in descend from all over northern England on the weekend. Unlike their male counterparts, the ladies are pretty easy to spot. In addition to being about as rowdy as the men, they sport t-shirts, sashes, blinking headgear and other frou-frou identifying the party they're with. The guests of honor can be identified by their slightly off-kilter bridal veils and eyes so glazed it's a wonder they can see where they're going. Sometimes, the dress is casual; in some parties, the women are dressed to kill. The only ones they're likely to kill, however, are themselves, in that many are trying to navigate the cobblestoned streets in high heels, with their heads full of raging sky, no less. By the end of the night, many of them are carrying those shoes.

All of this explains my observation yesterday about the streets of York being lined with pubs.

Adding to the revelry yesterday is the fact that the first racing meet of the season began this weekend. After the races, attendees dress up and head for bars, parties and other revelry. Judy and I encountered a virtual stampede of men and women –many already well-lubricated -- dressed in suits, gowns, tuxedoes, kilts, etc. while trying to make our way back to The Farthings for an hour of rest.

Beyond the people watching, Judy and I managed to get to York's Castle Museum, the York Brewery (let no brewery go unvisited!) and a performance of The Crucible at the Royal York Theater. All were excellent.

And so, we're aboard a train, headed back to London, where we'll catch a train to Brussels. The free-range travelers forge on.

York -- The pubs have ascended during "The Rapture" and settled here

Yorkminster

It was great to be back in London, but yesterday, we boarded a train (I LOVE train travel. Fast and a fraction of the hassle of flying) and headed about 200 miles north to York. If you've never been to York, it's definitely worth the visit. York is the traditional capital of northern England, and there's more history here than you can shake a stick at. The walls of the medieval city, which are in remarkably good shape, are built upon the walls erected by the earlier Roman city. Throw in the Vikings and Anglo-Saxons in between, and ya' got yourself some heavy duty history, folks.

Towering over everything in Yorkminster, a truly spectacular cathedral that, as near as I can tell, is on the nearly the same scale as Westminster, Notre Dame, etc. The difference here is that it dominates the vista in this modest city and that it can be seen for miles across the flat Yorkshire landscape.

Medieval walls, Yorkminster and a more modern rooftop

We're camped out at “The Farthings,” a very nice B&B about a 10-minute walk from the center of town. We spent much of yesterday on a rain-drenched walking tour led by one of York's many volunteer guides. It was spectacular. We got a great overview of the city and its history, hiked around atop the city walls and somehow managed to avoid getting drenched.

While I make sure to imbibe in the locally produced English ales (maybe a brewery tour later today), I'm satisfying my recently developed love of good tea as well. This involved a trip to a busy York tearoom yesterday for Earl Grey (very good) and scones (very fattening). It's a good thing we're walking a lot.

Yorkminster towers over everything

Speaking of pubs, though – if there's a shortage of good pubs in your area, it's probably because they've picked up and come over here to be close to their families. Maybe there was a pub Rapture and the pubs ascended to here.  You can't swing a dead cat here without it hitting a pub. There are dozens, all serving cask-conditioned ales, and all of them crowded. Nevertheless, I'll have my elbows out and will plow my way to the bar. I have my priorities.

Things to ponder....

Question: How do you throw away an empty coffee cup in an English train station?

Answer: Damned if I know!

A

As a not-so-quaint reminder of “the troubles,” when the Irish Republican Army was regularly setting off bombs in English train stations, there are few – if any – trashcans in the stations. With the situation in the mideast these days, I doubt that things will be changing anytime soon. Ironically, the queen is currently on her first state visit to Ireland, making nice .Guess I'll just chew the coffee cup and be done with it.