Hello Everyone, it’s Saturday morning and I am laying in bed wondering whether to get up or try and go back to sleep. Yes, it’s jet lag that has hit me as its actual nine hours difference and behind back home. I went to bed at eleven, which is two in the afternoon back home. Woke up at four am, which was five pm back home. Hopefully I will get into the right biological sleeping mode with the next few days.

Arrived here Thursday night with little to no sleep on the flight here. We had a stopover in Dublin, Ireland, and then a short hop to Amsterdam. 

It was funny flying Aer Lingus because the piolet to Dublin was a Murphy and the pilot to Amsterdam was O’Tool. Irish I am sure!

It was a very historical and emotional arrival in Amsterdam for me because it was the first time I have been back here since I left the Netherlands sixty years ago to immigrate to the United States. 

My niece, Jennifer, picked us up and we have stayed with her for two nights. She lives in a small and very old and historical town of Bergan op Zoom.

It’s a beautiful old town with so much history that I can already see that seven weeks here will not be enough to soak in all the history of the places I will go the next few weeks. 

Yesterday we walked around the old downtown, or village square. That brought back some faint memories of my childhood seeing the narrow cobble streets and brownstone houses. I picture myself ridding on the back of my mother’s bicycle going to the farmers market. I flash back at the entertainment that was always present to attract the buyers. As a child, and still to this day, I am I awe thinking of the clowns (which I didn’t like), puppet shows, tight rope walkers, jugglers, and most of all, the colidape (hope I spelled that right?) Wow, what wonderful memories.

It was funny to hear the Dutch language at the airport. Even though it is my first language I have not spoken it much since my mother died almost ten years ago. My daughter, Monica (23), asked me if I could understand it, and I said yes. Funny, but it was a little hard at first but it is coming back to me just being here one day. I still find myself going between both languages like I did with my mother as I always wanted to speak my adopted language, English. 

It seems that most Dutch here actual bounce back and forth between Dutch and English, as English is their second language. It think more people speak English here than back in California.

Yesterday as we walked around town I had to remind myself that the moment I left my house was the beginning of my adventure, or trek. The people I meet and the things that I see, big or small, are all part of that adventure.

I had my first what I would call my people trekking experience. We had gone into a small sporting goods store in the village and a salesman ask me if I needed help. Well, if you know me, I usually can’t answer with a simple yes or no. Our conversation turned to my hiking, then of course to trek to Canada, and so on. Nice young man and a nice conversion, both in English and Dutch. Then as I was leaving he asked me to wait a minute and said he wanted to give me something. He came back and gave me a box of backpacking crackers that he said were his favorite and told me to eat them on the Camino. I love anything free, but getting whatever from a nice person is even better.

Then not five minutes later when Jennifer was showing us the out side of the oldest hotel in town, built in the fifteen hundreds, a man standing about thirty feet away yelled and pointed at me. He walked over and started telling us all about the hotel. The next thing we knew he was walking us around the square and giving us the detailed description of everything. He took us to an old Catholic Church that had recently been turned into a stage theater. He actually knocked on the locked door and identified himself and asked if we could all go in. Wow, what a tour guide we were getting. 

He also took us to the castle in the square and gave us it’s history, along with many other things.

It turns out this young looking man was born and raised here. He was seventy and was a sort of a city guide. When he left us I thought, wow, another nice and kind person. If this was only our second day here, I can’t wait to see what else we will experience on our adventure.

I am writing this Saturday morning as we are getting ready to leave for the airport in Brussels for our flight to France, then eventually to Saint Jean Puied de Port, our starting point for the Camino de Santiago. 

Part of town square. Jennifer and Monica.

Entrance to castle

Fortified entrance into the old city square

Me standing in the Old Catholic Church turned into theater.