We were late to school in the morning, but Cindy and Kayden were late too, so we waited outside the gates for them.  Soon enough they came running up the hill and Kayden rushed in to catch up with his class and Cindy and I walked Simon down the hill to nursery.  It was Cindy’s day off and she had sent me a message on What’sApp asking if I wanted to get together while the kids were at school.   She waited outside the door while I took Simon into his class.  As soon as I hung up his backpack he ran in.  He won’t let me kiss him goodbye anymore, and he giggled when I pretended to pout.  

Cindy and I walked back to her place and I sat down at the kitchen table while she made smoothies.  We talked with Mike and his friend Phil before they started working for the day on a house up the street, and I made silly faces at Tyler while he ate his Frosted Flakes.  After the guys left, Cindy smothered crescent rolls with Nutella and baked them in the oven and we chatted at the table for a bit.  While Cindy cleaned up Tyler and dressed him, I watched the end of an episode of Undercover Boss, and felt bad for all the employees who didn’t get spied on and therefore didn’t get any special treatment.  

We went out for a walk, and stopped at Cindy’s neighbor’s house to drop off Mike’s keys and to ask her about piano lessons.  I’d like to find someone to teach Cameron and Eli and she lives really close to their school.  Kayden takes lessons and really likes it.  We continued on our walk and passed Simon’s Nursery where the kids were all playing outside so we shouted and waved.  Mr. Mickey opened the gate and let us in so we could say hello.  Tyler jumped right in and played in the sandbox with the other kids while Mr. Mickey made a sales pitch to Cindy about what a great nursery it is, even though Tyler is already registered to start there in the fall.  We said good-bye to Simon and told him we’d be back soon to pick him up. From there we walked to the high street to buy a few bits.  Cindy invited us for dinner so we picked up another chicken. There were some discounted parsnips and Cindy asked if we liked those.  I wasn’t sure how to answer, but I bought the parsnips.  Lastly we stopped at the butcher/pie shop and bought some pies for lunch.  I picked chicken and ham, Cindy’s favorite is mince and onion and then we got some for the kids and Mike and Phil.  

We walked back the nursery, picked up Simon and went back to Cindy’s for lunch.  The pies were delicious and when we were finished we each had to spoon-feed our little boys who are perfectly capable of feeding themselves but seemed to be too distracted to do so.  It was a beautiful afternoon and we sat in the sunshine in the garden and let the kids play. After lunch Cindy prepped the chickens and chopped vegetables while I lazily sat at her kitchen table asking her about herself and her family.  She was born in England, but her parents emigrated from Vietnam in the 70s.  Her mom is Vietnamese and her dad is Chinese.  Mike’s parents fit the same pattern and I ashamedly admitted that when looking at Asian people I can’t really tell them apart.   They laughed, but I hate it when I feel like I’m part of a stereotype.  They probably hate it too.  

After we finished getting lunch ready we took Simon and Tyler down to the park.  They played for a bit and then it was time to go pick up the bigger kids from school.   With six children and two scooters in tow, we went to another park for a little while and then made our way back to the house.  Cindy finished preparing the food while I continued to sit worthlessly at the kitchen table and ask more personal questions.  She made everything look so easy and once again I wondered why I don’t invite people over more often.  How lovely would it be to have someone to talk to while I peeled carrots and mixed gravy?  She also introduced me to the many uses of the electric tea kettle, which is a standard item in every British home, but I’d never thought to use ours since we don’t drink tea.  She also taught me how to cook parsnips and how to make extra crispy roasted potatoes with goose fat. 

At one point while Cindy was at the kitchen sink a guy jumped over the back fence, walked along side the house and then climbed over the front gate.  I said something to Cindy about him, asking if she knew who he was and she said something about how it was probably Mike.  I thought to myself “That was definitely not Mike” but I let it go.  Then later I asked Mike if he knew who it was and they both laughed at me like I was joking.  I was absolutely not joking so Mike asked the neighbor and sure enough there was some vagabond jumping fences and hopping around gardens.  Weird.  

The kids played and played and Richard joined us for dinner.  It was a proper feast.  Mike cooked the chickens in a smoker during the afternoon, and there were Yorkshire puddings, roasted veg and stuffing.  

There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the day or the evening. But it was the kind of day I want to remember forever.  And since I don’t have a proper journal, this is the place where I write about things I want to remember forever.  

Monday was a bank holiday here so Richard and the kids had the day off.  I had about five places I wanted to go for the day but finally narrowed it down to the town of Colchester.  It is the first recorded town in England, settled by the Romans around 45AD.  

At breakfast the kids asked where we were going and I told them I’d picked Colchester and Eli said 

“Colchester! I know that place.  It’s an old Roman city that was destroy by Boudica.  She also destroyed St. Albans and London and there is a statue of her riding in her chariot.”  

Well then.  (It turns out the statue is a statue we’ve seen several times, right outside the Westminster tube station.  Guaranteed you’ll see it if you visit London, I just had no idea who/what it was.) 

It took about an hour and a half to get there, but it was a beautiful drive.  All over the countryside we kept seeing these alarming yellow fields.  They were everywhere! They were flowers but I told Richard that they had to be some kind of profitable crop because they were so…everywhere.   It turns out they are rapeseed.  

We parked the car and walked down to Castle Park, which contains the Hollytrees Estate, a stretch of the original Roman wall, the Colchester Castle, and a massive playground.  We let the kids play on the playground for a bit and then we walked up toward the high street to check out our options and get some lunch.  

I had read online about a walking city tour that I really wanted to do, but we hadn’t brought the stroller and Richard knew Miriam and Simon would be bored and he would have to wrangle them while I listened to the tour guide.  We compromised and I signed Cameron and myself up for the tour and Richard agreed to take the other kids back to the playground.   

We ate lunch in The George Hotel, which was a fun and new English experience. I felt like we went back in time, but we would have been ridiculously under-dressed back in the heyday of the George Hotel.  

After lunch we had about an hour before the tour started so we walked over to the ruins of St. Botolph’s Priory.  It was the first and leading medieval Augustinian priory.  It was originally a Saxon church that was expanded and converted to a priory in approximately 1096. Then of course good ol’ Henry VIII demanded the dissolution of all things related to the Catholic church and it was mostly demolished in 1534.  What remained was further damaged during the Siege of Colchester in 1648, and this is all that remains.  (Henry VIII is already so easy to dislike, but the fact that he destroyed so much of the most beautiful architecture in the country makes him even more despicable.)

We walked back to Castle Park where we split off and Richard took the littles to the playground and Cameron and I embarked on our two hour walking tour.  He was a great sport, and really soaked up the history of it all.  I was a little surprised that Eli didn’t want to come, but sometimes a kid just gonna be a kid. 

The Colchester Castle was commissioned by William the Conqueror around 1069 and it was designed by a man called Gundulf.  It is the largest medieval castle in England, and the largest surviving castle keep in Europe.  Gundulf also designed the White Tower at the Tower of London, but it is smaller.  It was built on the ruins of the Roman Temple to Claudius.  We didn’t have enough time to make it worth the cost of taking a tour of the inside of the castle, but I kind of regret that and wish I had planned better.   

The walking tour covered over 2000 years of history that I will refrain from recounting here.  But I’ll mention a few interesting bits. 

Before the Romans came, Colchester was a Celtic village called Camulodunum, which some historians speculate was the basis for the fictitious Camelot, the capital of King Arthur’s court. 

The story of Boudica was so intriguing to me.  She has to be one of the most fascinating historical characters I’ve learned about since moving to London.   I have mixed feelings about her; she killed 80,000 people during her rampage.  But I also admire her.  I admire many women in history who demonstrated bravery in the face of male oppression.  She was denied everything that was rightfully hers when her husband died, and she and her daughters were beaten and sexually abused.  

Colchester was a massive, popular Roman city.  Even after Boudica’s rampage the city was rebuilt.  Three theatres have been uncovered, as well as the only Roman circus (chariot racing track) in Britain.  But once the Roman empire began to fall, all the Roman leadership left England and after the sixth century Colchester was more or less abandoned.  

The city was probably re-inhabited by Anglo-Saxons in the 800-900s, and then hit a new population boom when William the Conqueror set it apart as a military city.  

After we finished our tour Cameron and I met back up with the rest of the gang and we took a stroll along the River Colne on our way back to the car. 

I really can’t think of many of life’s menial tasks that don’t feel different in significant ways.  Except maybe cleaning the toilets.  Grocery shopping: so different.  Taking the kids to school: so different.  Driving a car: so different.  

Laundry: so tragically different. 

#firstworldproblems – for sure.  Let’s get that disclaimer out of the way. 

It’s taken months, but I’ve finally developed some laundry systems that increase my efficiency, but nonetheless it is the bane of my existence.  In the states I complained about how the laundry is never completely done, how empty hampers are rare or impossible, and it was true.  But here, it’s even worse.  In the states, I felt perpetually behind on a laundry in a way that was annoying.  Here, I perpetually feel so far behind on laundry that it’s downright depressing, and honestly I have cried over it.  Six people is TOO MANY for European laundering ways.  

I have a washing machine, which is on the smaller side of things but can manage an average size load.  It is also a dryer, but it isn’t the kind of dryer you find in the states.  It has no air circulation, there is no vent, just a wet steamy… tumble. The dryer will dry clothes; IF I run the cycle for over an hour, I open the door to let out the steamy air approx every 20 minutes, and the clothes are made of fine/thin/delicate fabrics.  So practically never.  I dry underwear and towells in the dryer and that’s it.  The other drawback to the dryer? If I’m drying clothes in the dryer, I’m drying clothes in the washing machine, which means I’m not washing any clothes.  

So I have a drying rack.  (I probably just need to invest in another drying rack because I simply can not live with clothes hanging over every piece of furniture in the house.) We also have a dehumidifier, which makes the clothes drying much faster, thank heavens.  When I do laundry it goes like this:  

Wash a load.  (Takes about 40 minutes if I do the fastest cycle.) 
“Dry” (tumble) the load for 20 minutes just so the clothes aren’t completely soaked. 
Hang the load on the clothes rack. 
Wash a load of underwear. 
Dry the load of underwear until they are dry. (This gives more time for the clothes on the drying rack to dry.)
Wash another load. 
Dry/tumble that load for 20 minutes.  
Remove the dry clothes from the rack, hang the wet clothes. 
Wash a load of underwear. 
And so on…

This is tedious.  Hanging clothes on the rack in a way that the won’t get too wrinkly is tedious.  Often times I’ll throw them back in the “dryer” for a few minutes so they don’t have that crusty/crunchy line-dry feeling.  This kind of laundry takes a three days to get all our clothes done, and it’s not like a “throw it in and forget about it until you have to change loads” kind of thing.  It usually takes three days because inevitably I forget that I’m supposed to be doing laundry for a few hours and it sets me back.  So by the time I’ve finished all the laundry the hampers are quickly filling up again.  Then you factor in other things that need washing like towells, sheets, coats, etc and let’s just say we have lowered our standards around here.  

The kids are allowed two sets of pajamas per week. (There are penalties, and I’m totally serious.)  I wear jeans more times between washes than I care to admit.  School uniform shirts are allowed one wear per wash (they are white), but trousers must be worn at least twice before a wash.  Socks and underwear can only be worn once but I’m not even gonna talk about how [in]frequently I wash the sheets.  (Wetting the bed is your best bet for getting your sheets washed around here.)  

Laundry stresses me, depresses me, and turns me into a crazy lady when I catch someone lazily throwing a clean article of clothing into a hamper.  I loathe laundry.  

What do I miss most (excluding people) about America?  My dryer.  Hands down.  

On Saturday morning I had plans to meet some friends for breakfast in the city.  Richard had told me that morning that the Duchess of Cambridge was officially in labor and admitted to the hospital, so when I finished up with my friends I decided to just go check out the atmosphere and get a taste for the royal baby mania.  By the time I got to St. Mary’s hospital I didn’t have too much time before I needed to get back on the tube and head home for a birthday party.  So I just walked up and down the street, taking photos, and soaking it all in. 

I had gotten the impression from news stories I read that there were dozens of people camped out for weeks, waiting for the big day.  But really, the campers were just a small group of die-hard anglophiles.  There were however, dozens of reporters.  The press crowd was massive.  Cameras everywhere, and from every direction I could see and hear live interviews being done, in so many different languages.  

When I had been there about 20 minutes, I wasn’t sure what was left to do.  It was fun to just watch people, and listen to the random chants of “Hip-hip Hooray” the die-hards were doing for the TV cameras.  Then the door opened to the Lindo Wing and the unofficial town crier came out, ringing his bell.  In an instant, everyone was gathered around him and it went silent while he read the decree.  

“Oh Ye! Oh Ye! Oh Ye!
On this day, the 2 of May, the year 2015 
We welcome with humble duty
the second born of their Royal Highnesses 
the Duke of Duchess of Cambridge. 
The princess is fourth in line to the throne. 
May our princess be long lived, happy, and glorious.” 

To be honest, I couldn’t really understand what he was saying.  He read it several times and the reporters went wild with their interviews and the crowd chanted “Princess! Princess!”  I stood there, totally surrounded by strangers and it just felt BIG. When I realized that he was announcing the birth of the baby, my heart started to race and I got really emotional.  I’m not sure how to account for such a visceral response.  I think it was in part due to the fact that I respect Prince William and Kate as a couple, and as individuals.  I think it also had to do with my own tender memories of giving birth, and somehow that made me feel connected to Kate, who in nearly all other circumstances I have nothing in common with.  But mostly I think it was just a feeling of pure joy and excitement that was coming from the hearts of all the people around me.  The British public seem to adore their royal family, and it was contagious.  

After the crowd dispersed I asked a woman standing nearby what the fancy man actually said, and we chatted for a minute about the excitement of it all, and how nice it is to enjoy some happy news for a bit.  

On my way out of the mania I just happened to come across Tony Appleton, the fancy man, doing an interview.  He was so elated and emotional himself, I found it completely endearing.  He talked about doing this for the birth of Prince George and how much it meant to him to have the honor.  

I am not a fan of celebrity worship or name-dropping.  I genuinely believe that the remarkable people in my life are just as valuable as the famous people that live in the public eye.  And to be fair, the announcement I saw came over two hours after the baby was actually born, and I wasn’t there when the family made their brief public appearance to the crowd. But I still felt like a small part of history that day and I can’t believe how lucky I was with my timing.  The whole experience had me smiling all day.  

God save the Queen! 

This week the weather has taken a turn back to cold, windy and rainy.  But for the two weeks prior, it was gorgeous.  In fact, I downloaded my first audio book during the warmest week of the year so far, and I found myself walking everywhere I possibly could.  I could write an entire post about my first Audible experience, and maybe I will.  But I found a new way to walk to Simon’s school to pick him up, and I would leave about 15 minutes early so I could sit in this charming park and listen to the book whilst watching the fountain and smelling the amazing aromas of all the flowers that bloom here.  They are mostly blossoming trees and bushes, and they are lovely.  Typically they say “April showers bring May flowers” but in London, I say “November, December, January, February and March showers bring April flowers.”  April in London has been completely wonderful.  People keep telling me that my face looks tan, which for once in my life actually worries me a bit, so I might need to start wearing a hat of some sort.  

During the warm spell one day I picked up Simon from school and we went into the city to Regent’s Park, mostly so I could see some tulips.  It is one of the Royal Parks of London, and I’ve decided that in another life I would like to be a gardener for the Royal Parks.  (In another life I would also like to work for a TV drama series and be the person who selects the music that plays in the poignant moments. Best. job. ever.) 

We walked through a lot of the park but of course still didn’t see half of it.  

From the park we walked up Camden high street toward the tube station and it was happening! I really wanted to take a photo of a man, probably in his 60’s, barefoot with dreads. writing inspirational thoughts on the pavement with sidewalk chalk.  He was probably homeless and I didn’t have any money to give him, and I always worry that people would feel objectified if I ask for a picture so I didn’t.  But he was a character. 

 I’ve gotten pretty good at finding my way around the city, and I’ve become pretty proficient about making transfers on public transport and finding the best way home, but in Camden I was in a new part of the city, a part I’d never been to and was totally unfamiliar with.  So after taking the underground one stop, I didn’t recognise the name of the station and I panicked.  I was sure I was lost and there is no cell service underground, so Simon and I trekked up to street level and I called Richard and asked him to go pick up the kids from school because I would never make it in time.  (The benefits of his short commute!)  It turns out I was right where I needed to be, I wasn’t lost at all, and Simon and I actually got home before Richard and the kids.  Oops.  

I remember at Cameron’s baptism feeling a little un-spiritual and a lot stressed.  I have a bad habit of “feeling other people’s feelings for them” so at any family gathering I quickly get preoccupied with making sure everyone has a place to sit, everyone is getting along, everyone feels welcome and noticed, etc.  I know that in a lot of ways my hypersensitivity to others is a gift, but I wish it didn’t often get in the way of my being mentally present at important events… 

Eli’s baptism was a different experience.  There were no family members there besides the six of us, so I was free of the pressures of being the hostess.  And yet I still found myself feeling more stressed than spiritual, because I had to play the piano and I’m really not good at the piano.  

In any case, once the piano part was over, I felt a profound sense of gratitude.  I’m grateful for Eli, for his good heart and his desire to be like Christ.  I’m grateful for the way his desire manifests itself in unselfish and thoughtful behaviors, and in his own gratitude for his blessings.  I’m grateful that he was brave despite being the star of the show.  And I’m grateful that he could share his baptism with Sariah, so he wasn’t the ONLY star of the show.  

I’m so grateful for our ward.  They showed. up.  And I don’t just mean that they were at the building at the appointed time.  I’m grateful for Jean Billy, who baked the amazing cakes.  I’m grateful for Sonya who spent most of the day at the chapel, because the font takes four hours (!) to fill, and I’m almost positive she was the last one to leave.  I’m grateful for Eli’s primary teachers and leaders who spoke and prayed.  I’m grateful for Georgia and her family for letting us be a part of Sariah’s special day.  I’m grateful for Bishop Chittock for his service and especially the love that emanates from that man. I’m grateful for my friend Keeley who made Eli a thoughtful gift.  I’m grateful for Jane who lovingly designed a program.  And I’m grateful for my other friends who couldn’t make it but sent texts of support.  I know there are others I will think of, and I will come back and add their names to this list.  

It was definitely hard to have this experience away from family, especially grandpas and great-grandpas who could have stood in on Eli’s confirmation.  But it gave me an opportunity to feel truly loved by our London family, and by my Father in Heaven, who surely knows me.  (Although, dear Father in Heaven, please send a pianist to our ward.) 

The Friday after we got back from the Netherlands Richard took a day off, since the kids were still out of school. So we planned a day trip down to Hastings.  Richard and I are both huge fans of Foyle’s War, which was filmed and based in Hastings, but we didn’t actually spend much time in the city itself.  

We walked down to the beach, and although it was reasonably warm, it was quite windy.  The kids skipped rocks into the waves and we just relaxed for a bit.  We’ve noticed that instead of calling it “the beach” most Brits refer to it as “the seaside.”  The seaside in Hastings wasn’t a sandy beach at all, it was these rocks, which were beautiful.  

We ate lunch at an Italian place, where the pizzas were twice as big as we expected and half the price, and Simon’s spaghetti was tastier than my gnocchi. (And my gnocchi was good!)  We practically had the restaurant to ourselves and the kids meals came with some really yummy gelato.  After lunch we drove up to the Hastings Battlefield and Abbey, which was the location for the Battle of Hastings 1066, and where Battle Abbey was built by William the Conqueror as restitution to God for the many lives lost in the battle.  

The first half of the audio guide tour was a walking tour that went around the perimeter of the battlefield.  It talked you through the day’s events, the strategies and successes and failures of the Normans (present-day French) and the Anglo-Saxons, (present day English.)  The tour also talked about the personalities and shortcomings of each of the army’s leaders. 

The Battle took place in October of 1066, and it was a war between King Harold (Anglo-Saxon) and the Duke William II of Normandy.  For various reasons, they both believed they were entitled to the English throne after the death of King Edward the Confessor.   

The battle only lasted one day, and Duke William II came off conqueror.  He then went on to take over the rest of the country and gain the crown for himself, significantly changing the course of English history.  

The second half of the audio tour was all about the Monastic Abbey built at the battle site.  The abbey was built between 1070-1094, after the Pope ordered the Normans to make penance for killing so many men during the battle. The Abbey was huge, one of the biggest in the country during the time period, the dormitory was said to house 180 monks.  It was a center for learning, worship and development.  

The abbey was destroyed when King Henry VIII parted ways with the Catholic church and ordered its dissolution. The abbey later became a private residence for several hundred years.  The surviving buildings are now a school, and the ruins are open to the public.  

There was a lot more to see than what I’ve posted here.  There was a museum, and we were able to climb to the top of the turrets and look out over the estate.  There was an impressive walled garden that had been built and cultivated for the lady of the house in the 1700s.  There were foundation stones from the ruins of the church, and other parts of the abbey including the cloisters, the chapter house, the abbots house and the refectory.  

It was a really neat place to visit and made me excited to visit other abbey ruins.  It reminds me of a quote I read in a book recently.  Experiencing the world through history is such a gift! 

“A feeling of immediate contact with the past is a sensation as deep as the purest enjoyment of art. It is an almost ecstatic sensation of no longer being myself, of overflowing into the world around me, of touching the essence of things, of through history experiencing the truth. The historic sensation is not the sensation of living the past again but of understanding the world [perhaps] as one does when listening to music…”
-Johan Huizinga 

On Monday morning we tidied up the apartment, packed up and headed out.  Our booking for the Eurotunnel wasn’t until late afternoon and we had promised Belgian waffles to Cameron so we spent a few hours in Brugge.  I wish we could have spent an entire day, at least, and maybe we’ll have to pass back through because I really loved it.  It was a great combination of European style village mixed with Gothic and medieval architecture from days of yore.  Whatever hasn’t been well-kept from centuries past, has been restored to fit the part. 

Unfortunately it was a cold and rainy day, but we parked the car and headed for a waffle shop I’d found on a travel blog. It was just off the main plaza, and the kids and I sat down to eat our waffles while Richard went back to put money in the parking meter. 

After we finished we went back to the courtyard of the market hall, which stands around the Belfry of Bruges, to use a toilet and meet up with Richard.  While we were waiting for him I had fun taking pictures of the kids.  

While I was taking an exceptionally long time in the WC with the littles Richard gleaned some valuable info from the attendant.  She said that she speaks Dutch, (which the Dutch call Flemish) German, English, Spanish and French.  Richard says that he can corroborate that because he saw her speak four of those languages just while she assisted international toilet users.  She told him that Brugge is the old Dutch word for “bridge”.  She said that in Belgium they generally speak Flemish or French, depending on which region of the country they live in.  In the north near the Netherlands they speak Flemish.  She said Flemish and Dutch are written the same, but pronounced differently.  (Like English and American English.)  Then naturally in the south near France they speak more French. 

From there we went back out to the main plaza, and then just explored the streets of the town. 

Richard had heard/read somewhere that Easter weekend was the second busiest travel weekend of the year.  We didn’t notice on our way over through the chunnel because we left on a Wednesday, but when we got to the Eurotunnel check-in on our way back over, they had an elaborate, but very efficient system set up to get the cars through to the trains as fast as possible.  We were amazed at the number of people headed back to the UK and were equally amazed at how easily the process was despite the crowds.  

We made it back across the channel to our lovely London home, which was so cold from having the heat off while we were away, that we all wrapped up in blankets and watched a movie in the living room with the doors closed and the space heater at our feet.  

In September of 2009 I wrote a short blog post about how much I wanted to live in Europe.  (Oh how I laugh when I read my old blog posts! Dramatic much? I imagine that in six years I’ll read this blog post and laugh too.)  This is what I wrote.

I am intrigued by the tulip fields in the Netherlands. I am intrigued by a great number of European places and interests. I want try it out.  I want to experience Europe. I don’t mean I want to take an intense ten day vacation across the Atlantic to see the Eiffle Tower and Swiss Alps. I want to live there.  I want it so badly. I can’t explain it but I just want to get to know the people. See things differently. Ride the Eurorail and eat cheese all the time.
Speaking of cheese, I want to sort out all the stereotypes. I want destroy preconceived notions. I just want to be someplace foreign. But not just anywhere.  I’m not sure why I don’t feel this way about Africa or the Asian world. I’ve been to South America now and while I feel there is a great deal to learn from those folks, it is Europe that my heart longs for.

I posted this picture of the Dutch tulip fields, and from then on I became obsessed.  

When I planned our trip to the Netherlands I did (what I thought was) extensive research to make sure our timing would be right.  April, April, April was what I found.  This worked out perfectly with the Easter holiday and it all came together really nicely.  

On our second day in Holland, at Efteling, I noticed a large rotunda full of tulips.  The unfortunate thing was, they were only about four inches tall.  My heart sank.  Tulips aren’t like most crops, they don’t germinate and blossom on an approximate timetable calculated at planting.  They are bulbs, planted months or years before, so they grow and blossom on Mother Nature’s timetable.  To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.  I was devastated.  I had to take a deep breath and hold out a glimmer of hope just to continue to enjoy our time at Efteling.  

Sadly, the next day in Amsterdam my suspicions were confirmed, and I realized that there wasn’t a tulip to be found in the Netherlands, except the little wooden ones sold at tourist shops.  

Sunday morning, Easter morning, dawned with the most glorious blue sky, I couldn’t help but feel my spirits lift.  We decided to take the drive up north like we had originally planned and just see the coast and enjoy small Dutch towns.  

We packed up a lunch, and lots of Easter candy and drove up north.  We talked about going to Keukenhof gardens, a world famous Dutch garden that I’m sure would have knocked our socks off, but it was really expensive.  We decided to just drive to it, check it out and see what we could see, but the traffic queue to get there was a complete standstill so we just kept on driving.  

Eventually we got to a place where I could see the tulip fields.  Once again, my heart sank.  I could just IMAGINE what it would look like in full bloom.  It was interesting because someone told Richard that if it was a warm spring to go in March, and then we heard from plenty of people that if it’s a cool spring you don’t get to see the tulips until the last two weeks of April.  It would have been impossible to know for sure when they would bloom. 

Throughout the rest of our drive both Richard and I grieved a little bit about what we were missing and how amazing the northern part of the Netherlands would be in two weeks.  But now we’re sounding a bit spoiled, so I’ll turn on my optimism and say that the remainder of the day/drive was beautiful.  Especially the daffodils.  

In addition to daffodils, we saw many canals and bicycles and windmills.  It was really relaxing, the sun was shining and I feel like we got a really good taste of the north country.  It was a nice Sunday drive.  

We stopped in Den Helder, on the coast of the North Sea, to eat our lunch.  It was windy (per usual in Holland, it seems) but sunny.  After we ate we walked down to the water. 

After lunch we turned off the sat-nav (that’s what they call a GPS here) and just drove along the coast and began to work our way south again.  Late in the afternoon we stopped at a park and let the restless kids play.  

After the kids were sufficiently worn out we drove the two hours back to The Hague and our apartment and made it just in time to make some dinner and watch the Sunday morning session of conference live, 6:00pm Holland time.  (Cooking from an apartment has been a major budget saver and stress reliever while traveling.)

Despite its disappointments, the day turned out to be a nice celebration of Easter and family and this life, that I’m really living in Europe.  

Saturday morning we drove about 45 minutes to a Park & Ride where we caught a train into Amsterdam.  (We really didn’t want to mess with parking in the city, that’s the drawback to using a car for transportation.)  The weather was breezy and cool, and when the sun came out it felt lovely, but it was chilly when the sun went behind a cloud.  We got off the train at the Central Station without any kind of plan.  We had a list of things to possibly see/do and a canal tour was on the list.  (It was really just a list in our heads.)  Despite the cool weather, I REALLY wanted an open-boat tour.  The boats are smaller and it just looked more private and personal.  It was more expensive, but not by much so I begged and Richard relented.  

We decided to get something to eat first so we walked for a bit until we came to a little cafe/bakery.  I just let each of the kids choose a giant pastry of some sort, and Richard and I split a giant sandwich.  It was all really good. 

On our way back to the canal boat Richard also bought some frites to share.  Frites are just french fries, but big thick ones, with a generous dollop of flavored mayonnaise for dipping.  

Richard and I were both worried about being cold during the canal tour but the captain put up a wind/rain guard on the back half of the boat, there were floor heaters, and plenty of blankets.  The kids were cozied up in no time, but about 20 minutes into the tour the sun was out and we were all warm enough so we asked him to put the plastic cover down so we could see better.  

I wish I had taken a picture of the boat.  It wasn’t too big, and our captain stood behind the wheel.  There were two other passengers, two Korean twenty-something girls from L.A. who were smitten with the kids.  The took glamour shots of each other during the whole tour, which really amused Richard and I.  They were really sweet though and good company. They weren’t so much interested in what our captain/tour guide had to say, so he spoke softly mostly to Richard, who sat close by and asked questions and listened attentively.  

We really loved the canal tour.  It took about an hour and a half and our tour guide was really nice and knowledgeable and the kids were pretty entertained by our new travel friends and other things to look at. 

We weren’t really sure what to do next, so we just took a bus to the Anne Frank House and Museum.  The queue to get in was FOUR hours long.  That wasn’t going to happen.  My original plan was that Richard could take the kids to a park while I went into the museum but it was too cold for a park.  We’ve since learned that Easter weekend is one of the busiest travel weekends in the year because it is sandwiched by two holidays and so we should have anticipated the crowds.  From there we tried the Van Gogh museum but it was the same story.  We were feeling pretty discouraged and disappointed by now, and the kids were restless and hungry.  Our public transport passes were about to expire soon too so we decided to catch a bus to a pancake house someone had recommended and call it a day.  It took longer than expected to get to the Pancake House, but it was in a really fun part of the city and I’m glad we had the chance to walk around there and see more than just the central part of town.  

Richard’s friend had recommended the Pancake Bakery, and it’s the kind of place that as a tourist you only find if someone recommends it.  (My favorite.) It was kind of tucked away off the beaten path.  The kids menu listed about seven different pancakes like the “Police Pancake” and the “Fireman Pancake” and it was really all the same pancake, but they brought out a prize associated with the pancake type.  Simon of course chose the Fireman pancake and I’m pretty sure it was the highlight of his day. 

I had a pancake with mangoes, slagroom, coconut flakes and pistachio gelato. Soooo delicious.  

After pancakes we walked to a bus stop where we caught a bus to a train station where we caught a train back to our car and then drove back to The Hague.  Amsterdam was a let down in a lot of ways, there was so much I didn’t get to see that I wanted to, but maybe I’ll get a chance to go back.  Without kids, bless their traveling hearts.