Caleb makes coffee to go and takes out the trash. I drop the key, and we catch the bus. I’ve noticed a lot of bus riders thank the driver (they’re called a chauffeur here). A police officer helps Caleb through the fare gate, as he had already checked in, but didn’t make it through before the little doors shut again. We buy croissants to go with the cheese and guacamole from the house and eat them while listening to the group in front of us learning new words in a different language.
On the train from Amsterdam to Schiphol Airport, there are people packed in the doorway, while there are at least two seats available. Perhaps they wanted to keep their distance from the man complaining in English. I wouldn’t volunteer to translate for them either, but perhaps this is the couple’s first time away from home and a good learning experience for future travel, or they never leave home again. Caleb’s cheese stash gets checked for drugs at security.
We don’t usually visit the airport liquor shop, but this one has a smelling station which intrigues me. This interest gets us offered a sample, which I quickly give to Caleb. One bottle of Japanese whiskey is 6550€. I’m more impressed with the free stroopwafel gifted by an airport employee handing them out. I was going to get pancakes from The Butcher, but we were an hour past breakfast, so we went elsewhere for coffee and fries.
There is an exhibit by Rem van den Bosch featuring acrobats in regional dress on tall ladders, indicating where the water levels would be at tourist landmarks if not for the protective measures taken. The artist is collaborating with local organizations and authorities on water awareness and what we can do about it. I didn’t know that Tony’s Chocolonely began as a protest against child labor in the cocoa industry, with headquarters in Amsterdam, which explains why the bars are so prevalent here.
We’re looking for hydrating beverages before we board, and I see a sign for a pistachio coffee (as if I need another), but they don’t have them, so I settle for some local pink vitamin water instead. One of the cargo doors was left open, so this causes an 80-minute delay. We watch Mercy (2026), a sci-fi thriller about speeding up the death penalty using AI. After this, I was ready for some Little Mermaid (in Dutch), and it was just as great as I remembered.
We read, but as other passengers began to wake and disturb the peace, I found Hungarian Dance No. 5 in G Minor by the Wiener Philharmoniker amongst a list of calming classical to get me through the last hour of this ten-hour flight. We wait outside the airport for ten minutes before I call our ride. Caleb had taken us to departures, and they were waiting at arrivals. Their dog, Tulie, would cuddle with Caleb for the ride home. I open my suitcase and go to bed, while Caleb unpacks and checks the mail.
Caleb is up around 4 am after the rain and makes me a sweet coffee when I get up. We grabbed our raincoats and would’ve made the bus had I not seen a snail and needed to photograph it. I usually send the picture to Caroline, but when Caleb informed me that we now had a half hour to wait, I went looking for more. There were so many of them! I also found a Dryophilocoris flavoquadrimaculatus (a black-and-yellow insect), a red velvet mite (also known as a rain bug), and a common fruit fly.
The streets are empty, the bus is bare, and the train has plenty of seats. We move from one quiet compartment to escape a sniffling child, then they depart, and we can move back to give space to Karen, who is being extra loud with her eight-year-old son. I thought it might only be an American thing, but others moved on without saying anything either (and I’ve seen them speak up, so they were avoiding her). I see a pheasant and two bunnies on the way to Rotterdam station.
I munch on the honey mustard wheat pretzels and white blondie that were in my purse. Our final bus of the morning has a wren fledgling passenger. Caleb goes back and forth trying to capture it in his hat so he can let it out the door, his efforts consistently thwarted. The bus drops us at the cloudy and gray entrance to Kinderdijk, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, since 1997. It consists of 19 windmills that were originally built around 1740 as a water management system.
The exception is the Blokweer Museum Mill, built in 1630, with a strikingly different structure. Through the middle of the park is an active bicycle path. To allow riders to enjoy the scenery, but keep them out of the museums, the tickets are scanned at the museum windmills, for the canal boat tour, and the pumping station exhibits. It starts to rain, and we don’t let this stop us from exploring. Others came prepared with umbrellas and rain ponchos.
These windmills would be comfortable for Caleb and me, so I realize how spoiled for space we are when I learn that the goal was to have a dozen kids (for religious and labor purposes) to help with the farming, gardening, fishing, and mill maintenance. The attic was a storage space for animal hides, fish traps, and fruit. It was also where the smoke from the living room heater passed, turning things black on the way out until a chimney was installed in 1909.
The family’s laundry, along with the linen, got washed at the boiler house with the use of a washbasin. In the winter, the family was washed there as well, but in the summer, they would be scrubbed on the doorstep. The women wore a shirt, a corset, about four petticoats, and a beautiful top layer. Only the first layer of white cotton was usually washed. They had a flannel undershirt and a knitted singlet that were only worn in winter.
The eight Nederwaard windmills were built in a staggered line to allow each of them to catch plenty of wind. The eight Overwaard windmills are in a straight line on a narrow embankment. They are built of wood and covered with thatch because they are on soil that is subject to sinking. The Nieuw-Lekkerland Polder has two windmills, one with a scoop wheel, and the other equipped in 1965 with an Archimedean screw that can pump farther than the other one.
If the rain was heavy and the wind weak, the mills did not provide enough power. This led to a steam-powered pumping station being built in 1868 to help pump seven times faster, but coal was expensive and burdensome, so it was converted to diesel in 1918. A new electric pumping station was built in 1972 on top of the old one. It was renovated in 2023, and two of the Archimedes screws are fully electric, with the third being a diesel backup and a preservation of the past.
The windmills were decommissioned in 1953, but still have families living in them to preserve traditional crafts, complete maintenance, and keep their stories alive. Such as the one about the cat keeping the cradle in the river balanced by jumping back and forth so that baby Beatrice wouldn’t drown after the St. Elisabeth’s Flood in 1421. The cradle washed up near the dyke, and a name was born. In the old pumping station is an interactive area and a gift shop.
Buying lunch gets us a waterside view and a multi-pass for the toilet. I like to take a picture of our meals for profiling purposes. We get to watch a couple do a photoshoot with their croissant and coffee by the water before moving to a table in the middle of the café. It appears strange, but it’s nice to see this unexplained behavior in real life, especially as AI becomes more involved in what is seen online. It’s still raining when we see the bus honk at a car parked in its way, and the guy almost nervously reverses into it.
The bus driver takes a smoke break, and we get to go through the bushes on bus-only lanes. Caleb points out an electric semi truck. On the train, a guy gets on with a folding bike and blocks a seat. Another guy gets on with a regular bike and asks him to move, so he can fit his bike against the folding seats. He sits upstairs once his bike is secure, while the guy who had to move is now sitting across from me, possibly writing about this in his diary.
We get off at the bus stop for the shopping plaza, but when we inquire about sushi, we are informed that they are busy fulfilling another order, so it will be some time before they can get to us. We walk back empty-handed. I’d been thinking about all the name-brand coats people are wearing, and no, they aren’t cheaper here out of necessity, but actually more expensive due to higher taxes, fewer discount stores, and higher retail margins (and the temperature ranges from 34° to 73°, on average).
I have leftover bread with cheese while being asked repeatedly for attention by Zulu. Caleb suggests we go eat nearby. I think he’s suggesting the ice cream parlor diner, but he means the shared-dining tapas restaurant, Mazoki. The hostess seats us, and when the waitress and family next to us realize we speak English, they seem even kinder and more forthcoming with menu recommendations. The family is curious as to what brings us to such a local establishment, and we let them know: friends.
The sweet waitress lets us know the restaurant is closing at the end of the year. The chef, Marcel, is ready to move on to something else after over 30 years in the industry and surviving the chaos that was Covid. We shared the grilled zucchini and Mazoki mess (like Eton mess, but with ice cream, sorbet, waffles, and wafers, for three). I had the burrata and pumpkin while Caleb decided on the Zarzuela (a Catalan seafood-rich celebratory stew), also enough for three people.
We agree it was a great commemorative dinner for our last night in the Netherlands. I will walk the neighborhood when we get back, as I’m stuffed. I see a guelder rose bush, known for its white flowers in spring and bright red berries in autumn. I pass a grove snail and an information board with workshops and monthly activities. I learned that the trash banks are pay-to-open for plastic, metal, and refuse, but not glass. Bag size options are 30 or 60L. Caleb is on the couch with Zulu when I return.
Caleb starts the dishwasher, and I drop yogurt on the floor, with a bit getting on Zulu. He excuses himself from the kitchen to clean while I do the same by the cabinet. I notice a wolf spider by the bathroom door, known for hunting prey without spinning a web and wandering into homes for warmth. Caleb gets the bicycles out of their stored spots and gets them ready to ride. I have a drunken loop planned to entertain us.
The bike path between the farms and the canal is beautiful. At one point, Caleb is forced to catch up to the deer that thinks we are chasing it so that it will stay in a field and relax instead of continuing to criss-cross the lane and exhaust itself. We ride to Huis Scherpenzeel, and though it’s lovely to look at, there is staff on the grounds preparing for an event at this venue. We stop at Restaurant de Dennen to get out of the rain, and as we sit on the patio, we watch a photography class disperse, and some guys on race bikes join under the umbrellas for protection.
I would’ve gotten a coffee, but they weren’t open yet. I’m ok riding in sprinkles, but we’ve traveled enough to know that some places this seemingly innocent rain can lead to monsoons or hail, so better to be prepared, which, funny enough, we hadn’t brought our raincoats with us (for the ride). As soon as the falling water lets up, we’re back on our borrowed bikes. We continue on to Castle Renswoude, built in 1654, which offers its architecture and surrounding park for our enjoyment on foot.
There is a pigeon tower where the birds could fly in and out freely. They delivered mail and were bred for ornamental purposes and meat. Keeping pigeons and having buildings appear larger, due to their reflection in the moat, conferred more status on the estate. We see a mute swan, a Muscovy duck (known for hissing instead of quacking), and a Eurasian red squirrel. As for plants: a pink shrubby cinquefoil, purple wisteria, and yellow irises.
We are on our way to Woudenberg, where we can explore more of the Grebbelinie defenses (bunkers and waterline structures), when I stop abruptly, and Caleb falls off his bike, and not gently. It’s lunch time anyway, so I have an apple on the way to Pannenkoe, known for 50 variations of massive, traditional Dutch pancakes. Having ridden in the sun, with tan hands as proof, we sit inside. We ordered a coffee that comes with a chocolate to support Mercy Ships, instead of the traditional mini cookie.
Caleb remembers meeting a woman on Veteran’s Day who worked on those ships for almost a decade, and I’m happy for the memory. Our flower-shaped bread sampler shows up with a steak knife poking out of the center. Our dips: hummus, aioli, and herb butter. I would definitely order this again. Caleb asks for a four-cheese calzone, and gets a four-meat one instead. I want to try the apple-raisin pancake, but I get pineapple because appel and ananas sound so close.
This one is twice the size of the one we got at the beach. I apply a thick dusting of cinnamon on top, not on purpose, but the fruit helps balance the combination. Our kind hosts left us with a 10€ coupon that we definitely appreciate. We drop the food off at the house and set off on foot towards the shops to spend the afternoon. Caleb makes me a coffee when we return, and we read after dinner to let Caleb recover tonight so he’ll be ready for tomorrow.
I sleep through the night and wake up early and refreshed. I’m glad to be feeling better. As I come downstairs, Anouska is just finishing a bike ride in preparation for all the sitting she’ll be doing on their flight to Japan. I drink a coffee, and we’re out the door after hugs. We pass a field of cows while sitting in the quiet train car (symbolized by a person with headphones, a book, and a laptop). This doesn’t seem to cover apple etiquette, as I imagine the bovines eating more delicately than the woman across from us.
I lead us southwest out of Den Haag Centraal instead of west towards our destinations, but this is fortuitous, and we end up at the Nieuwe Kerk. It is a Dutch Baroque church dating to the 1650s, but it ceased to be a church in 1969 and is now a concert hall, which explains why it is closed. The roof spans the 31.4 m by 15.7 m building without supporting pillars and supports the 53 m tower. Some people resting here: De Witt brothers (lynched politicians), Reinier Pauw (mayor who helped found the VOC), and Baruch Spinoza (philosopher who died from grinding optical lenses).
I had planned on the Binnenhof being under renovation. What I didn’t expect to find was some history and art on the containment walls. William II commissioned the palace in 1248 after being crowned king in Germany. In 1570, the Binnenhof became the center of government for the Republic of the Seven United Provinces of the Netherlands. It was even more surprising to find a viewing tower built just for curious passersby. I’m excited for this opportunity, and it’s free. There are 4,000 rooms, of which none are the same, and the Netherlands’ first tennis court was built here around 1500.
In the 60s and 70s, the Binnenhof served as a car park that was regularly full and became car-free in 1983. The canal that surrounded the palace was filled in 1862, and the renovation will restore part of the Hofgracht. Between 1880 and 1924, trams ran through the Binnenhof, first horse-drawn and then electric in 1906. After a 360° photoshoot, it’s time for coffee, as well as yellow velvet cake (without the light cocoa of red velvet) and a glass of house-made pink (bubbly) lemonade at Dudok (in the restaurant, not the adjoining patisserie).
We time our visit to the Mauritshuis, a former city palace of Johan Maurits, built in 1641, just right. The tropical wood paneling and landscape murals were destroyed by fire in 1704. It was refurbished and a century later became a museum in 1822. It was renovated from 2012 to 2014 to add an underground foyer and more exhibition space. There are paintings of bouquets, foods, people, and critters. Some that stand out are the Miniature portrait of Peeter Stevens, 1790, Apelles Painting Campaspe, 1630, and Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds, and Pretzels, 1615.
Girl by a High Chair, 1640, features a three-year-old wearing gold jewelry with Brazilian sweet treats within reach. This girl lives in luxury, having her portrait painted, while the harsh reality of the sugar plantation workers remains invisible. While Albert Eckhout went to Brazil to paint turtles with teeth that they don’t have, he also did portraits of Indigenous Brazilians, Africans (at least 24,000 transported to Brazil), and mixed-heritage people as part of a colonial propaganda project. He was hired by Johan Maurits, who owned dozens of slaves and built his wealth and legacy on a slave-based system.
In a room is Rembrandt’s The Anatomy Lesson of Dr Nicolaes Tulp, 1632 (where one of the surgeons is attempting to look at the exposed forearm and hand on the table). On the next wall is a photograph of only a severed hand, similar to the one that Rembrandt never saw, but decided to add to the stump on the right arm. This contrast of barbaric amputation and scientific desire fascinates Stephan Vanfleteren, whose mom shares the surname of the criminal Kindt, the man on the table. In another room sits Paulus Potter’s masterpiece, The Young Bull, 1647.
The painting is life-size at over 7 ft by 11 ft. The realism, dedicated to an animal’s texture and detailed flies, makes the image almost photographic. This piece challenged tradition by treating the bull with the same importance usually reserved for human portraits and historical scenes. In the 19th century, it was considered as famous as Rembrandt’s The Night Watch, 1642. In 1715, the militia painting was cut to fit a smaller room; it was knifed in 1911 and 1975, and attacked with acid in 1990. Records show that the canvas has been treated 25 times, a measure of how important the painting is. I’d rather have the bull on my wall.
Most of the museum has a comfortable crowd, perhaps always another person admiring the same space as you, but when I got close to Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, 1665, it was only for a moment. There seemed to be a school group, a foreign tour group, and others beginning to tighten their milling distance. These groups varied in height, so that I became enclosed on many levels and quickly left that room. Caleb hadn’t bothered jumping into the mosh pit, so he was glad to see me survive and follow him to the lobby, where the crowd is thick, like they are waiting for the doors to open outside a concert.
We catch the tram near Kneuterdijk Palace, which will take us to the beach (Scheveningen strand), the only stop announced in English. We didn’t bring swimsuits or sunning towels, so we walked to the pier to see the sights from there. On offer, a duo bungee jump for 220€ and a zipline each for 45€. One would be fun, but the other would leave Humpty unable to be put back together again, and we can’t have that. It’s considerate that the buildings keep their distance from the water (probably a safety thing too) and allow the people to spread out in the sand.
The end of the pier is surrounded by moon jellyfish, lurking in the brown water because the North Sea is shallow and constantly churning up sand, clay, and fish poop. What a view to inspire an appetite. Inside De Pier, I order a coffee and remind Caleb that we have to pay for water here (which is why he has some in his bag) to accompany the croquettes with fries, a croque monsieur with goat cheese (and ketchup packets on top instead of the grilled cheese being baked or broiled), and a pannenkoeken with Canadian bacon, cheese, and pineapple. It’s a good thing Caleb also has a collapsible dish with him, so we can pack our leftovers.
We take the tram to a stop near an entrance for the Haagse Bos (The Hague Forest). The first part is a half-shaded (under the tree canopies) picnic area, and to our right is a fallow deer sanctuary. We cross the street and enter the more forest-like section of the park. We pass cyclists, strollers, joggers, and sunbathers. There is a grey heron fishing, some goslings in the water under parental supervision, and a coot family enjoying their cool piece of paradise. The front entrance of the Royal Palace has a few armed guards (stay away), but the back has guards on the other side of a decorative gate (take a picture and move along), so that’s what we did.
We are at Haag Centraal longer than usual, as Caleb figures out which train we should take after a train issue near Gouda caused a delay. People are standing in the aisle during rush hour, but still reading paperbacks or working on their laptops. I was excited to see so many readers. About 30% of the Dutch population reads a book almost daily, while approximately 54% of Americans read at a 6th-grade equivalent or below. Another study finds that the Dutch are only 3% more likely to read at least one book per year than Americans. I’m currently on book 21 for this year, but I understand that’s because I don’t work and am not currently in school.
Caleb has enjoyed sampling beers, so we stop on the bus ride back to the house to pick a few up. I bring in the dishes (cleaned and returned from the neighbor), put the mail in a visible spot, and feed Zulu. We have leftovers for dinner, and Caleb remembers we should take the frozen dishes out in the morning to thaw so they’re easier to cook in the evening. Caleb has chosen two spring beers, one a tropical fruit IPA, Daisy Sunshine, and the other a fruity (with caramel tones) blonde, Nog Eendje (Just One More). Caleb goes up to bed while I stay with Zulu to read by daylight until the lamp is needed, too.
I have the same breakfast as yesterday, put my Kindle in my bag, and we (just Caleb and I) are out the door. Caleb runs back to the house and has to be let in to get his headphones for the train. I admire the view while he does so. I noticed the throw-as-you-go (or tilted bicycle) trash cans along the bike path where cyclists can toss bottles without dismounting while riding past on a bike and on the bus. The reason for their rarity in the States is that they present a potential collision hazard for bikes (unlike cars, debris, and plants in the lane) and would require costly municipal maintenance.
On the train to Gouda, we found seats apart, and I noticed the graffiti and green fields. At the station is a preserved ornamentation from at least 1869, as the identity of the architect is unclear. Submitting drawings with a building permit wasn’t mandatory until 1901. Outside the station is a structure, De Telepoort, created to connectthe old city gates with the new city entrance, unveiled in 2023. The design was inspired by historical elements of the town hall, Visbanken, and St. Janskerk. Under the roof frame arches are five ceramic statues representing the old trades of the city: candlemaking, ropemaking, waffle baking, pottery, and a trading center.
Across the street is De Kassboerin (The Cheese Girl), one of fifty painted concrete replicas to celebrate the 750th anniversary of Gouda receiving city rights. The plan was to visit the Saint-John Church when it opened at 9 am, but the streets have so many views to offer on the way that I was easily distracted. It didn’t help that once we got between the Old City Hall, built between 1448 and 1450 (currently under construction), and De Goudse Waag (The Gouda Weigh House), where the historic Cheese Market is held, Caleb didn’t want to leave all the cheese wheels.
Tourists chose their seats and posed with the cheese and the horse-pulled wagon. We took advantage of the fresh food market in the same square. We got to try our first cheese waffle, and the chef made the process look easy, which, once learned, I’m sure it is. I was super excited to try something new, knowing full well that I would love it. I should have bought more, but they might not have survived the morning. Minutes later, I’m watching a woman flip mini pancakes (poffertjes) in a dimpled pan, so I should obviously try them too. Caleb orders them with syrup, not realizing that the powdered sugar is a traditional (perhaps mandatory) topping, so we get all the sweetness.
We are given two wooden two-pronged forks for sharing our dozen little treats. The crowd thickens, so we quickly find a spot to watch the man in the bright yellow suit. These classic bargaining rituals are centuries old, and this show continues to be put on every Thursday morning from April through August. The men and women show up in their traditional dress with yellow wooden shoes. I’m not sure if this happens every week, but there’s a special guest. She used to be a cheese woman and is now a race driver in the men’s division. I only know this because I happened to stand next to a Dutch woman translating for her friend.
The farmers and cheese shop owners arrive, and the man in the suit starts his introduction, in Dutch, of course. What surprised the crowd was the English, German, and French that followed. I already had a guy with two cameras to my left trying to photograph and video everything, so when a woman squeezed in and stuck her arm between Caleb and me on the right, I pushed her camera button for her, and then her arm. I know about tight spaces, but I will not support someone else’s bodyweight, especially in a crowd where crushing is a possibility. I thought that might be it, but then two men approach the pallet of cheese in front of us.
They reenact how the selling process would go with slapping the cheese to check firmness and ripeness, taking a core sample for smell, texture, and taste, (and giving some to the audience), then slapping hands during haggling until an agreement is reached and a firm handshake exchanged. I’m glad we stayed to see this. Now we can walk to Sint Janskerk, which was rebuilt after a catastrophic fire in 1552. The stained glass windows (all 72 now world-famous) show scenes from the New Testament in plain stories instead of the medieval interpretations that were harder to understand. This church is on the list of the top 100 Dutch monuments.
We paid $25 and were given a palm-sized guided-tour device that would tell us some historical and political significance of the windows. Much of the stained glass was donated by bishops, noblemen, and politicians for charity, prestige, or propaganda. Cities (Haarlem, Delft, Rotterdam, etc) donated windows for economic collaboration or city pride. In 2014, the choir pillars were sinking and needed a new foundation. During the excavation, thousands of loose bones were found of those buried over the centuries, the last being in 1832. Several dozen complete skeletons were well-preserved from prominent families, if their graves weren’t cleared, such as the seven members of the Van Rietveld family.
There’s so much to admire, so I appreciate that the audio tour is self-paced, as I don’t mind exploring from my own curiosity and then being brought back to look at something with a new perspective. Windows 7 (King’s Window) and 23 (Offering of Elijah) are the tallest, at about 65 ft, and were created in 1557 (gifted by King Philip II of Spain) and in 1562 (donated by Margaret of Parma, the Governor of the Netherlands). Window 15 depicts Jesus getting baptized, created in 1555, and was the first to be placed in the church after the devastating fire.
Anticipating the German invasion, all 72 windows were dismantled in 1939 and stored vertically to keep the glass from bowing in 201 boxes scattered to surrounding farmhouses. They were reinstalled in their original frames in 1947. A chapel was constructed in 1934 to properly display the Canons Regular of St. Augustine as seven windows instead of being combined into two large scenes, as they had been after being rescued from a monastery that was to be demolished. At some point, I find myself going up a staircase, since the door was open, into a small room with an even smaller view of rooftops. Once the tour concludes, I walk another circuit around pews and podiums to catch more details and angles.
Though live music happens almost daily from April through the fall, this concert feels more spontaneous. A few of us sit and listen to the singer, accompanied by a piano. This is a great way to spend the morning, which is the intent of any church for its followers every week. The main organ, built by Moreau in 1736, cost almost $18,000 dollars (once they were invented). The design can be described as French Baroque with German influences. Over the centuries, Mitterreither, Lohman, and Witte added their special touches to this mighty instrument.
Time for an afternoon coffee at David’s Gelato Café, so I will have an affogato. We walk through a kitchen supply shop on our way to the Weigh House for their museum tour (which has been delayed). We struggled to find the Kamphuisen Siroopwafel Factory because of the street organ (pansfluiter) blocking the entrance. Inside, it is unclear when the next tour will be, so we agree to try again later with this attraction, too. One shop has orange espresso machines for 500€, another is full of yarn and wood crafts, and then Woppies Treasures, where, among the figurines and dishes, Caleb will find a Watership Down album (a traumatic bunny tale from 1978).
On our way to the next stop on our itinerary, we pass the Bananenpakhuis. Around 1600, the building had a floating cellar made. In 1928, the ground floor was converted into a banana warehouse, and the cellar was filled with rubble, which was restored in 2010. The Roode Leeuw (Red Lion) Windmill is one of the country’s oldest windmills that is still used to grind grain and sell the flour to bakeries. We were hoping to buy some as a website said they were open on Thursdays and Saturdays. A post mill was built here in 1619 and replaced with a tower mill in 1727, which was renovated in 1771. A century later, it burned down and was rebuilt.
We paid $37 to get into Museum Gouda, and my pre-trip exchange rate was off by a few cents, so it’s a good thing I was prepared for that and not the $25 printed on the tickets. The first exhibit concerns the remnants of St John’s Church, where we spent the majority of our morning. Before the fire, each guild and brotherhood had its own altar, so there were over 50 that were turned to ashes. There is a voluminous cloak (called a cope) worn by the priest during worship. The aurifrisia (vertical decorative strips) are embroidered with gold thread and silk. There is a richly decorated garment (similar to a serape) that is worn by the priest during the Eucharist.
We visit the Mad Cell, where people were tortured via the whipping post, breaking wheel, and Spanish horse. Epileptics and patients with severe mental health issues were enclosed in a wooden bed to prevent injury to themselves and others. Psychiatric patients were locked in a cupboard with a small bed, toilet, and window, and food was passed through a hatch in the door. If they weren’t mad when they went in, I’m sure they were fully insane after these treatments and living conditions. Gouda had a small and vibrant Jewish community, of which 388 out of around 500 were killed during the war. They now attend synagogue services in Rotterdam or The Hague.
There’s a room dedicated to barbers and hairdressers, people who change our appearance and listen to our lives while they work. It’s a nice way to show appreciation for a job that doesn’t get mentioned, unless in film credits. There’s a room on faith in Gouda (civic guard, working orphan, or corrupted prophet). The best room is the one with the scale model of the city in 1562, the church being rebuilt. There are illustrated timelines on the walls showing the population changes due to immigration, plague epidemics, poverty, and the development of the clay pipe industry.
The Gouda Pipe Makers Guild was established in 1660. There is a pipe case made of ivory, silver, rubies, and mica. The pipe cleaners are topped with horses and cows, and the tobacco boxes with engraved images of dogs, windmills, and boats. There is a massive amount of pottery: ginger jars, painted vases, decorated tableware, tile tableaus, apothecary jars, Delft pitchers, and even chess pieces. A quarter of Gouda’s residents worked in pottery factories to export their goods around the world. The pottery was cast and fired in large quantities and then decorated by hand with bird motifs, floral designs, and inspired landscapes.
There are over 5,000 pieces that have been collected through purchases, donations, and factory estates when they closed. The feminine exhibit shows remnants of work from a midwife (1795), a needlework sampler (1768), a candle maker (1905), a children’s author (1850), and a painter (1989) who made a difference while under the control of men, a fascist regime, and being paid less. We wander into the museum’s courtyard, where there is a stone sculpture of the Gouda coat of arms (1739) that was part of the Rotterdam Gate before it was demolished, and the Lazarus Gate (1609), which formerly served as the entrance to a leper hospital.
There are ten signs, all of them about Erasmus (one of the most famous Dutchmen), and a majority of them by the church discussing a widow’s house, a medieval library, and his humanist works. We return to the Kamphuisen Siroopwafel Factory and are in luck this time. We are sold a tour ticket and wait with a few others for the door to open. We are given an audio wand and a hair net before the introductory video is shown (in Dutch only). Some of the ingredients that go into these delicious treats annually are: suiker (50,000 kg of caster sugar from caramelised sugar beets), ei (45,000 eggs), roomboter (more than 36,000 kg of butter containing vitamins A, D, and E), and zout (as 6 grams of salt per day is recommended to help regulate body fluid level and blood pressure).
Visitors can get on a hamster wheel connected to a giant mixer and help stir the dough. I thought Caleb just wanted a photo opportunity, but the kids behind us climbed up next when they saw how excited I was. I was first introduced to stroopwafels by an Egyptian friend in Bahrain and have maintained a relationship with both since. There’s a tasting station of different syrups, but I thought there were multiple pumps to accommodate the group of 15 to 20. The factory’s recipe from 1810 is the oldest in the Netherlands, and they use it to produce 10,000 siroopwafels per day. We watch as the dough gets stamped into a round waffle.
The only secret, other waffles are made and cut in half to insert the syrup. These waffles must be thinner because the syrup is pressed between them, with the waffle grid mark visible on both sides. We climb the stairs, and I don’t remember what was up there except for a slide entrance and two old woman who were waiting to go back down, so they called toward the rest of our group to delay their ascent. We can watch the waffles on the belt from up here and see the discards, which is probably what we were sampling in the front. No complaints here. Caleb goes down the slide first, and I don’t hear anything. I come flying out, laughing after landing on my butt.
If I worked here, I would want to slide on my breaks. I think everywhere should have an element of play. Each waffle is properly baked, measured, weighed, and scanned (in a special bakery lab kind of way) to ensure that only perfection is getting packaged and shipped around the world. The factory even installed a special trade mechanism: return an audioguide, receive a waffle. We’re in luck, too, that they have a stroopwafel liqueur that we wouldn’t mind trying, but don’t want to fly with. The café barista brings out samples of their cinnamon caramel blend that, because federal laws prohibit direct-to-consumer alcohol shipping overseas, can’t be mailed to the States.
The exit door leads to the space between buildings that are street-facing. Having had good luck here the second time, we approach the Weigh House for round two. The tour starts outside and then goes inside and upstairs, where we can continue to tap our audioguides around the room. Milk wool is a regenerated protein fiber made from casein. This fiber dates back to the 1930s, but taking one hundred pounds of milk to create three pounds of fiber for knitting something silky doesn’t seem eco-friendly. We sample some cheese and add some to our take-home collection.
It’s time to eat again, so I followed some online recommendations. We inquire at Lunchcafé Juuls, but they are only sitting diners in the sun, so we continue on to Brownies & downieS (because mongoloid is too offensive). We sit down, and they give us a few minutes to look over the menu of their closed kitchen. We walk into a place with a busy patio and are brought two 3€ bottles of water. I should’ve specified I wanted tap water, but these are already open. Swing Gouda keeps their menus in album covers and TVs in their toilet stalls. Caleb will return for the Watership Down album (for Jessi) while I listen to Super Trouper by ABBA (1980).
We stop by the Cheese Experience on our way to the train. It’s too late for a tour, but the gift shop is still open. I chose more historic education over the modern immersive option. Their website has a combination ticket to see cheese, waffles, and the church for 31.50€. I glance up every so often from my book while we’re on the train to glimpse the green, blue, yellow, and white in the passing scenery. There is a demonstration protesting the war in Gaza at the station that also frequently occurs at other stations, on campuses, in central squares, and around buildings in The Hague.
We get back to the house after they’ve eaten dinner, but that doesn’t stop Gert from opening a Tropical White from Rock City Brewing (a local microbrewery) while Anouska warms up a pita with cheese as our starter. She has accommodated Caleb’s anti-coconut taste buds by substituting the coconut milk (just for him) in her homemade curry. She sets a small serving of red bell pepper slices on the table that we are to finish before dessert (salted caramel ice cream for me). Gert is so excited to try the Crew Series: Thibo – Pandan Sour, especially with its neon-green color (reminiscent of a BFC Monster available between 2007 and 2008).
It is brewed by Dutch Bargain (an agreement made while drinking, where one of the involved parties takes an advantage over the other. Every time you get a hold of one of our beers, we lose one.) in Groede, located in the westernmost province of the Netherlands. Had I known his reaction would be so perfect, I would have filmed it to watch again (which is why Caleb avoided it at all). I was quickly given the rest of the can’s contents to consume alone while the guys opened a bottle of Het Verlangen Weizen from ‘t Mirakel. The Brewery’s name refers to a story about a Virgin Mary statue thrown into a canal in 1444 and recovered days later unmarred.
This beer is a modern twist on a traditional German style because of the addition of chamomile and possibly some other herbs. We have a more endearing laugh when we notice that Zulu has climbed into one of their suitcases. We say our goodbyes and our goodnights, as they will leave tomorrow, while we are gone. We are on cat duty until we leave, when other friends have been scheduled to tend to his needs. We unpack our day bags of papers and treats, and though it’s time for bed, Caleb will ask that I bring his book to bed. His stories of boats and hoes can wait until tomorrow’s travels.
TheJessicaness 