Part 2 – Holland:

    At 4 am the next morning, we caught a taxi to Moscow’s Sheremetyevo Airport to catch our flight via Paris to Amsterdam to see Nellie, our Dutch member of the family. The aeroplane wings needed a good de-icing in the middle of Winter, and luckily the plane remained safe all the way to Holland. The flight from Moscow to Paris took just 3 hours and 20 minutes. Once at Schiphol Airport, we took a 40- minute train ride north to Nellie’s lovely Dutch town of Heiloo, and walked to her house from the station. Nellie’s younger daughter, Helen, turned up soon after we arrived, and we had a lovely catch-up. Helen is just like a younger version of Nellie, vibrant, energetic, hard-working, friendly and beautiful. For those who don’t know about Nellie, she is from a Dutch family which migrated to Australia after the Second World War. Her father was a baker, and her teenage brothers and sisters all found work, soon after arrival, in whatever interested them. Those were the days when migrants were expected to integrate, learn English, get a job and fit into their new culture. There were no welfare handouts back then. Immigration was designed to benefit the country, not the other way ‘round.

    Nellie, aged 15, came to live with us. She helped Mum with household chores and the upbringing of four young children. In those days, before the 1970’s, it was very common to have a house helper who lived in with the family as one of them. Nellie learnt English from Mum, and also learnt about the Australian way of life. We children loved her very much, and still do. She taught us to sing a Dutch song, in Dutch, of course, that we still remember and sing together with her. Nellie is now 82, but still looks the same as she did as a teenager. She is still as hard-working as she ever was, is as fit as a fiddle, and rides her bike everywhere around the town. That first evening in Holland, we had dinner at Nel’s place and a few drinks with Helen. Nellie’s Christmas tree was up and her house was spick and span, and so cosy in Winter. Heiloo is a lovely town, with beautiful, modern Dutch architecture and shops that sell delicious treats such as Dutch waffles. The town is small enough that you can ride a bike everywhere. I would very happily live in Heiloo.

    In the morning, Oki and I caught the train back to Amsterdam. We hadn’t been there since the Hippy Era so were keen to see it again. It hasn’t changed. It is still the loveliest little city, dissected by canals, criss-crossed by narrow roads and cobbled lanes, and filled with canal houses and lovely, old, traditional buildings, civic, commercial and residential. Bikes are everywhere, of course, and it is so easy to walk around the city and just enjoy the atmosphere. After our time in Amsterdam, we caught another train (the Dutch trains are excellent) and visited the town of Alkmaar, just north of Heiloo. It is also a pretty town, bigger than Heiloo, but lovely. We were impressed with the bike parking at the station for the city commuters. After visiting a café and having a wander around, we headed back to enjoy dinner with Nellie. We were still suffering from jetlag, and Oki was lucky enough to sleep for 12 hours straight! He has always been a good sleeper. Lucky him. That’s why he looks so young!

    The following day, we caught a bus to the seaside town of Egmond aan Zee. Catching public transport and getting about generally in Holland is so easy because the Dutch are all bilingual and speak good English. We English speakers are very spoilt. There was a food market on the go in Egmond, and the cheese stall sold cheese to drool over at very low prices. In Australia, good cheeses are so expensive that they are an occasional luxury, and have become a food item mainly just for the rich. On this last evening in Holland, we went out for a Chinese meal with Nellie, Helen and her lovely family of husband, Kees, and sons, Damon and Jason. Such a lovely time. We talked about the use of credit and debit cards in Holland. The Dutch have always been careful with money, not approving of going into debt - and good on them. Another meaning of the word “debt” in Dutch is “guilt”, a very interesting connection. In Dickens’ times, of course, it was illegal to spend more than you owned, and debtors went to gaol, along with their families, until the debt was paid back. What a long way we have come from there. Most shops in Holland don’t accept Visa or Mastercard. They expect cash or payment from a Dutch debit card, which came as a big surprise to us. Our time in Holland was such a pleasure. Thank you, Nellie and Helen, for looking after us so well. It was fantastic to see you again. XX