Dams and Twerps Part I

Since I had a little break between my summer and fall semesters, Jason and I decided it was the perfect time to take a trip to Europe, a continent we’d been contemplating traveling to for a while.

Tempted by the convenience of a direct flight, we decided to land in Amsterdam and tour sections of the Netherlands and Belgium. In case you are wondering, even ten hours on a plane is agonizing. Sure, you basically just sit, sleep, and eat but boy is it miserable. Our trip was fabulous though. Here’s my full account of more recollections than you’ll recollect wanting.

Day 1: Royal Jetlag

Although long flights are about as fun as colonoscopy parties, the hardest thing about going to Europe isn’t the plane travel but the jetlag. The eight-hour time change is exactly enough for Europe to be getting up when it should be going to sleep. Thus, our early days there were hazed by jetlag’s cloud of drowsy oblivion.

Jason and I arrived in Amsterdam around 8 AM, midnight back home. We had only slept an hour and a half on the plane but we were determined to stay up as long as possible to exhaust ourselves out of jetlag quickly. This plan worked better than expected, at least initially. The options for distractions were plentiful.

The Koninklijk Paleis is still used by the Dutch royal family.
The Koninklijk Paleis is still used by the Dutch royal family.

First, we set out for the Anne Frank Huis but ended up going on a tour of the Royal Palace (Koninklijk Paleis) instead. Once Amsterdam’s town hall, that royal residence was opulent and stately. After a brief respite to eat a cheese sandwich in a tiny outdoor café, we were off to the Anne Frank Huis once more but somehow ended up searching out the Begijnhof instead. Long ago, the Begijnhof was a sanctuary for a group of ladies that lived like nuns without taking vows. These women sought to assist the sick and educate the poor. Houten House, Amsterdam’s oldest house and one of its two remaining wooden-fronted residences, is enclosed in their once-haven. (Wooden houses were banned in 1521 due to their propensity to go up in smoke.) The Begijnhof was a peaceful place worthy of the term “sanctuary.”

The Begijnhof's gates have been providing a sanctuary for single women since the 1300s.
The Begijnhof’s gates have been providing a sanctuary for single women since the 1300s.

Next, we were off to the Anne Frank Huis again but ended up in the Amsterdam Museum. How did that happen? I blame our unfocused jetlagged brains. The Amsterdam Museum is an intriguing institution devoted to all things Amsterdam. Its collection includes everything from a giant Goliath statue to a Rembrandt. (Who doesn’t have a Rembrandt in Amsterdam?) Unfortunately, shortly after we entered the museum our jetlag became insurmountable. The museum’s fascinating signs and videos became blabber that floated around us like an incoherent soup. We stayed at the museum until it closed, a little over an hour, but the last 10 or 15 minutes we were both having a hard time not falling asleep standing up.

At that point, our empty stomachs and Amsterdam’s curiosities were completely forgotten. All we could think about was snoozing. We went to bed at 6 PM and, with the help of a couple sleeping pills and our lack of sleep, we were able to rest 12 and a half hours, waking up at 6:30 the next morning. Our jetlag was under control and didn’t manifest itself too severely thereafter… well, except for the occasional falling-asleep-without-knowing-it episode.

Day 2: Anne and the West

Before Jason and I left on our trip, I vowed to eat nothing but chocolate, cheese, pastries, frites, and waffles while in Europe. I broke that vow during our very first breakfast with delicious smoothies and fresh fruit. But I did eat a lot of cheese and pastries during that meal so my promise was not entirely hollow. Incidentally, the pastries in Europe weren’t as good as I remember but the cheeses were even better.

The canals in Amsterdam don't resemble Farmer Joe's waterways at all.
The canals in Amsterdam don’t resemble Farmer Joe’s waterways at all.

Following breakfast, we were off to the Anne Frank Huis again. This time we actually made it, after a little dilly-dallying to check out points of interest in the Jordaan neighborhood. However, it turns out that getting into the Anne Frank Huis is not as simple as just making it there. We had to purchase tickets online for three hours later because admission was completely sold out until then. In the meantime, we decided to go on an hour-long canal tour. This proved quite interesting. Then we visited the Westerkerk church, which was built in 1620. There we walked up 186 of the steepest steps I’ve ever ascended, so steep in fact that we had to come down them backwards. The views of Amsterdam from the top were impressive though and worth the rung shenanigans.

From the Westerkerk's tower, the tallest in Amsterdam, miles of colorful rooftops and canal grids are visible.
From the Westerkerk’s tower, the tallest in Amsterdam, miles of colorful rooftops and canal grids are visible.
Some of the stairs spiraling through the Westerkerk's spire are so extreme they have to be descended backwards.
Some of the stairs spiraling through the Westerkerk’s spire are so extreme they have to be descended backwards.

Finally, we got to tour the Anne Frank Huis. Seeing the untouched bookcase, the dim rooms with their blackout shades, and Anne’s bedroom walls covered with movie-star ornamentations was quite sobering yet powerful.

The Westerkerk is just down the street from the Anne Frank Huis.
The Westerkerk is just down the street from the Anne Frank Huis.

After visiting the Anne Frank Huis, we did some more wandering and then enjoyed our hotel-room balcony until the breeze became too chilly. Sitting out on that perch at 7 PM when cathedral bells assaulted us from every direction, Amsterdam’s 20+ churches all seemed to be ringing at once, was one of my favorite moments of our trip. When the balcony got too cold, we headed downstairs for a fabulous dinner at the Bord’Eau Restaurant Gastronomique.

Day 3: Royal Blue

We decided to take a train to Delft, the home of Delftware and Vermeer, the next day. We toured the Royal Delft factory where hand-painted white-and-blue porcelains have been created since the 17th century. I may have purchased some of their uber-pricey knickknacks. Maybe.

Delft is famous for its blue and white pottery. Rembrandt is famous for a few things.
Delft is famous for its blue and white pottery. Rembrandt is famous for a few things.

Next, we climbed 370 steps to the top of the Nieuwe Kerk, the second-tallest church in the Netherlands. These wooden and stone steps twirled around a tiny turret with significant gaps between them. I must admit, between the stair rifts and the dizzying views from balconies where the railings barely came above our waists, I had some height-dread moments. But what a scene! On a side note, the Nieuwe Kerk is the burial site of William of Orange and many other royal family members. It is still the burial site of choice for Dutch royals.

The Oude Kerk's tilted tower adds skewed interest to Delft's pretty scene.
The Oude Kerk’s tilted tower adds skewed interest to Delft’s pretty scene.
The Nieuwe Kerk is the second-loftiest church in the Netherlands. It felt like it after 370 steps.
The Nieuwe Kerk is the second-loftiest church in the Netherlands. It felt like it after 370 steps.
Delft's Renaissance-style town hall was built in 1618.
Delft’s Renaissance-style town hall was built in 1618.

The Oude Kerk, AKA Old Church, was our next stop with its crooked spire. Built in the 13th-century, it’s the final resting place of 400 Dutchmen, including the painter Vermeer and Leeuwenhoek, the inventor of the microscope. Both the churches we visited in Delft were a little morbid but intriguing. Their floors were paved with gravestones ornamented by a bizarre mix of skeletons and cherubs.

The Oude Kerk's tower went wonky in 1325 during its construction.
The Oude Kerk’s tower went wonky in 1325 during its construction.

I was utterly delighted by Delft. Its Markt, surrounded by outdoor cafes and quaint shops, was charming and quintessentially European. It was there that I ate one of my favorite desserts of the whole trip, a vanilla yogurt curd served with oranges. Wow!

Delft's Eastern Gate was built around 1400.
Delft’s Eastern Gate was built around 1400.

My wordy account of Europe will continue next week… whether you want it to or not.

A Few Traveler Tidbits

Here are a few of the notable differences between the Netherlands and the USA:

  1. Stop signs have not made their way to Amsterdam. A few stoplights adorn Amsterdam’s busiest streets but at most intersections you are on your own.
  2. Breakfast is not the most important meal of the day. In fact, it seems that many Dutch people skip it entirely. So finding a breakfast spot outside your hotel can be challenging. Luckily, most of the hotels provide excellent breakfasts.
  3. Although bikes in Amsterdam outnumber cars, no one wears a helmet. Even the little kids being transported via wheel-barrel-like bike attachments don’t… no one.
  4. Most of the people are a normal weight. America really does have some fat issues.
  5. Street musicians are much more talented. We heard Mozart concertos and Bach toccatas gracefully performed by groups on curbs.
  6. Meals move at a different pace, as do their checks. Although the Dutch value efficiency, when it comes to food they take their time. Asking for your check can prompt confusion.
  7. Cars are minimally present compared to bikers and pedestrians.
  8. In July it doesn’t get dark until about 10:30 PM. I can only imagine how miserably black it is in the winter.
  9. Tipping isn’t done very regularly. It’s hard to include a tip at many restaurants because there isn’t a spot on the tab for it. Some Americans would probably enjoy this change but we felt obligated to figure out how to leave a tip anyway.
  10. Besides restaurants, almost everything closes at 5 PM. This means you have to get up pretty early to make the most of your time. We usually arose between 6:30 and 7:30 AM… so much for a relaxed vacation.

Ledgefork… Mostly

We have a tradition of camping once a year with a group of our friends. This summer there was some chaos concerning the planning of this outing but, honestly, that is pretty common. However, I finally found us a nice spot at the Ledgefork Campground near the Smith and Morehouse Reservoir, which is on the western edge of the Uinta Mountains, on a weekend that worked for everyone. It was a great getaway… mostly.

Our camp spot was a double that offered ample room but not ample shade. Luckily, it was too cold for shade to be in demand.
Our camp spot was a double that offered ample room but not ample shade. Luckily, it was too cold for shade to be in demand.

We all arrived on Friday evening just in time for mallow roasting and campfire stories. The kids participated in the spinning of our fiery tales so most of them turned surprisingly gruesome or unbelievably implausible fairly quickly.

Jason should be logged with the boys. He has all the energy and naughtiness of one.
Jason should be logged with the boys. He has all the energy and naughtiness of one.

The following morning, after a night of cold-induced nonsleep, we went on a hike along the Smith and Morehouse Trail in search of a beaver dam. We were supposed to reach this stickly structure after just half a mile but, although we wandered for over an hour, that damn dam was nowhere to be found. Still, it was a lovely hike so we considered it a success… mostly.

Half the kids hiked without complaint; the other half gave up after a few minutes.
Half the kids hiked without complaint; the other half gave up after a few minutes.
Our hike, though longer than anticipated, was refreshing.
Our hike, though longer than anticipated, was refreshing.

We left the “wilderness” to eat lunch in the nearby town of Oakley at the cute Road Island Diner. This Art Deco cafe is historic, built in 1939, and its shakes are amazing. Plus, it has flushing toilets. Yeah for a break from hole go! Also, it has a roof. It started pouring while we were eating, a premonition of wetter things to come.

We gave up on seeing that damn beaver or its beaver dam eventually.
We gave up on seeing that damn beaver or its beaver dam eventually.

Some of the boys and kids in our group got a hankering to do a little fishing so after lunch we headed over to the Willow Springs Trout Farm. Hooking a fish at Willow Springs was a tad too easy. I’m pretty sure worms were unnecessary but the kids seemed to enjoy it… mostly. Generally, they did not appreciate the post-catching parts. For the record, I do not like fishing, no mostly about it.

The kids liked the drama of fishing.
The kids liked the drama of fishing.

We cooked fish and hotdogs for dinner over a fire that was unwell due to the sogginess of sporadic showers. Those showers were partly to blame for the premature death of our trip. Although most of us had planned on staying another night, it didn’t happen. Dampness, chilliness, and grouchiness jointly resulted in our camp being deserted hastily with accompanying drama. But what camping trip would be complete without someone getting tossed into the fire or impaled by a tent stake? Ok, maybe there weren’t any tent-stake impalings this time… mostly.

Through Unusual Channels Part II

This post covers our sea cave kayaking misadventures on Santa Cruz Island. If you can’t stomach barnacled flesh and wavy pounds, then read no further. For the words below are riddled with the beatings of the ocean and this human heart.

Channel Islands National Park gained its park status in 1980. The five islands that make up this park are about 20 miles off the coast of California and home to a number of species not found anywhere else on earth. Santa Cruz Island, the largest of these, is 96 square miles in size. The plunging cliffs on its shores are pocked with sea caves thanks to a fault line that has made them easy pickings for ocean erosion. One of these cavities, Painted Cave, is among the largest and deepest sea caves in the world. It extends almost a quarter of a mile and reaches widths of over 100 feet.

Shorts stuffed in a wetsuit make for a dynamite ensemble.
Shorts stuffed in a wetsuit make for a dynamite ensemble.

As intriguing as Santa Cruz Island may sound, it’s only accessible by boat… yes, literally one boat. There is a single ferry that drops passengers on Santa Cruz in the morning and returns to take them back to the mainland in the afternoon. The ride on this ferry was actually quite fun, although very slow. We saw a number of dolphins and Stellar sea lions right off our bow. Plus, we encountered a long line of offshore oil rigs.

There were five kayaks in our group.
There were five kayaks in our group.

The pier at Scorpion Anchorage, the only dock on Santa Cruz, has become rusty and unsafe over the years. The government, in its uniquely-incompetent way, has promised to fix this pier but is waiting for the funds to trickle through bureaucracy’s labyrinth. Apparently, that process will take a few more years. In the meantime, we had to take a small skiff, basically a motorized raft, from the ferry to the shore. I felt like James Bond landing on a treacherous coast… James Bond usually needs a few people to help him disembark from a skiff, right?

The Cavern was one of the scariest caves we went into. When waves would roll in, its opening would almost disappear in their crests.
The Cavern was one of the scariest caves we went into. When waves would roll in, its opening would almost disappear in their crests.

The dozen or so kayakers assembled got split between two guides. I’m pretty sure we were separated based on the guides’ perception of our adventurousness. Evidently, the other group didn’t enter any caves while we, the wild ones, went into every nook.

Our group traveled along the coast, taking in its strange and holey splendor.
Our group traveled along the coast, taking in its strange and holey splendor.

Jason and I opted to take a two-person kayak; it seemed appropriate for an anniversary trip. But we were warned that they are “vehicles of divorce.” Fortunately, our marriage survived our kayak’s double disorder but not without a few choice words… those come later.

Here’s the thing about sea caves. When even mild waves get shoved into a confined space they turn into much angrier surges. (I don’t blame them; I don’t like being tossed into tight spaces either.) So calm seas do not mean calm caves. Cramped quarters also create many opportunities for rocks to ram you at random, which brings me to my next point. The guides caution you not to touch any rocks if you capsize your kayak because sea-cave stones are seriously jagged and barnacled and ready to tear up flesh like an overripe banana thrown in a blender. (And I’m talking about a Blendtec or a Vitamix not some Walmart special.) This advice sounds wise, like not taking any wooden nickels. However, as my story will illustrate, not touching rocks when they are coming at you is like going to the Grand Canyon and not opening your eyes.

The coastline of Santa Cruz is rather bent and bizarre.
The coastline of Santa Cruz is rather bent and bizarre.

Although our guide didn’t compel anyone to enter grottos they weren’t comfortable with, we all paddled into every single one he suggested. Why? The peer pressure and curiosity were crippling I tell you! Harbor Seal Cave, The Elephant’s Belly, In-N-Out, and The Cavern were a few of the holes we packed ourselves into like floaters in a flushing toilet. These caves ranged from relatively mild to downright spin cycle.

This piercing beauty is Marge. Her innards are lengthier and sketchier than they appear.
This piercing beauty is Marge. Her innards are lengthier and sketchier than they appear.

Now it’s time for my Marge’s lament. Marge is not a cave but a rather long and narrow sea arch, so named because its pitted walls resemble the distinguishing feature of that Simpson character. Our guide recommended that everyone in our group try navigating through its tight and twisty corridor. Although, when probed, he admitted there was probably about a 50/50 chance of tipping before reaching the other side. Yet, pressure and pride got the better of us all and we unanimously committed to plunging through Marge’s spiny bowels.

This blowhole spewed salty drops at every wave.
This blowhole spewed salty drops at every wave.

Still, our conquest of that constricted arch might have proceeded without any inversions except our guide failed to give us one crucial piece of information. In the middle of Marge is a large boulder that is exposed when waves recede, at least when the tide is right. Yup, you can probably guess where this is going. Jason and I got halfway through the passage when, all of a sudden, we realized our kayak was sitting on stone and not water anymore. When the next wave came in it bashed our high-centered vessel right into the wall of the arch. Remember the guides’ advice about not touching the rocks?

I could have taken a whole series of photos at this picturesque spouter.
I could have taken a whole series of photos at this picturesque spouter.

After some squabbling and miscommunicating, (Two-person kayaks really are harder to deal with in stressful and chaotic situations.) Jason and I managed to “self-rescue,” which means that we were able to get our butts back into our kayak on our own. Unfortunately, by this point I was bleeding from a number of gashes on my hand and foot. Still, we had over an hour left on our tour so I just toughed it out with a few soggy Band-Aids and some serious stubbornness. Jason managed to escape the incident with only a couple little cuts. He was farther from the wall than I was and had the sense to keep his hands to himself.

The Santa Cruz Island fox is only found on Santa Cruz Island. Thanks to their protected status, these cute critters are not intimidated by people.
The Santa Cruz Island fox is only found on Santa Cruz Island. Thanks to their protected status, these cute critters are not intimidated by people.

In total, it took eight bandages of various sizes to cover my wounds. Despite the fact that Jason had to dig sand and barnacles out of my hand with a pin and tweezers, it healed up rather quickly. My foot, however, did not. It became swollen, splotchy, and alarmingly red in an extended area around one cut. Plus, that gash itched like crazy. I had to ice it on multiple occasions just to keep from scratching my skin off. I reopened the wound several times to clean it out and, about a week after our return, was ready to take it to the doctor when abruptly it started to improve.

Sadly, I hurt more than just flesh and ego in our tumble. The shoulder of the arm I caught myself with became irritatingly unhappy during our return flight. Its condition continued to worsen and, for a couple days, I was in a substantial amount of pain and couldn’t rotate or lift it. Jason had to be my lady’s maid. That shoulder is not quite itself yet.

The thought of Marge and her hidden perch still makes my heart pump a little but I have no regrets. Life’s great adventures require some rock bashings now and then. After all, who can say that they’ve been beaten up by Marge’s hair? Oh yeah, me.