Sylvia's Journal

If we had not known that it was the last day of the year and that we were in Holland we would have imagined that we were in Afghanistan. In this over-regulated country, fireworks cannot be lit until 10 AM on the last day of the year but then the explosions start as if there is no tomorrow.

It sounded like small arms fire and bombs going off – a little unsettling. People think that Holland is so very emancipated and the youth so responsible but we saw otherwise. Youngsters from one of the most God-fearing villages in Holland were lighting fireworks left and right while smoking cigarettes (dope may be?) and drinking alco-pops straight from the bottle, althewhile scaring the bejesus out of us with their gun powder.

We arrived, me rested, Axel not, from Northwest Airlines’ last flight from Boston to Amsterdam under the NWA label; the end of an era.

It took us forever to get into our rental car. First we needed coffee, then we went to get cheese sandwiches (broodje met kaas) from the Schiphol supermarket. Then Axel discovered we had left one of our suitcases on the luggage carrousel and so he had to get back into the inner sanctum of airplane travelers and retrieve it, just before it was put into the bin of abandoned luggage.

And then we realized I had emptied my Dutch bank account to help Sita scrape together a down payment for a house in Western Massachusetts, which required an internet transaction which required a few more activities on the computer. Everything was part of a chain of self-generating tasks that made we wonder if we’d still have a car waiting at the rental place by the time we’d make it to the Budget rental counter.

Armed with a rented Tom-Tom GPS system we finally made it out into Holland and to Barneveld to see my brother Reinout and his soulmate Joke. She kept feeding us, one thing after another, until we were driven out of the house for a long walk to shed some of the calories acquired, in weather as cold and frigid as what we left behind in New England.

We drove further east (and found Holland covered in snow and ice) to our New Year’s Eve destination, my other brother Willem and his wife Jet. They treated us to more wine and food than was good for us while outside the explosions continued. We couldn’t help think of Afghanistan at each loud sound but here it is about joy over endings and new beginnings; we’ll drink to that and the hope that all eyes and ears will be still intact when 2010 arrives. Happy new year!