Dutch Cows
Chapter VII
After our change in Utrecht, I was champing at the bit to see some bovine. No such luck, though. Our entire trip to Laren was void of animals of any kind. Anna had some work to do, so I kept myself content, listening to music and watching the flat countryside race by my window.
It was late February, and thus, already dark when we arrived at Anna's family home that evening. Her parents lived in an old church as best as I can recall. We entered through the garage area and passed a heavy bag hanging from the ceiling. "My brother Sjoerd is into kickboxing. We won't see him tonight; he's out." Anna reached for the door. "This way. My mother will be happy to see you again."
We stepped out of the frigid night into a toasty kitchen warmed by a range set against the back wall. It was spacious, with higher ceilings than you'd typically see in a house.
"I'm Laszlo. It's a pleasure to meet you." Anna's father was the first to greet us. He was a handsome man with dark hair and eyes that hinted at a story to tell. He looked strong and healthy, with a complexion indicating he was no stranger to the outdoors.
Anna's mother, Toos, was next, "Nice to see you again. Welcome to our home." Upon meeting her gaze, a rush of memories flooded back from our days in Australia. Toos was a tall woman with long hair. Her simple attire and lack of flashy additions such as make-up only added to her looks. She also bore the healthy effects of the elements on her face.
We sat on wooden chairs, pulled up to a wooden table, and enjoyed homemade soup cooked on the range top. The food was hardy and delicious. After dinner, Anna went upstairs to her room while Laszlo gave me a tour of the most incredible private music collection I'd ever seen. We chatted about the world, but mainly about music, spending a lot of time on Bob Dylan, who held a substantial presence on the CD shelves.
"What's this?" I stared at a Mason jar on a thick wooden ledge above my head. Inside was some sharp metal resting on a bed of cotton. "It's part of the Iron Curtain."
Laszlo's smile began to fade, his eyes glazing over as he travelled to another place and time. "We got out at the last minute." He lowered the artefact and handed it to me as he explained his family's escape from Hungary during the Cold War. "We all left one night. My parents, my siblings, all of us. Had we waited any longer, getting out wouldn't have been possible." I gazed at the relic of turmoil in my hand, unable to comprehend what he'd been through as he continued. "I took a piece so I'd never forget. We came to the Netherlands to start a life. It was a difficult time, but we felt lucky to come here." I handed back the glass containing evidence of an uprooting long ago. Laszlo placed it back on the shelf above our heads. "Would you like a drink? It's cold in here."
We returned to the kitchen to find Toos warming herself by the range while the kettle boiled on top. It was incredible how warm the kitchen was compared to the rest of the house. They kept the doors closed, so only one room benefited from the heat of that beautiful stove. Warm where you eat, cold where you sleep. I loved it. Toos poured a cup of tea. Her offer to pour us each a cup was declined, so she bid us a good night and retired upstairs.
Laszlo and I sat back down at the wooden table across from each other, him with a can of beer and me with a juice glass of red wine. It was late and many years ago. We'd also had a few drinks, so our topics of conversation have long since been forgotten. A lengthy exchange of words still floating in that place at that time.
What I do recall is that I liked Laszlo very much. He was wise and informed, with positivity and passion accompanying every word that escaped his lips. He was a man of many interests. One of which had stood out before we'd even met, when Anna told me about a bike journey he'd taken not long before. Wanting to visit his home country, he and some others cycled from the Netherlands to Hungary. A music-loving adventurer with a love of conversation and a zest for life. A kindred spirit of sorts. The perfect father-in-law. I've always had a bad habit of getting way ahead of myself, particularly concerning matters of the heart.
I also lacked an off switch. Eager for the conversation to continue, I nursed the remainder of my wine, stretching one mouthful into many, hoping for another glass. However, saving me from my thirst for discussion and fermented grapes, Laszlo called it a night.
The next morning, Anna, Toos and I went to Friesland. I sat in the back of Toos' car as she ripped through the tiny streets of Laren. Feeling a tinge of nostalgia after bidding farewell to Laszlo, I hoped to see him again soon.
Toos was born in Friesland and her mother still lived there. "My grandmother doesn't speak English," Anna called back from the front. "But don't worry, she doesn't speak Dutch either." Her laugh highlighted the absurdity of the pending situation. "My mother speaks Frisian though." "You don't," added Toos. They laughed and looked at each other the way friends do when sharing an inside joke. "That's right, I don't, but we make it work."
Unfortunately, her name has escaped me. So, our hostess on that wintry morning will be referred to as Granny. She was surprisingly petite, considering Toos' height. She had short hair and moved around quickly, albeit slightly hunched over. With all the kindness in the world, Granny welcomed us via Toos in Frisian, who passed the kind words along to Anna in Dutch so she could tell me in English. I repaid pleasantries via Anna to Toos and back to Granny.
Have you ever noticed that when people try to communicate around a language barrier, some become Japanese? That's the case for me anyway, smiling and bowing as if that's the universal sign for "nice to meet you." Giggling like I was seven years old again, I followed the other members of our language train into the lounge.
Entering the room heavily decorated with pictures, trinkets, and plants, I sat in a large, comfortable armchair. Toos, Anna, and her Grandmother sat together on a sofa by the window—not for long, though.
Our hostess with the mostest moved up and down, in and out, like a fly stuck in a window sill. Suddenly, she appeared in front of me with some biscuits, a rounded, long-necked bottle of clear liquid, and a shot glass. Smiling from ear to ear, this sweet old woman sent her message via the Lingua Express, revealing her intentions with the mystery vessel.
"Have you ever tried Genever?" Looking at Anna's smiling face, I shook my head no. "It's a typical Dutch Gin. My grandmother makes her own and wants to know if you'd like to try it." I looked at Granny. She was bursting with excitement and nodding her head to the beat of Another One Bites the Dust. Dubiously, I looked at Toos, who also nodded in encouragement. I turned to Anna, "What time is it?" Granny caught on to my question and started swatting flies as if to tell me not to worry about it. "It's nine o'clock." Anna's cheeks were red with laughter. "But don't worry. This is part of the experience, right?"
She wasn't wrong. Sitting in this uniquely decorated Frisian home and being offered biscuits and homemade Genever by a lovely old woman was precisely why I travelled. I'd never have this experience in Amsterdam.
I nodded and reached for the shot glass. "But don't drink it like a shot." Granny began nodding in agreement with Anna. Was the whole language train a joke? Could she speak English? I knew, in actuality, that with context, vocabulary isn't always a necessary element of comprehension.
"Sip it slowly. It's strong." I don't know what was more unsettling, Anna's words or her laughter.
"Wow! That is strong!" Granny was leaning in eagerly, so I held in a cough to avoid spraying her in the face. She inched closer, awaiting my feedback. "It's good. Really good." I finished the glass off and felt my cheeks immediately begin to warm.
"You like it? "Anna seemed surprised. Granny's contextual body language revved up, her hand raising like she was toasting a group of friends, her head giving me the "what's up?" nod, eyes wide, and eyebrows nearly touching the ceiling. No translation was needed. She wanted me to have more. When in Friesland, right?
She filled my glass again, then allowed some space between us. I've always struggled with eating or drinking slowly. The following glass went down smooth as my cheeks began to resemble elements on an electric stove top. I did try munching a couple of biscuits, but they did little to stem the effects of that second glass, or the next, or maybe the next? I can't remember. I had a few, but it felt like ten. It worked, though. Granny's elixir gave me enough confidence to trade in my giggles for stories. All aboard the Lingua Express!
The conversation was slow, but it was fun! I thoroughly enjoyed Granny's hospitality… and Genever. What I enjoyed the most, though, was witnessing the family dynamic. Three generations of women enjoying each other's company. Moments like that are nothing short of remarkable.
We said goodbye to Granny, then made our way back to the car via a slight detour through the village. Toos wanted to show me the canals, which were far more beautiful and less polluted than those in the big cities. That wasn't all she wanted to show me, though. Those canals froze over during Winter. Toos grew up skating on them, as had Anna. Dutch Olympic Speed Skater Sven Kramer was from Friesland and also grew up skating on those canals, something they were quite proud to let me know. I didn't know who he was until then, but I was a big fan after that day.
Toos dropped us off at the train station. Again, not one animal to be seen along the way. We arrived back at Anna's flat the day after we'd left. After seeing where she was from and meeting her family, I felt even closer to Anna. It was a short trip but replete with experiences and memories to last a lifetime.
It's true that we didn't see any Dutch cows in the end, but that was never the point. Our little getaway provided much more than bovine companionship. It was a window into a new culture, everything I dreamt of as a traveller. I'd experienced a tiny bit of this new country's true essence, and my cup was full.