06 MAY 1999 - Bruxells and beyond
After seventy hours of work in four days, the temptation of sleeping in is unavoidable. I had hoped to get an early start on my way to Holland. I slept until 11:00. Gene is set to fly out in the afternoon to Frankfurt to see how things are faring there, and I have trains on the hour to Holland until midnight.

Gene and I decide to go down to the Gran'Place one last time for a lunch in the sun. More good beers, an interesting cold plate featuring ham rolled around marinated asperagus, and some of the best ice cream I've had in a long time.

And with a toast to travels, Gene heads out to the airport and I find my way to the train station. The hotel said south station is the best place to get a train. I walk in and think I'm in an airport. I go to the ticket counter; there is a young woman in front of me in the que who buys a youth ticket. It looks like a good discount, so I purchase the same.
A final lunch on the Gran'Place
Making a deal with a street artist in Brussels
Up to the platform, and I'm about a half hour early. My train isn't on the board yet, and I'm a bit worried if I'm on the right platform. I ask a person if I am in the right place. She tells me that I am, and I start asking about the nitty gritty of the train service. Which car do I get on, can I smoke. You know, the essentials. Her name was Martina, and we had a chance to chat for a little bit once we boarded the train. She was a German, but lives now in Amsterdam with her Dutch husband. She works in the hotel industry, but her territory didn't include Breda, the town that was my destination. So, I had no clue where I would be staying the night. Almost more of an adventure than Africa - there we aways knew where we would wind up every night - in the tent, of course!

Well, Martina did point out to me that we were in the first class car and I had a second class ticket. It turns out that the youth discount only gets you a second class ticket. And then the conductor eventually makes his rounds and kicks me out. By now, of course, all the seats in second class are taken. Luckily, I am changing trains at the next stop. So I ride out the last fifteen minutes of this train in the vestibule between two cars with a couple other people and smoke a cigarette.

In Roosendaal, Holland, I change trains. The efficiency of the whole thing amazes me. I get off one train and the other is waiting on the same platform. If only the airlines could figure out how to make this happen! And this time I asked the conductor for the second class car, which had plenty of seats and rode high above the country. This place is indeed flat!

My train north to Holland
Martina, who helped me figure out the Belgian trains
I arrive in Breda, Holland, in the early evening. I am planning on using this as a base, and renting a car to visit the towns liberated by grandfathers division during the war. My first challenge is finding a hotel. I walk out of the station and see the sign for the "VVV," which is the Dutch tourist information board. I trudge down the street, once again having packed my bag too well. The VVV closed about an hour and a half ago. I ask a few people to point me to a good hotel, and finally find someone who understands my question. She has on a hiking pack and seems to know where she's going. She says walk back to the station, take a right, and it's right there. I asked if she was sure it was on the right, because I had looked that way coming out of the station and didn't see anything. She was emphatic, definitely on the right. So I walk heavily under bags and sleepiness to the right of the station.

Sure enough, there is lodging there. But it's not a hotel, it's more of a flophouse. But the price is right, about $20 a night. The room is clean, if small, with a great view of the building next door. I know there is supposed to be a legitimate hotel adjacent to the train station, but I'm too weary to give a shit. I just want to take a leak, take a nap, and then take a walk and find a small cafe and get a beer and a bite to eat.
The cathedral in Breda, Holland
The flophouse
I take a long nap and get up to find something to eat. I walk down past the train station and find the Mercur hotel, the one I was looking for. Crazy woman telling me to take a right!! There isn't much on this street, and I circle back around towards the station. There is a large park, and a lot of people moving in and out and about from it. I decided that there must be something good to do that way, so that's where I go. I stroll through what is a wonderful park and come to Grote Markat, the main gathering place in Breda. A main square, lots of pubs, and more pubs and clubs on the streets surrounding the plaza.

I grab a table at Cafe Sam Sam, just about in the middle of the whole plaza. They don't have a menu, and it sounds like most of the restaurants are shutting down for the night. So I decide to stay where I am and have a liquid dinner. I tell my waiter, Danny, to bring me a different beer each time. The whole square is packed. The tables are all filled, and intermixed with propane heaters all down the plaza keeping everyone warm on this cool spring evening.

As I'm sitting there I see a team of people in red jumpsuits wandering around the plaza. They seem to be promoting something. I wave one of them over to my table. Her name is Nathalie. She's promoting Winfield Cigarettes, Australia's number one brand. If I buy a pack, I get a free Winfield keychain in the shape of a kangaroo and a fee ashtray that says "Koala Crossing." How can I resist?
Castle von Breda - the ancestoral home of the Orange-Nassau family, it is now home to the Dutch Military Academy
Danny, my very helpful waiter at Cafe Sam Sam
Natalie, Me, and Maiike, with Australia's Number One Smoke
Danny comes by again with another round. I don't have enough guilders left to pay for it, and I ask if I can run a tab on my Visa card. No credit cards accepted, but Danny let's me pay in US dollars. We chat for a bit. His grandfather was in the underground during the war, and stole jeeps and food from the Germans. He says it's great to have a "real American" for a customer. I ask as opposed to what. He replies "as a opposed to a Frenchman, or worse yet a German. Much better than a German."

I'm finding that fifty years after the war, the thankfullness of the Dutch for the actions of my grandfather and hundreds of thousands of young men like him run deep to this day, as does the anger linger towards the agressor.

Danny swings through again with another beer. I tell him I'm still out of guilders. He says this one is on him. Oh, and the two girls at the table over there want to talk to you. Wow, well OK. This could be interesting.

The two nice ladies are curious about what I'm doing: ordering these different beers, taking pictures of everything and everyone, writing in this little black book; Am I a critic or connoiseur of some kind?

Nope. I tell them about the Fox trip, and my web site, and coming to Holland to see the places grandpa was in during the war. We had a great time. Brenda and Ingrid study visual marketing at a school in Breda. Ingrid was an exchange student in America during high school, and we spent quite a time chatting and drinking port. I must apologize for not having any guilders to buy a few rounds. With me out of money and Ingrid and Brenda needing to get to work the next day, we called it and early evening. A fabulous spring evening in a great little town. You should try it, you never know who you'll run into!
Brenda, myself, and Ingrid
Groote Markat in Breda