Okay, so nothing is really that remote in The Netherlands and it was the motor home of his best friend's parents, but I didn't get my hopes up.
In the end...it was great! The trip up took less than three hours and the weather was great. We arrived just in-time for happy hour and were greeted with chilled Riesling. Our friend's mother made us a nice dinner and we talked away the evening with several bottles of Italian red wine sitting in their cozy, eclectic garden . I meant to take pictures of their house because I liked both the traditional outside and artistic inside, but chickened out. I found someone else's pictures (http://travel.webshots.com/album/93257381zGsraq?start=0) taken of nearby Hindeloopen, a town we drove through on the way to the little town of Barns (Warns). It gives you an idea of the houses. They are like shorter versions of the typical Amsterdam canal house and have bigger front windows. The roofs are also steeper and bigger. It looks like a one story house with a big clay tiled dunce cap on, but it lets so much more light into the house.
The area is a tourist attraction for Dutch and Germans and we had apparently arrived during the beginning of high season, but I couldn't really tell. Like most towns of 2,000 people, though, the locals notice. I think the main things to do are sail, bike, camp, and drink in various combinations and it's a pretty (and relatively cheap) place to do so that is only an hour and a half or so north of Amsterdam.
So, at about 1.00 am, my husband and I stumbled out the back door to the caravan hogging the driveway. It was great! The inside of the camper (it was one that hitched onto the back of a car, by the way) was like brand new, the bed was soft and there was a table in the front with cushioned benches that gave us plenty of room for our stuff. They were nice enough to plug in the camp, so to speak, so it had electricity too. We just had to go inside for anything requiring use of water. It could have been the wine, but I remember enthusiastically pleading with my husband to ask if we could borrow it to go camping.
The following morning, we went to nearby Koudum to the stone sculpting store (http://www.beeldhouwcentrumkoudum.nl/Home.html) to pick out the stones that my husband and his friend would be carving into masterpieces during the upcoming week. I had seen our friend's previous works and also some pieces at his parents' house that they had either made or bought at the store and was both thoroughly impressed and somewhat intimidated. I was glad to not be the one having to prove my artistic ability.
So, at about 1.00 am, my husband and I stumbled out the back door to the caravan hogging the driveway. It was great! The inside of the camper (it was one that hitched onto the back of a car, by the way) was like brand new, the bed was soft and there was a table in the front with cushioned benches that gave us plenty of room for our stuff. They were nice enough to plug in the camp, so to speak, so it had electricity too. We just had to go inside for anything requiring use of water. It could have been the wine, but I remember enthusiastically pleading with my husband to ask if we could borrow it to go camping.
The following morning, we went to nearby Koudum to the stone sculpting store (http://www.beeldhouwcentrumkoudum.nl/Home.html) to pick out the stones that my husband and his friend would be carving into masterpieces during the upcoming week. I had seen our friend's previous works and also some pieces at his parents' house that they had either made or bought at the store and was both thoroughly impressed and somewhat intimidated. I was glad to not be the one having to prove my artistic ability.
We walk upstairs to the kitchen and office area to be greeted by Herma and a group of 'the regulars', retired local women that either volunteer at the shop or spend a day a week working on a piece of art of their own. I think to myself, my husband and friend have this affinity for hobbies. First it was bridge. Now it's sculpting. Is knitting next? Our friend explains to Herma why I am there, reminding her of the project they have apparently been talking about for a year. She turns to me with a serious look on her face and asks if I want to try to sculpt something for the day. Shit. I shrug my shoulders and say okay and her face lights up. I immediately understand why people are attracted to her and why she is a great teacher. Check out her picture on her website listed in the previous paragraph and you'll see what I mean.
The women get to work and we pick out the stones for the guys' pieces. I end up with the softest stone I can find - a dark green, Brazilian soapstone. The original plan, Plan A, had been for me to help pick out the stones and go walking around the little town until noonish and then get on the ferry and head back home. Plan B was to try sculpting for a few hours and then get back on the 2.00 pm ferry. Well, I surprised myself and loved sculpting. So, Plan C was to continue sculpting after lunch and get the last ferry back at 6.00 pm, getting home just in-time to get a good night's sleep.
I really don't know what it was. It could have been the setting. The weather was nice, sunny with a little breeze so the three of us sculpted outside in the patio area.
The shop was in the center of town so people would just stop and watch us, point, maybe ask a question, tell us "Good job" or "Looks good", and continue onto the grocery store next door or the ice cream shop across the street. I also couldn't understand much of what was being said around me so I was impervious to criticism or praise. I could just go into my own little world. Herma would walk around periodically and show me how to use different tools and give suggestions by drawing on my stool with a piece of blue wax. In the end, I polished it with four pieces of ever finer sand paper and Herma applied an oil to it that brought out it's color. I have included a picture. It's no Michelangelo, but I am proud of it.
The women get to work and we pick out the stones for the guys' pieces. I end up with the softest stone I can find - a dark green, Brazilian soapstone. The original plan, Plan A, had been for me to help pick out the stones and go walking around the little town until noonish and then get on the ferry and head back home. Plan B was to try sculpting for a few hours and then get back on the 2.00 pm ferry. Well, I surprised myself and loved sculpting. So, Plan C was to continue sculpting after lunch and get the last ferry back at 6.00 pm, getting home just in-time to get a good night's sleep.
I really don't know what it was. It could have been the setting. The weather was nice, sunny with a little breeze so the three of us sculpted outside in the patio area.
The shop was in the center of town so people would just stop and watch us, point, maybe ask a question, tell us "Good job" or "Looks good", and continue onto the grocery store next door or the ice cream shop across the street. I also couldn't understand much of what was being said around me so I was impervious to criticism or praise. I could just go into my own little world. Herma would walk around periodically and show me how to use different tools and give suggestions by drawing on my stool with a piece of blue wax. In the end, I polished it with four pieces of ever finer sand paper and Herma applied an oil to it that brought out it's color. I have included a picture. It's no Michelangelo, but I am proud of it.
Friesland (http://www.visitfryslan.nl/)
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