Chapter 11: Mayonnaise?

September 18, 1994, Amsterdam, the Netherlands

When the tour of Anne Frank House ended, Karla and I walked hand-in-hand from the building. The tour had been moving, and seeing for myself where the Frank family had hidden from the Nazis really drove home the story I’d read so many years ago. There wasn’t a park close, so we walked along Prinsengracht to a café and ordered coffee.

“When I was in High School, I had a run-in with a Calvinist pastor,” I said. “I thoroughly disagreed with him and we had several confrontations because of things going on in my life. I don’t know how Calvinists in the Netherlands behave, but in the US, they are ultra-conservative, and do their best to try to pass laws that interfere with the way other people want to live their lives. They’re busybodies who think they know what is best for everyone.

“The difference between them, and say, Socialists, is that they claim God has told them how everyone should live, and as such you can’t really have a reasonable discussion with them. I’ve run into a number of people like that over the years, and honestly, I no longer have the energy to deal with them. My mistake was in assuming that described you simply because you said you went to a Reformed Church.

“But, as I said, it’s more complicated than that. I should have told you on Friday night when you asked if I wanted a guide that I’m married and have children. I compounded my mistake by not telling you this morning when you took my hand and we walked around holding hands. I feel as if I’ve both misled you and acted like a jerk. I’m very sorry, and if you want to call off the rest of the day, I’ll understand.”

“So these religious people interfered in your life and treated you badly?”

“Yes.”

“Religion is a very personal thing and should not be forced on anyone,” she said. “Here in Holland we don’t usually talk much about it except privately, and even then, not so much. I only told you about my church because you’re an American and everyone says it’s very important for you in the US. Some people in my church oppose laws like the one that lets homosexual couples register but I think it’s none of my business.”

I smiled, “I think we agree. I have rules I follow which apply to me and so long as someone isn’t injuring me or another person, they can live by whatever rules they wish.”

“I think that might go a bit far,” she said. “Society needs rules to function.”

“Yes, but there should be as few rules as possible, and those rules should be limited to punishing people who harm others.”

“I can see your point, but I suspect European politics are very different from American, at least from what I read.”

“I believe you’re right,” I said. “And I’d REALLY prefer not to talk about politics.”

“As for being married, I saw the ring on your finger when you were drinking.”

“This one?” I asked, holding up my right hand.

“Yes.”

“Americans wear theirs on their left hand,” I said, holding up my left hand.

“Oh! In the Netherlands, only Catholics wear it on their left hand, Protestants wear it on the right. I just assumed you were Protestant!”

That called into question why she’d held my hand and seemed to be disappointed when she thought we weren’t going to spend the day together. If I put it in terms of ‘vibes’, I wasn’t getting any vibes from her that clarified anything. I could try to read something into holding my hand, but I didn’t know enough about the cultural significance, her background, or anything else to draw any conclusions.

“Nope; never been Protestant a day in my life!” I chuckled. “But what really matters is you knew, which means I wasn’t misleading you. May I ask about holding my hand?”

“I do that with my friends all the time, both boys and girls. Is it a problem?”

I shook my head, “Not at all. I just want to make sure we aren’t misunderstanding each other.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Shall we go to Museumplein? That’s the park by all three museums you want to see.”

“Sure,” I said.

We got up and left the café and walked along Prinsengracht until we came to Nieuwe Spiegelstraat, which we followed across the Museumbrug, which led directly to the Rijksmuseum.

“Which one first?” she asked.

“How about the Van Gogh?” I suggested.

“OK. Follow me!”

We walked past the Rijksmuseum to the Van Gogh Museum, and after I paid the admission fee, Karla gave me a guided tour, telling me all kinds of interesting tidbits about the art. The most interesting was about the theft of twenty paintings in 1991. The thieves escaped the building, but the paintings were recovered less than an hour later. The painting we were viewing, Still Life with Bible was one of them, and had been severely damaged, but restored.

We came to a section of the museum where there was a display of ‘minor’ or ‘alternative’ works by van Gogh, which included plaster statuettes, among other things. As Karla was explaining about these ‘non-traditional’ works, a young man of about sixteen came over to listen.

“Jake? Jake?” I heard a shrill voice call.

“Mom, I’m listening to this girl talk about the statues,” he said.

“Come away from there Jake! You don’t need to look at those! It’s just worthless junk nobody cares about! Come look at the paintings!”

He sighed and walked away as I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, that one right there,” I said laughing quietly, pointing to Plaster Statuette of a Kneeling Man from 1886, “could pay for four years at any college he wanted. That one,” I continued, pointing to Plaster Statuette of a Horse, also from 1886, “could pay for a nice house!”

“Those were Americans?”

“I’m pretty sure, yes.”

She shook her head, “Is such ignorance common?”

“Sadly, it is. A friend of mine once told me that she overheard a woman at the Guggenheim in New York comment about a Picasso and wonder why it was on display when the body parts didn’t line up correctly.”

“No!” she gasped.

“I believe her. It’s not the only time I’ve heard or seen stories of ignorant Americans. It’s sad, really, but too often we’re so insular that we ignore the rest of the world.”

“But don’t you have good schools?”

“There are some, but many are very poor, or focus purely on America. I had exactly one art class and one music class from 7th grade until I graduated. In English class in High School we did do some things with film and music, but not much.”

“That’s very sad. What about world history?”

“Very little of that, and it’s mostly electives. American History is required, and there was a one-quarter course on Western Civilization.”

She shook her head and continued on the tour. We could easily have spent all day, but I wanted to get to the other two museums, so we left the museum and walked to a stand in the park where I purchased two falafel sandwiches and «frieten», thick-cut French fries in a white cardboard cone drowned in mayonnaise.

“Mayonnaise on fries?” I asked. “That’s different!”

“What do you put on «frieten»?”

“Catsup, usually,” I said, looking at the fries with a bit of disgust, “I’m not sure about mayo!”

“Try it!” she laughed. “You can’t say you don’t like it until you try it!”

She had a good point. Every once in a while the kids would see something new on their plates and give it what Amanda called the ‘stink eye’, but following our house rule, they had to eat at least a small helping of any new food.

I chuckled, “Sorry, I guess I did sound like a little kid who doesn’t like the food set before him.”

We sat down to eat and, to my complete surprise, I PREFERRED mayonnaise to catsup on my fries!

“This is actually good,” I said after eating several of the fries slathered in mayonnaise.

“See!” she laughed. “So many people are afraid of anything new. You didn’t seem like someone like that, so I was surprised.”

“One more cultural difference to add to my long list,” I grinned.

“You’ve traveled a lot?”

“I have. I was in Japan for five weeks during the summer, and I lived in Sweden for a year. I’ve been to Russia a couple of times, and hopefully I’ll go back next year. I’ve been a few other places outside the US as well. And that’s another rare thing - many Americans never leave the States and never learn a second language. In fact, there’s a joke my Swedish friends told: If someone speaks three languages, they are called trilingual; if they speak two languages, they are called bilingual; if they speak only one, they’re called Americans!”

“How rude!” Karla laughed.

“And yet, it’s true,” I said.

We ate our lunch, chatting about travel and culture, and then headed for the Stedelijk Museum, where we spent two hours before heading to the Rijksmuseum, where we stayed until nearly 6:00pm. Karla was an excellent guide, and I learned more about Dutch art in one day than I’d learned in my entire life.

“May I buy you a nice dinner?” I asked.

“Yes, I’d like that. I’ve had fun today.”

“Me, too. What’s a good choice for a nice dinner?”

“There’s a very, very nice Argentine steak restaurant at Spui. It’s not too expensive, but the food is very good.”

“That sounds perfect. What’s the name?”

“Rancho Argentinian Grill. It was the first Argentine restaurant in Amsterdam.”

We made our way to Spui, which was not far from my hotel on Spuistraat. We had a bit of a wait, and went to the bar to have a drink while we waited. I had Jonnie Walker Black once again, and Karla had a Madras cocktail, opting once again to dilute her alcohol with fruit juices.

“You promise not to spill it on me?” I teased handing it to her.

“Yes!” she laughed. “Are you going to tease me about that forever?”

“I’ll certainly try!” I grinned.

We finished our drinks just as our table was ready and we ordered the same thing from the waiter. We reviewed the menus and when he returned with our drinks, I ordered two steaks, medium rare, with chips, and a small salad on the side. I found the prices to be quite reasonable, actually a bit cheaper than what I might pay in the US for a comparable meal. That was offset by the cost of the drinks, which was probably about double what I would likely pay in a bar in Chicago.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Karla asked.

“For the next three days I’ll be working in the law offices of Moore, Martin & Walker on Bloemstraat. On Thursday and Friday I’ll be in Gorinchem to work at a company called SPSS.”

“And then you’re going to Munich?”

“On Sunday evening. I’m spending Friday and Saturday night in Amsterdam. I’ll be in Gorinchem on Thursday night so I don’t have to drive back and forth. I take it you have class?”

“Yes, four days. I don’t have classes on Thursdays.”

“What do you plan to do when you graduate?”

“Get a Master’s and then hopefully work for one of the museums we visited today. I’ve worked in the van Gogh museum as a private tour guide.”

“Which explains how you knew so much! And I thought it was just your schooling!”

“Both. I do that during the summers. It doesn’t pay much, but it lets me get my foot in the door.”

I nodded, “We hire interns who have the same basic idea - to get experience and be seen.”

Our food arrived fairly quickly and we ate, chatting about a wide range of subjects. When we finished we declined dessert at Karla’s request, and when we left the restaurant she led me to an ice cream shop where we each got a huge waffle cone with three scoops of chocolate ice cream.

“This is another Dutch tradition. If you remember, the cardboard for the «frieten» was shaped just like this cone. That’s the pattern.”

We walked along the sidewalk eating our ice cream, and I wondered exactly how many carbs I’d had with all the potatoes and now the ice cream and the cone. If we didn’t walk enough before she went home, I’d take a long walk around the city before bed. We wandered around central Amsterdam until we finished our ice cream.

“Thanks for being my tour guide today,” I said. “And I’m sorry about my attitude this morning.”

“It’s OK. Don’t worry about it!”

“Should I walk you back to the University?” I asked.

She laughed, “It would be a LONG walk. It’s about six kilometers from here.”

I actually could USE that walk.

“How do you get back?”

“Tram,” she said.

“With all the potatoes and ice cream I’ve had today, I could use the exercise. How about I take the tram with you and walk back?”

“That’s a long way!” she protested.

“I run about that far each morning. Even with all the walking today, my feet don’t hurt and I’m not tired.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“OK.”

I followed her to the tram stop and she helped me purchase the correct tickets while she showed her transit card. We had to change trams at the main station, and about thirty minutes after we’d first boarded we arrived at the university. I walked with her to a building not far from the campus, where she lived.

“Thanks for everything! Do you know how to get back?”

“I have a map in my pocket, but it seems simple enough and should take about an hour.”

“Would you want to have dinner tomorrow?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said.

“I’ll meet you at your hotel, if that’s OK. 6:00pm?”

“See you then!”

She went into the building and I turned to head back across town. When I arrived at the hotel just under an hour later, I called home.

“Hi, Daddy!” Birgit said as soon as she picked up the phone.

“Hi, Pumpkin! How did you know it was me?”

“Mommy was sure! I miss you, Daddy!”

“I miss you too, Pumpkin! How is school?”

“Good. Mommy says I have to let the boys talk to you!”

“I love you Pumpkin!”

“Love you, Daddy!” she said.

I talked to each of the boys in turn and except for Albert who was more sensitive, it was basically ‘hello’ ‘how are you?’ and ‘goodbye’. Albert told me he missed me, and then the phone was passed to his sisters, and I basically repeated my conversation with Birgit with them.

“Hi, Tiger,” Jessica said. “I’m putting you on speaker. The kids are gone.”

“Hi!” Kara said.

“Hi wives! How are you?”

“We miss you, of course,” Kara said.

“I have an interview next week at Northwestern,” Jessica said.

“Have you heard from Al about a spot at UofC yet?”

“No; I won’t until January or February. Northwestern has an Attending position open on January 1st. I could swing that with my Fellowship, but it would be lots of hours. I’m just doing this for practice, really.”

“Do what you need to do, Babe,” I said. “We can manage anything so long as we’re all on the same page.”

“How is Europe?”

“I played tourist yesterday and today,” I said. “Lots of museums and sightseeing. I’m back to work tomorrow. Oh, I did ask about videoconferencing with the kids on Thursday night your time. If you guys can take the kids to the NIKA offices for a 9:00pm call, I’ll call you there.”

“They’ll love it!” Kara said. “What do you think, Jess? It’s a school night, plus you have your extra shifts.”

“We can manage,” Jessica replied. “I can work around it if you can get the kids there. Maybe Elyse can help.”

“OK. If there’s an issue, let Elyse or Kimmy know. I’ll talk to them during the day on Thursday.”

“Won’t that be super early for you, Tiger?”

“4:00am,” I said. “But I used to get up at 3:00am with you. It’s no big deal. I just have a half-day at SPSS on Friday, and then I’m coming back to Amsterdam for the weekend. Do you know if there were any developments with Rob?”

“Elyse said they identified remains, but they want to wait to release them until they’re sure they have identified all the remains they’ve recovered, if possible. They have to run DNA tests and match things up.”

“Unreal. Do they have any idea what happened?”

“None. The NTSB is investigating. The Cockpit Voice Recorder indicates the pilots were completely surprised by whatever happened.”

“Damn,” I said. “OK. Anything else going on?”

“Not really. We’ll record the first episode of ER for you tomorrow. You said you wanted to see it.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “when you’re somewhere else! It’s like going to military movies with the Navy guys or legal movies with the lawyers!”

“Have you had fun on your trip so far?” Kara asked.

“It’s been enjoyable,” I said. “I’ve had a lot of time to think and I’ve more or less figured out how I blew it with Michelle. I just hope it’s not too late.”

“I don’t think so,” Kara said.

“Good.”

“How was Jonathan?” Jessica asked.

I laughed, “His wife, who he’s not legally married to, is bisexual and has a special female friend. The good doctor is permitted what we call dalliances to make up for it.”

Both girls laughed hard.

“So THAT is what Doctor Barton was hinting at,” Jessica said through her laughter. “That’s just perfect!”

“Exactly. He’ll fit right into Cirque du Steve,” I said.

“When will you call again, Snuggle Bear?”

“Probably the video call on Thursday night your time. With you and Jess working, it would be after midnight before I could call you.”

“OK. We love you!” Kara said.

“Yes, we love you!” Jessica added.

“And I love you both!”

We said ‘goodbye’, I hung up, and got right into bed.

September 19, 1994, Amsterdam, the Netherlands

On Monday morning, after my usual morning routine, I presented myself at the offices of Moore, Martin & Walker on Bloemstraat. As in London, a local computer support representative was there.

“Steve Adams, this is Rob Telkamp,” the managing partner, Victor de Jong said, when Rob came into the conference room where we were sitting with cups of coffee.

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Same,” he replied.

“I think everything is ready to go,” Rob said. “The server is configured, SQL is installed, and I verified the correct version of WordPerfect and the legal dictionaries are on every PC.”