Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! (14 page)

No wonder she’s so fit and trim! I feel like a slug trying to keep up with her.

I remembered that she already had taken a long hike that morning when she walked to the car at the church parking area in The Hague. Once I caught my breath, I decided I would tell her how I thought The Hague was “the hag.” She would get a laugh out of that.

But at the moment I wasn’t laughing about anything. I was too breathless.

A
s Noelle and I entered the official beach area, we strolled past a number of cafés and bars that lined the walkway, facing the beach. If weather conditions were just right, I could see how this would be a popular spot in the summer.

“We ate at that café last autumn. It was a perfect day. Two of Jelle’s cousins met us there with their families. The party got rowdy. Do you still use that word
rowdy?
”

I nodded.

“We were rowdy. Very loud. But then, I guess this is the place to come and be loud and have fun. We certainly had fun.”

I noticed quite a few people were strolling up and down the walkway, bundled up and enjoying the brisk wind and the afternoon sunshine. Spring seemed to be in the air, and the locals were out experiencing a first taste of the sun, as we were.

Noelle stopped where the walkway met the sand. I put my hands on my hips and drew in long, deep breaths of the salty air. I had to admit this was pretty exhilarating. And beautiful. The
sand and sea stretched out for miles before the horizons line appeared. All the colors were muted and soft, as if they had been blended together with the base shades of pale gray and blue.

Having lived in Ohio all my life, I found the sight of the sea and the shore foreign and wonderful. What surprised me was how long and flat the beach was. I don’t know why I imagined it would be rocky.

I gave a little shiver. Even with the steady sun dominating the thin clouds overhead, the wind off the North Sea felt as if it were whistling right through me. All the perspiration from our aerobic arrival was acting as a natural cooling system.

“Brrr!”

“Brisk, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“Do you still want to go down to the water?”

“Yes, definitely. I didn’t come this far just to take a picture. I have to touch the water.”

“Okay, if you insist. Right this way, Summer Breeze.”

“Oh, don’t I wish this breeze was a summer breeze!”

I don’t think she heard my comment because she was trudging through the sand. She stopped at the shoreline.

“There you have it. The great North Sea. Are you sure you want to put your foot in?”

“I have to. I want to say I went to the North Sea and got in, even if it’s only my pinkie toe that actually goes in.”

“Go ahead. I have no desire to join you.”

I removed only one shoe and sock instead of both. Hopping
through the cold, wet sand, I approached the water. The sea was calm, lapping the shore in small, rounded curls, as if it were a lake and not part of an ocean.

Overhead, a large sea gull swooped down and did a peglegged hop across the shore, approaching me like a beggar. His beady black eyes searched me for food.

“Sorry, no snacks for you today.” I waved my shoe, expecting the bird to fly off elsewhere to plead his case.

The gull stayed and suddenly was joined by six companions. All of them pleaded for treats in a chorus of chortling cries.

“You’ve attracted an audience.” Noelle held up her camera and captured the moment. “Go ahead. Dip your toe in the water. I’ll take your picture.”

I stepped closer to the water, ready to pose in ballerina fashion. The birds gathered in closer. “How do I tell them in Dutch to go away?”

Four more gulls had joined the gang. All of them moved toward me like a choreographed alley scene from
West Side Story
.

“They’re going to attack me!”

Noelle laughed. “No they’re not. Wave your shoe at them.”

“I already tried that.”

I waved my single, removed shoe in the air one more time and called out, “Shoo!” Only one bird moved, and his movement was barely a flinch.

Noelle cracked up. “You look like you’re trying to teach them English, standing there with your shoe in the air and yelling ‘shoe’ to them.”

“Very funny. I’m trying to make them go away. I was saying shoo’ as in ‘shoo-go away’”

“Apparently they don’t understand threats in English. You could always run toward them. I should think that would be interpreted as a universal gesture of aggression and should make them scatter.”

I took off running, one shoe on my right foot, the left shoe in my hand, waving over my head. The ringleader started hopping back, opening his great white wings and squawking in protest.

I don’t know if it was the imbalance of running in the sand with only one shoe on or the humbling fact that it had been many years since I had run so fast. Whatever the reason for my klutz moment, I tripped and did a colossal face-plant in the wet sand.

Boom
.

Like a toppled statue, I fell just as the lapping waters curled toward the shore and clutched me with an icy embrace. I let out a wail—partly from the shocking sensation of the frigid water that had covered the entire left side of my body before receding to the depths and partly because that’s the pitiful sound my pride makes when it’s wounded.

Noelle was at my side immediately, pulling me up, rattling off all the expected concerned questions. Was I okay? Did I need help getting up? Was I hurt anywhere?

Once I was vertical and it was clear nothing was broken, I could see in the corners of her eyes a burst of laughter dying to come out and play.

Wiping the wet sand from the side of my mouth and releasing
an involuntary shiver, I kept a straight face as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. In my best deadpan voice I said, “That oughtta frighten those birds. It certainly scared the life outta me.

Noelle’s giggle gave way to a full burst of laughter as I limped in an exaggerated way and went ka-lumping down the shore in an attempt to retrieve my shoe and sock. The wayward pair had turned into a bird-seeking missile during my fumbling fall. The sock-loaded shoe had missed its unintended target in the launch and landed in the sand. Now the icy fingers of the North Sea curled around my shoe, beckoning it to come with them into the abyss. My shoe tipped to its side, as if listening to the call of the deep, but the wise ol’ sole hesitated to accept the invitation to go for a dunk.

I quickened my pace toward my shoe, but the gulls, with the advantage of their wings, arrived at the shoe before I did.

The resilient Dutch feathered resistance had been unruffled by my charge-and-topple attack. There they were, back on the scene, boldly launching an in-depth investigation. Their curious, long sea gull bills were poking and prodding every corner of my shoe.

“Leave it alone! Shoo! Shoo from my shoe, you shoosters!”

The ringleader with the peglegged hop managed to firmly grasp my sock. He extracted it from the shoe and held it like a dead fish, drooping lifeless in his beak.

“Hey, drop it!” I waved my hands and made an aggressive yet wisely nonsprinting movement toward him.

The gull flapped his wings. His cohorts did the same. They seemed to loudly protest his greed. Two of them pecked at my sock from the side, trying to extract the treasure from his grasp.

“It’s a sock!” I hollered at the birds. “You can’t eat it! Drop it! Hey, stop! No, don’t you dare!”

With a flip of his feathered behind, the sea gull spread his wings and took off over the North Sea with all his gang members launching into flight right behind him. My sock, still clamped in his mouth, was the prize of the day.

“Are you kidding me?”

The taunting thief was about two hundred feet out over the North Sea, flying low, when he apparently realized the nonexistent nutritional value of my fuzzy footwear. As Noelle and I watched, the sea gull dropped my sock into the sea.

Noelle laughed before I did. She wrapped both her arms around my shoulders and let loose with the sort of rollicking belly laugh I always knew she was capable of delivering.

We stood on the shore, with Noelle laughing her heart out and me saying, “I’m sure this will be a lot funnier to me at a later time, but right now I really am in desperate need of a rest room.”

With my sockless, numb, sand-covered foot thrust inside my soggy shoe, I shuffled alongside Noelle to the nearest café that would let us use their rest room.

I couldn’t clean up properly. The entire left side of my body was soaked with seawater and sprinkled with sand. A small piece of something oceanic and strange had latched on to my hair. It had the texture of green moss growing on a piece of dirty plastic.

With the indulgence of way too many paper towels, I did my best to become publicly presentable. My efforts deserved a grade of about a C-.

Noelle was patient. I appreciated that she was a compassionate woman. That quality had been obvious when she jumped in to assist Zahida that morning.

In her generous effort to help me, she arranged for a taxi to drive us back to the parking garage. I was grateful I didn’t have to walk all the way back with one shoe leaving a salty footprint everywhere I placed my foot.

Once we were settled in little Bluebell, I think Noelle and I exhausted just about every bird, shoe, klutz, and sock joke we could think of on our uncomfortable ride home. The discomfort for me was from the cold. The discomfort for Noelle was that she kept the heater running at full speed to help me dry while she perspired in the salty sauna conditions.

She told me about a summer when they tried to take a picnic to the beach and a rainstorm had ruined the day. They drove home that time with the heater running the whole way and the scent of sea brine filling the car.

“Everyone was so grouchy. We sat in traffic for a horribly long time because it was one of the finals before the European Cup, and we had won. Everyone was more interested in cheering and celebrating than in keeping the cars moving.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but what is the European Cup?”

“Football. Or I guess I should call it soccer since that’s what you call it in the U.S.”

“I have heard that soccer is a big deal here.”

“You have no idea. You should come back with Wayne and visit sometime during the World Cup. Everyone wears orange, our national color, to show support. As a nation of more than sixteen million people, we do a good job of rallying around our team.”

“Did you say sixteen million?”

Noelle nodded.

I tried to picture that many people fitting into the small land-mass that comprised the Netherlands. No wonder the houses were built up instead of out and were so close together.

“I had no idea so many people lived here. I was looking at a map on the plane and saw that the country isn’t that big.”

“No, it’s not. And if you want to really be impressed, I’ll tell you that we are third in the world for agricultural exports. The U.S. is first, then France, then the Netherlands. How’s that for a country with a fraction of the landmass of the others? I think it’s a third of the country that is below.”

“Below what?”

“Below sea level. Engineers continue to find ways to dredge land from the sea. That’s how the usable landmass keeps growing.”

“Well, one of these days they’ll scoop up land from the bottom of the sea, and my sock will be there, mixed in with all the sand and silt.”

Noelle laughed. “A little part of you will forever be a part of the Netherlands. I love it!” We rode for a few minutes, both smiling.

“Noelle, do you ever miss home?” I had noticed the way she aligned herself with the surrounding culture yet at the same time talked about being appreciative of having me, another American, visit her.

“This is my home,” she said firmly. “I have lived here twice as long as I lived in the U.S. I love it here. Hup Holland!” The last line came out strong like a cheer.

“What was that?”

“The national cheer for our football team. I told you, we’re passionate about our team. By the way, can you feel your toes yet?”

“Just barely. Are you melting? You may turn off the heater, if you like.”

In her best
Wizard of Oz
witch voice, she said, “I’m melting!”

As she turned down the heat, we launched into a fun discussion of how we both were terrified of the flying monkeys in that movie. Then we disclosed our
Sound of Music
desire to be Julie Andrews when we were twelve so we could become nannies and skip through Austria with our own entourage of adoring adolescents wearing lederhosen.

The conversation helped speed up the ride back to Noelle’s. The first thing I did on arriving was to shake off the dried sand before I went into the house. The same neighbor who had heard me call Noelle an oen took a moment to observe me slapping my jeans—only the left side, mind you—and hopping and shaking to get the sand off.

I was almost adjusting to the reality that the neighbors could observe so much of what I did while at Noelle’s.

A long bath was next on the list for this unusual day. This was definitely a private event. The bath was great. Relaxing and restorative. The kind of leisurely bath I never allowed myself to take the time to enjoy at home.

After I returned to the guest room in my robe, feeling all steamy and fresh scented with my clean hair wrapped in a towel, I found a tray waiting for me with a note from Noelle. She had fixed a sandwich along with a glass of milk. Her note said that Jelle had called and needed her to pick him up at work. I had forgotten that they shared one car, which was possible due to the convenient public transportation.