Gouda

 

The weather has gotten a little crazy. Yesterday it was kind of rainy and today it also looked like rain. I decided not to go off on my bike because it seemed that would surely attract the rain. Instead, I decided to go to Gouda, which the Dutch pronounce - Howda.

My original plan was to take the Lonely Planet's suggested walking tour through the Jordan, an older working class neighborhood that is now getting very trendy. From there, I would be very near Central Station. But with my new mosquito net, I slept really well, and since I've been kind of sleep deprived between jetlag and mosquito patrol, I really needed sleep. I didn't get up until after 8 and I need a few hours in the morning just to get up and out (I wake up in front of the computer with a cup of tea).

I didn't want to get to Gouda too late, so I skipped the Jordan and headed straight to Central Station, taking a different street just to see something different.

I bought my ticket and in about 20 minutes, the train arrived and we were off. It took me about 40 minutes to get to Gouda. The ride was nice. A North African looking guy (maybe Moroccan, Egyptian, or something like that) was sitting next to me playing with his MP3 player and a darker skinned woman (from some other African country?) got on with two small girls. They sat in the seats in front of me. The older girl was very loud and had a few screaming fits. Her little sister had not yet started talking, it seemed. The mother engaged them with food and then singing. I enjoyed watching, and listening to them.

I got off in Gouda to find a kind of funky 60's style train station with these very old looking statues (like from the 1600's) - it was a very strange combination of architectural elements, but that is what Gouda ended up being. Old mixed with a very weird mix of modern styles.

The town hall was the big attraction, standing in the middle of a large plaza screaming for attention with a fancy roof, red shutters, a very intricate facade and all kinds of other details. Unfortunately, it was closed to visitors because a couple was getting married (maybe several). I found it interesting that the church was not in this central place, but actually off to the side and kind of hidden behind some buildings. To me the symbolism was clear. I knew who was NOT in charge in Holland, or at least in Gouda (but I assume the rest of the country is the same).

I wandered over to the cathedral, a big gothic cathedral - the biggest in Holland. It is no longer a working church and seemed very dead to me. I'm used to going into churches in Latin America that are thick with smoke and incense with people praying possibly organ music and a feeling of something alive, but here, it was dead, dank, smelled musty and to be honest was not that interesting - especially because I couldn't take photos. I would have enjoyed trying to make some interesting compositions of the stained glass and the interior.

I stopped at the tourist information center and got a map, which wasn't very helpful, so I just wandered around. There are a lot of different ethnicities in Holland, which surprised me a bit. I see large, blonde, gorgeous people riding around on bikes and assume they are Dutch, but when I see an Arab woman with a veil, why do I assume she is not? Anyway, on my different bike rides I have discovered that the more I go out from the old part of the city, the more diverse it gets. Gouda seemed pretty diverse as well. I saw women with veils, middle eastern looking men, some blacks and a little Chinese restaurant/market. I stopped in a Turkish place and got a Turkish "pizza" - some sort of tomato/meat sauce spread on a lavash and after it was heated he put two different kinds of salad, tahini and hot sauce and rolled it up and gave it to me. It was the perfect food to eat and walk and to satisfy the little appetite I had while I continued my quest to find fresh stroopwafels.

Which is the reason I went to Gouda.

I figured if I was going to find a freshly made stroopwafel, it would be in Gouda. I imagined a little cart somewhere with a very Dutch looking man (whatever that means), putting the dough on the grill as you walk up and order one and then cutting the waffel and spreading the hot caramel inside and handing it to you all gooey and warm.

I was heading back towards the station after having enough of Gouda and being disappointed that my stroopwafel search had been futile. I wandered around some little alleys and passed another bakery that sold stroopwafels. I thought I'd go in and see if there were any clues as to where the real thing could be.

Fortunately for me, the woman working there asked if she could help me. Well, that's what I'm guessing she asked. I replied in English. I told her I was looking for a place to buy "fresh" stroopwafels. She pointed to the package on the counter between us and said, "these are fresh". I said, "No, I mean fresh today". She said, "These are fresh today". I finally communicated that I meant freshly made on the spot right in front of you. Surprisingly she directed me to go out and turn right and I would see a place called Hema. She said they make them fresh there.

I was in this odd section of Gouda, of the tourist track, and having that mix of old and new. Old houses lead up to a newish looking shopping district, which reminded me of the "old" suburban downtowns that were built in the 40's and 50's, renovated in the 60's and then abandoned with white flight and made obsolete by malls. There was this big 60's modern orange building that was Hema. Next to it, sure enough, like where you might find a hot dog vendor, or pretzel place, was the stroopwafel stand. Not exactly like I had imagined it, but at least my trip to Gouda had not been in vain.

There was an older woman and a young guy working there. For him, probably an after school job, probably a high school student. They had something called a super stroopwafel for 1 euro. This was part of my lunch, so I went for it.

They were already made and on a tray. The woman scooped one up and wrapped it in checkered paper and handed it to me. The guy was speaking to me in English. She was speaking Dutch. When I was walking away, the guy said, "Have a nice day!" I wondered how it was that they can be so bi-lingual. It just seems effortless, with no self-consciousness, natural.

The stroopwafel was okay. I actually prefer the ones I've been getting from Albert Heijn. They are more delicate. The cookies seem more buttery and the caramel sauce is rich with a hint of cinnamon. This super stroopwafel was big, sugary and neither the cookie nor the syrup had much flavor.

With that, I headed back to the station. Hopped on the train which arrived one minute after I climbed the stairs to the platform, and returned to Amsterdam.

The tourists are kind of blowing around today as it is very windy. They are starting to blend into the background with everything else, like they are a part of the city - there are the bikes, the canals, the coffee shops, the red light district and the tourists.

I have Indonesian Gado Gado for dinner along with the chicken tika masala I got at Albert Heijn yesterday. The supermarket has a good southeast asian selection - Thai, Indonesian, etc., and there is a great little Indonesian takeout place new Nieumarket. I just had the "snack of the day" - an Indonesian kroket. I'm not sure what it was - like a potato croquette with some meat inside? It was good. I guess I'll move on to the 2nd course now, the Gado Gado.