Roots

We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies. ~Shirley Abbott

This is my first time in Europe. Having explored most of Asia, I am fairly well in touch with my Asian heritage. When someone asks me "Where are you from?" I proudly say "Canada", but that answer has always been accompanied by an undertone of curiosity. What about my Dutch roots?

My curiosity has been largely satisfied by the events of the last three days.

After exploring the village where my grandmother played in the street as a child on Sunday, we visited the Stad, the city of Groningen, on Monday. Since Groningen is the only major city in Northern Holland, city-going people merely say they are headed to "Stad" and are well understood.

Groningen's pride and joy is the Martinitoren, a gorgeous 97-meter high tower built in the 1400s. In the 16th century, the citizens of Groningen defeated invading Spanish and Belgian troops, and to celebrate, they made a huge fire on top of their tower. Unfortunately, this caused the collapse of the top of the tower- the top was later rebuilt but remains 25 meters shorter than the original. Kyle and I climbed the tower, up a narrow stone staircase, and took pictures of the city from the top.

After the climb, we had a couple of Amstels near the base of the tower and were joined by Sander Frans, Annemarie and Harm's son.

We then took a ride in a boat through the canals and learned about Groningen's early history as one of the most well-fortified towns in Western Europe.

In the evening, Harm Frans, Kyle, and I drove up to Middelstum. As we were walking along the road in Middlestum, Harm pointed towards a building which Kyle immediately recognized as his father's childhood home-- he had seen it in pictures. While we were standing in the street looking at the house, the neighbour across the road introduced himself to us and told us that the owner, Henk Aikema, was tending to his horses and would return soon. He directed us to the house of Martje Aikema, Henk's mother, at the other side of town. Once we met Martje, an elderly Dutch woman who spoke "echt grunnegers", the real northern dialect, she immediately recognized us and informed us that she knew we were in the area. She then informed Kyle that she had heard that his parents were going on a cruise to Alaska in a few weeks-- she had just heard that from a friend at lunchtime. News travels fast in small towns, I suppose.

We then returned to Henk's house. Henk was standing in his driveway and required no introduction. He was obviously the Aikema we were looking for (see picture below). We met him, his wife, and three daughters. We sat on his back porch and admired his pigeons (a hobby inherited from his grandfather-- the original Gerhardus Aikema). Henk had the same fidgety mannerisms as both Gary and Kyle.

On Tuesday, it rained. Which was okay, since it was our driving day. We drove to Delfzijl, a port city on the Northeast coast. Delfzijl has a floodwall-- and whoever suggested the floodwall should definitely be the town's hero. In November 2006, the water level reached 2/3 of the way up the wall, and would have inundated the town with about 15 feet of water.

After visiting Delfzijl (and having coffee in a charming hotel on the water), we went up to Eemshaven. At Eemshaven there is a huge wind farm, with windmills as far as the eye can see. The old windmill, dubbed "Goliath" now plays the role of a very small David.

Noordpolderzijl (try saying that five times fast), our next destination, is a large swath of reclaimed land pumped dry in 1811. One one side of the dike is a marshy wetland, on the other, huge plots of farmland.

One gets hungry after such a whirlwind day of exploring, and so we went to the grocery store to buy food for dinner. Many of my friends will be pleased to hear that you can buy a full case of 24 Amstel beers over here for a mere 10 euros ($16 CAD)! Kyle also received a wearable Dutch flag and orange horns with his purchase.

In the evening, we went to Koos and Marijke de Jonge's house, where we had coffee, and then Koos took us to a turkey farm to watch the turkeys being caught. It was hilarious to go into the dark barn and make noises at the turkeys-- it would inspire a wave of gobbling that swept quickly from end of the barn to the other.

On Wednesday, we biked. We explored the graveyard in Middelstum (the hometown of the Aikema clan), and the town of Toornwerd (the Kamstra's homestead). Toornwerd is unique for its lone tower without a church-- the church burned down, but the tower remains at the center of an old graveyard. I felt pensive and introspective as we explored the grounds my grandfather called home for the first 25 years of his life. This is where I am from.

Our next stop was Uithuizen, where we visited the Menkemaborg, the castle of a Dutch aristocratic family built originally in the 1400s. To a Canadian eye, it was amusing to see that a "restoration" of the building was undertaken in the 1600s. In the 1600s, Canada didn't even have any buildings, let alone those that needed restoration! Kyle and I went through the maze-- it was a very good maze that left us hitting innumerable dead ends and creating just enough frustration to make it fun. We met in the middle, and then worked together to figure out how to get out.

We then meandered home on the fiedspads (bike trails) along canals, past windmills and quaint Dutch towns (including Doodstil, a town called "Dead quiet". Kyle regretted not bringing his air horn).

The light drizzle on the return trip reminded us that we were actually in the Netherlands. It still feels surreal sometimes. But it feels like home.