Delft and Gouda

Yup, as promised, I am taking another stab at the mammoth undertaking that is: blogging Amsterdam. I don't think too much time has passed to record my observations of a day spent in the Southern Holland towns of Delft and Gouda. Mind you, that day took place on July 24, over two months ago, so the details may be a little fuzzy. Fortunately for my taxed memory, we did not stray too far from the expected program. In Delft, the first order of business was visiting a pottery factory, or excuse me, a Delftware factory. This is where they make those ubiquitous blue vases, plates, flower holders etc. that line the shelves of every souvenir shop in all of the Netherlands. We got to watch as the artisans hand-painted all the aforementioned objects and learned some facts about the pottery-making process (such as: the paint used on the ceramics is actually a blackish color, it isn't until the glaze is added and the item is put into a kiln, that a chemical reaction leads to the famous blue color). As expected, the tour ends in the gift shop, with some of the most wildly overpriced knick-knacks imaginable. We later learned that the cheaper versions available in most of the shops are machine-made in China, which is actually quite funny since a visit to Delft's museum of antique ceramics revealed that originally most of the Delftware copied Asian themes. People that could not afford the exotic pieces that the trading ships were bringing from the East simply bought home-made decorations featuring depictions of cherry blossoms or samurai. Now days these Asian producers of "Delftware" (as well as the true makers of Delftware) decorate their pieces with pictures of windmills, canals and of course, wooden shoes, all in the name of authenticity. Following our visit to the pottery factory, we took a walking tour of the town led by a very sweet woman whose family has lived in Delft for several generations. At the moment, I have no clue how many generations that would be, or even what her name was (c'mon, it's 2 months +) but I do recall my favorite moment of the tour. After it had ended and she had said her goodbyes, Shawn mentioned to her that it was a shame that she was in a hurry, because he would have liked to invite her for a beer. Without missing a beat, she declared that she really was not in that big of a hurry and that she did like beer. Just like that, we now had a drinking buddy.

After a couple of beers with our now-nameless friend, we were hungry, so why not hop on a train and head to the town of Gouda for some cheese. The first problem we encountered was when we tried to explain to locals where we wanted to go. All we got were blank stares. It was not until I pointed to the Gouda section in my Lonely Planet that I learned that all my life, I had been mispronouncing the name of one of my favorite cheeses. All along, I have been calling it Goo-dah, but here, a short train ride away from the cheeseland, I found out that it is pronounced How-dah. Goo-dah, How-dah, whatever, I was hungry. I followed the book's advise and headed straight to the town's largest kaas shop, only to find it closed. Then we went to some of the smaller cheese shops. Also closed. In the end, we ended up in a tapas bar called, I swear, La Cubanita with plenty of photos of El Malecon and Che, but no fricking cheese. Eventually, we did find a bar on the main square that had some cheese, but if I recall correctly, it was from Edam.