Amsterdam Journal: Vlissingen

There were at least 10 stops on the Brussels-Amsterdam train to Vlissingen> Being late, because I had forgotten my rail card, I had to take the slow stoptrein from Berkoff to Rosendahl and thought I would never arrive. The difference that one hour makes is cumulative, when it's the stoptrein vs. the express train.

I'm in Zeeland, at last, the houses and steeples are more like Noord-Brabant, gorgeous Flemish architecture. And Vlissingen. Happy I was to see the sun in Vlissingen, when Wim Hofman and I walked along the shore, looking into Belgium, and following the path of World War II, the places where the Germans bombed the dunes.

My Noord-Brabant impressions were not that far off. Wim's wife, Toka, is from Noord-Brabant, Wim's parents are from there also, their accent is soft and comforting. I felt so at home, as both my friends, Vins van Neerven and Jan Bogaerts, are also from there. Their daughter Magreet and I hit it right off, sometimes even shouting the same things in unison. Whether in Spanish, or in English, we were like a house afire.

Their house, The Wereld, the world, is truly the center of the world with a beautiful paved garden straight out of Provence. The house, with its three stories, is built like an old sailing ship with curved handcarved oak beams. 

The Netherlands lost most, or all of its oaks during the 18th-century for the tall ships. Wim's house, despite its venerable age, it dates back to the 1500s, has light, airy rooms, spare furniture, good rugs, cool slate floors that begged for a child's chalk drawings. .

As we walked through the town, I pointed out to Wim the red currants in the market, saying how much I loved them. Dinner consisted of pork, very long green beans, salad, potatoes, and a kind of seaweed. Toka said it was a Vlissingen specialty. It was salty but very tasty. And the red currants for dessert. I was honored.

As it turned out, they were expecting me for the weekend, but I had already bought a round-trip ticket, and I couldn't change it. We could've stayed and explored Middleburg in the morning, said Wim. I was devastated as I so wanted to explore the towns.

The light stays until 10:30 in the evening, even this far south in the Netherlands. Because of the light I was also loath to leave, and I finally felt comfortable because I was out of the city. I kept sighing to relieve the stress. I am truly happiest far from the city center, night the night life is not for me.

As it turns out Wim is fairly famous as a children's book author and illustrator with some 22 books to his credit, and he has won many prizes, etc. I feel honored to meet him, and have my art upon his wall. It turns out he also uses scratchboard for illustration. No wonder he is so interested in my work, we have parallel lives. He wrote his first book at 18th and was published by 21, a career that has never stopped. 

I like his acrylics they are full of interesting shapes and textures. I liked what I saw. Like Paul Klee, I tell him. Most of his work was in Belgium, he said. He uses to tagbard scraps from museums, like me. He prefers to recycle. 

Wim is part of a writers cooperative where, for 400 guilders, they produce a book and distribution is included—some 20 bookstores. Maybe my chapbook, Evidence of Light, would have a market that way. First, I'd have to produce a manuscript in Dutch. It's worth checking into; I'll have to tell Vins about it. 

On the boardwalk, "it isn't much, but this is where it all started. Wim points to a house of a famous writer: Hugo Verhas. I don't recognize the name.

We gazed across the river mouth into Belgium, and then walked west along the coast to the North Sea, watching the Dutch and Belgian pilot boats churn across the straits, delivering their top brass cargo to shore.

We climbed the old flour mill tower, still in use, with its quintessential Don Quixote sails, spinning like enormous gull wings, reflected in the narrow canal, a step back in time. Several steps back in time. Such stories to tell.