Thus we drove to Delft through a bit of a drizzle. We realized upon arriving that we didn't really know the parking rules, much less where we were allowed to park, but we found what looked like a non-offensive spot relatively near the central square, perilous though it was. As it was my first time ever renting a car, and I was doing so as an already noted 'high risk' driver (being under 25 and all), the last thing I wanted to do was try to explain to Hertz how we had accidentally parallel parked into a canal. Thankfully I didn't end up having to have that conversation.
We made the assumption that we still needed to pay for parking even though it was a Saturday as we had had to in The Hague as well, and this was confirmed when we saw a little old man park and get a ticket at the parking machine by the corner. Alas, all of our bills were too big for the parking meter and we didn't have enough combined change to get by for a couple of hours. Nor were we able to get our credit cards to work. We asked the little old man for help, but he didn't know English, so we split off looking for a café that would break one of our bills. However, the locals being as overly friendly and helpful as is their nature, Anna and I soon encountered the little old man again who had tracked down a woman who spoke English and delivered her back to us. We got our parking ticket sorted out then ventured off around the town.
Kennedy had found a little outdoor market in her ramblings so we figured that was as good of a place as any to start.
Not surprisingly, they had more stalls selling cheese than any other single offering.
We also stopped to try some stroopwafels, a "must-have" that a Dutch woman from my barn told me about. They're basically two particularly thin waffles held together by a layer of caramely-syrup. These delicacies proved a pleasant, though alas fleeting, distraction from the chill and damp slowly penetrating our waterproof layers. I don't think we made it another twenty minutes before succumbing to our basic animal instincts to escape the cold and ducking into a café for some hot chocolate. After a proper thawing we returned to the charms of Delft to explore the Market Square and whatever else the town had to offer.
Nieuwe Kerk on the Market Square
Stadhuis (1618) on the Market Square
We meandered hither and thither, coming across such sights as the 13th century Oude Kerk:
and window displays of cheese and of Queen Beatrix decorated delicacies:
Windows and windows of CHEESE!
Pastries and such to help get you in the proper mood for Queen's Day
among other things:
Other things...
After ambling and poking into stores and circling the Market Square no less than three times we had worked up enough of an appetite and a desire to re-thaw to make stopping for lunch a worthwhile endeavor. Being the Americans that we are, we chose the bagel place on the Market Square because those little suckers are just so scarce in Europe that we felt it was an opportunity to indulge in our native pleasures wasted if we passed it up.
After lunch the general consensus was that we had been there, seen that as far as Delft went, so we might as well make our way back to The Hague. And then things went south. Upon arriving back in our room and re-evaluating our afternoon and early evening prospects, we were more heavily influenced by the dampness outside and the warmth of our room (and more specifically the warmth under our blankets) than I would like to admit. But there you have it. I may have been swayed by my comrades, or just as likely by my poor choice in clothing for the weekend - although I knew it would be wet and a little chilly, I refused to believe that we would experience anything that actually qualified as "cold" in late April and subsequently didn't pack much in the way of layers. But what this all boils down to is that we decided that a movie sounded like a reasonable way to spend some time. We were between Titanic and Wuthering Heights until I realized that Titanic was not in fact THE Titanic of our fondest adolescent memories but rather The Titanic, a documentary on some late exploration of the submerged "unsinkable ship". Wuthering Heights it was.
So we dwelled in the room for about an hour before setting out in search of the theater. I should have sensed trouble as soon as I discovered that the theater didn't sell popcorn (seriously?! What kind of movie theater doesn't sell popcorn?), but we were drawn in nonetheless by the neon glow of the window signs. We settled in for what I was hoping would be a decent translation of a novel that I had grown quite fond of over the years. I couldn't have been more disappointed. This was atrocious. Don't waste your time, ever. End of story. If you want to really appreciate Wuthering Heights in cinematic form, or if you don't really know what that strange love-hate story that people talk about when reminiscing on the good times they had in high school is really all about, just watch this video by Kate Bush. This little masterpiece out of the 70's can not possibly disappoint anyone.
So, thoroughly disappointed as we were post film, we trudged out in search of some food. Alas, we didn't have a map, nor did we really know which direction to head to get to a more restaurant-saturated area of town, so for lack of any other food establishments in our line of vision, we went into Warung Mini, a Java restaurant, without the slightest idea what the cuisine would entail (even after taking a long gander at the menus). I asked our friendly waitress what she recommended (Rijst Kip Groenten) and Anna and Kennedy quickly took my cue and also got suggestions from her. We also ordered the striking pink drink that the folks next to us were sipping on which turned out to be sweet and every so slightly hinting of bubble gum. But when our food came out I knew I had made the right call in asking for advice. I had this giant heap of rice, probably about the size of a small termite hill, and an equally sizable bowl of chicken, veggies, and beans not too far removed from the refried kind we ol' Texans find so appetizing. It may sound like simple fare, but I will adamantly stand by Warung Mini's Rijst Kip Groenten. Kenn and Anna's meals were tasty, too, but I definitely got the best meal of the three. Having thoroughly sated ourselves and made friends with the waiters and chef, we eventually waddled out because our charming little restaurant looked more and more like it was about to turn into a night club. We graciously took our leave and started roughly back in the direction of our lodging, only to be sidetracked one last time by a bar. But it was getting late and we had flowers to see the next day, so we only stayed out another hour before returning to the warm confines of our room. A good redemption to an afternoon that attempted to get the better of us.
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