Nestled between water and meadow, just below sea level, lies Holland, a small country equal in splendor and political controversy. So much of what is read of this place is drug-infested, red light-districted, and sexually revolutionized beyond our poor American minds' ability to grasp. However, there are other sides to this lush green postage stamp-sized country; incredible sides of beauty, ease of life and genteel encounters.

My weekend journey began with a car (Well, it was really more like a sardine can on wheels, but hey, that's Europe) ride through the country to get to the small town of Huizen where I enjoyed the hospitality of a high school friend and her husband for a full three days. The guest room that awaited me was brilliant and included a view of the back yard garden where Jan grew his homeopathic herbs for his holistic practice. Just beyond the fence stretched a field of wild flowers. The grasses grew tall and speckled with whites, yellows, purples and red confetti as far as my eye could see or where a tree lined forest halted the field and began a more nymphish look to the wood. Mornings were scrumptious, filled with wafted breezes of sweet green clover. Surely there are hundreds of books filled with little four-leaf reminders of lazy days spent in such a field, for I was able to gather up a few for myself and they now lie pressed in some singing bit of poetics, heralding my favorites with the green stains forever. The sun danced with the waving grasses and bid me good-morning, for the day promised to be a busy one.

Bikes. Bikes were everywhere and it was no wonder as the towns were so small that, as we began our trip that morning, within 2 hours we had acquainted ourselves with 3-4 small villages and towns. Windmills yawned and stretched in the morning rays as the Quixote giants tickled the meticulously planted rainbow rows of tulips along the gravel roadways. Tree-lined streets with bridged canopies of bending elms offered coolness to the ride and allowed glimpses of traditional homes with thatched roofs all cut neatly and ornamented with special weaves along the peaks. There were pastured town squares where the local milking cows were penned and even a few deer for those as easily amused as myself. We pedalled past old churches with majestic stained-glass windows and unkempt grounds and found boat yards filled with tottering masts of ships at rest as they readied for another day's fishing. Desiree and I caught up on old times, and as she saw her country new, through my eyes, we laughed and enjoyed the simple things of the day like honeybees in the flowers, old school bells and just being together.

The power of Cheese - the next day we embarked on a cross country search for all kinds of it, sampling as we went. They don't have all those cows for nothing you know, and the chocolate is equally fantastic, unlike the harsh acidic chocolates here in the States. Dutch chocolate is so smooth, there is no turning back once you have tried it. (And trust me, I've tried a lot of it) I managed to sock away a good bit both in my tummy as well as in my overnight bag to take home with me for sweet memories that have lasted a life time as they relocated to my hips and thighs.

As we ate our way across the countryside, I also managed to spend a few of the brilliantly colored bills in my wallet. Our money is so boring compared to other countries. Each bill is not only colorful, but a different size for easy recognition and to top all that off; they are marked with raised patterns for the blind! Simply brilliant. Of course, I had to exchange some of these great works of art for the hokey wooden shoes, some exquisite porcelain tiles of traditional Delft flavor and many postcards.

Our travels landed us in a living history city, secluded on Marken, an island accessible only by ferry. Here, the people lived as in 19th century Holland, outfitted in traditional clothing, wooden shoes and lived the lives fishermen, cattlemen and weavers. Walking down these narrow streets of tall tenements connected by spiderwebbed clothes lines with waving garments was what I imagined it would be in any small town in Europe. I found it charming.

However, I have to admit I do relish the modern conveniences of Maytags. Though the sky threatened to dampen our outing as the Dutch sky often does, it merely threatened and never made good on it. The small island offered an hour or two of amusement, such as the Marken Museum, the crowded port and a short countryside stroll, complete with cows and sheep. Soon we were ferried back to Volendam, reunited with our pint-sized auto and headed back home.

The final day was a Sunday. I simply note, because I have never been to a major metropolitan area that was essentially closed on Sunday. Amsterdam, for all of its reputation, was a ghost town. Not that everything was shut down, but enough of it was and it felt eerie. Soon, that gave way to sheer amazement at this unusual city of canals and streets. We toured the city by water, weaving among the towering homes, low arched bridges of cross streets and came upon buildings that sagged helplessly into the murky waterways that wreaked havoc with the structures' foundations. Many of them, tired with age, sloped unwittingly near the water line. Windows held 30 degree angles in the supposed-to-be 90 degree corners. The tour guide mentioned that in some cases the floors were so drastically pitched, that tenants "secured" furniture to the floors and I don't think she meant with bubble-gum.

Another marvel was the conversion of old warehouses into flats. Old loading doors painted brilliant colors opened wide onto the canals, which offered an unobstructed river view. I loved these flat-fronted buildings that, when viewed from certain angles, looked to be paper doll houses, with residents that surely were required to be equally singularly dimensioned. I found that to be one of the most amusing things of the city and as we rounded corners I would seek out the transforming buildings just for the "cool" factor of seeing them gain depth as we passed the point from paper-thin to three-dimensional. (I did say I was easily amused...)

The rain managed to catch up with us for part of the day while we dilly-dallied through the dark (and very raunchy smelling) streets and alleyways of Amsterdam, but no major precipitation hindered our enjoyment of friends or sights. The pigeons that filled the squares didn't seem to mind the sprinkles and the Herculean friezes on the town's government complexes took on a sinister "war time" feel in the grey skied rain glaze. Haze began to build and soon grew into full fledged fog; it was time to go.

One last night in my cozy guest room, one last view of the garden pharmacy and another hug from a dear friend in farewell. The hearts of Holland I met along the way made splendid memories most precious ones, and though mine was a whirl-wind tour; I loved every moment of it.

Gail Boysen-Preset didn't have a chance to say a final goodbye to her friend in March of 2001, and remembers their time together with great affection.