Tuitjenhorn

About a month after 9/11, I arrived in Amsterdam where I met an Internet buddy who lived in a small town a couple hours north of the city.  This small farming community by the name of Tuitjenhorn was charming all around. My new friend had insisted on me visiting his home and I could understand why he loved that area so much. The fields were bright green and the fog hung around most of the day giving the landscape a very crisp edge, and a sort of melancholic air. We rode bicycles down to the beach, which was about five miles away. The town was adorable, the people were friendly and the surrounding country beautiful.

The village was quaint and adorable. I learned that most of the little houses were summer vacation places, and that up until recently, nobody could live in them in permanent places. Due to the shortage in housing, now they were being able to make these little adorable chalets into permanent homes. I was able to see the one hill that every liked to climb (due to the lack of any other hills or mountains around).

The bike ride to the beach took me through the crest of the hill with views that will forever be burned into my heart.

After a lovely day, dinner time came around and he put the news as we sat to eat. The news dominating the airwaves were about the World Trade Center and the fact that the U.S. was now bombing Afghanistan. My buddy started his speech on "How Americans are Evil." I figured that since I was a guest, I should keep my mouth shut, however the verbal attack continued for the next few hours as I tried in vain to change the subject.

Around 11:30pm he was still going on the same subject and with the same passion. I figured it was time to say good bye. I packed my things, thank my host (who could not understand why I was leaving), I called a taxi and stepped into the chilly night's air. I honestly could not close my eyes and go to sleep in the house of someone who hated me for being American. As I mention before, I was in the middle of the rural area and even the cute and charming village was a couple miles away, but there I stood for what seemed an eternity until the cab arrived.

The driver may have noticed that I was a bit shook up and offered to stop at a pub but a bit scared of encountering more trouble, I decline and headed for the train station in Alkmaar. 

My legs were trembling and my heart racing. I was determined to sleep on a bench if necessary, but could no longer take all the talk of war and hate. Now I look back on the whole thing and realized that my host was just as scared as everyone else in those uncertain times. The only thing worse than his fear, was mine, and most time we deal with things the best we can we the tools and experience that we carry in our hearts.

I was lucky enough to catch the last train to Amsterdam.