Our day at the Hillinger Winery started with a sunny walk up a windswept hill. The winery itself is built into the hillside in a tiny old town in Burgenland. It looks rather out of place, a sleek Bond Villain lair, all white and glass and modern, and the townspeople were apparently very upset when it was planned. Now that their hotels and restaurants are frequented by wine tourists, criticism has lessened considerably.
Not only does Hillinger make great wine, but their marketing savvy is apparent at every turn. Their packaging is gorgeous, the winemaker himself a larger than life Bond Villain/Viking whose visage can be seen on two large screen plasma TVs at all times in the tasting room/retail shop, in a video introduction to the winery that runs on a loop every twenty or so minutes. When he finally arrived at our tasting, he seemed comparatively small, despite the fact that he towered over everyone and his hands were each bigger than my head. After a lovely meal and a tasting of the entire portfolio, the night devolved into a dance party that once again reminded me how European gaydar is a technology far beyond my comprehension.

After checking my suitcases to be held at the airport (for 3 Euro each - a bargain, I spent several hours on Saturday walking around Vienna by myself. I spent some time walking through the touristy areas again, and then eventually made my way to a neighborhood where the regular people live. I walked through shops, took some pictures at a march against internet censorship, and basically wandered aimlessly, rarely speaking, trying to disappear into the crowd. After a week as a Guest of Honor/Tourist, it was a welcome relief.

The flight to Amsterdam was short, and the b.h. was waiting for me when I got off the plane. We went immediately to our hotel, where one foot high and three inch wide stairs carried us to our fourth floor room. One bag at a time we went, even then sometimes barely getting through doorways. It was hilarious. We went out right away to a Moroccan restaurant that the b.h. had found on the internet. Walking there down dark and mostly deserted streets was a surprise to me since it was Saturday night, and I was thinking that this was the first time since I had arrived in Europe that I felt a bit unsafe, like we might be mugged. I kept a brisk pace and maintained a full awareness of our surroundings. When we arrived at the restaurant, it was easy to see why no one was on the street. Apparently everyone and their very attractive mother was there, laughing and eating and drinking and having a great time. The service was iffy, and we thought it might have been our own confusion about whether to move around to the service part of the bar (in the States that space is reserved for waiters) to order a drink. We ended up waiting til we were seated to get one, which was fine. The food was excellent and the atmosphere lively, and had we not both been so exhausted we would likely have stayed there a long time. More confusion at bill-paying time, as we waited patiently at our table for the waitress to collect our credit card, only to be told ten minutes later to pay at the front. Ah. Cultural differences. No matter, as we were enjoying the scenery and just happy to be together again after a long six days.

We had breakfast at the hotel and lugged our six bags back down the stairs and left them in a closet while we walked around the city. The most striking thing to me was the sheer number of bicycles, which far outnumbered cars and were ridden by people of all ages and types. My favorite were the young men huffing and puffing at the pedals while their girlfriends rode side saddle on the back, smoking cigarettes and looking perfectly blase' about the whole thing. We walked around a bit, taking pictures and seeing sights, and then had coffee, lunch, and a beer at a small cafe across from the massive Heineken Brewery. We went to the State Museum, which was open during renovation and had the bonus of cramming a "best of" into a condensed tour. Both the Van Gogh and Rembrandt museums were closed, so we saw what we could see and then called our friends C and C over near Rotterdam to pick us up. We waited in a nearby pub with another coffee and another beer. I discovered that Amstel makes a delicious Bock beer. Of course they don't export it to the states, so I have always associated their name with the tasteless "light" swill that I have slung for so many years. No more.

C and C ("The Dutch") are looking fabulous. We hadn't all been together since Athfest of 2008, but we were all comfortable together immediately. We stopped on the way to their house at a renovated church that has been converted to a restaurant/organic produce shop. We took a quick tour, had a bite to eat and a drink, and then continued on to their place. They live on a very deep canal across from an old church whose bells are clearly audible on the half hour. Huge ships passed regularly, providing a lovely backdrop the the cozy warmth inside. We got more beer and spent the evening on their couches.
On Sunday we visited Delft. We walked all over, ate some traditional tiny pancakes, drank coffee, bought cheese, took a million pictures. Everything in Europe is so old that I was constantly amazed. The thing about growing up in Chicago is that there is very little history, since the whole city burned to the ground in 1871, and the one building that survived was only built to years prior. Because of this, virtually everything filled me with a sense of wonder, and being in places like Delft made me feel small. I loved it.

On Tuesday we drove to Brugge, Belgium. The only indications that we had passed a border were small signs on the highway and the gentleman who came up to the car window and offered us a handful of chocolate bars as we were entering town. Again everything was stunning, again we walked and walked and ate and drank and drank some more, and I took several hundred photos. We ate a Belgian waffle smothered in chocolate and drank beer in a pub on the square. We went to Gent in the afternoon and repeated the same pattern, changing it up slightly by visiting a Medieval castle. One of the great things about being with The Dutch is that there were always plenty of stops for food, coffee and beer.

Wednesday we went to Rotterdam. I adored it. It was easily the most comfortable I had felt anywhere since I had left home. We walked and walked again, sampling local food (Can we talk about the french fries with mayo and Thai peanut sauce? Whoever thought of that deserves a major award) and drinks, and generally soaking it all in. The Hotel New York was particularly enjoyable. We know that the b.h.'s grandparents were in Rotterdam while his grandfather was in the military, and The Dutch said that this was where his grandmother's ship would have arrived and likely where they would have stayed. Visually, little had changed since that time. The decor was beautiful.
On the way back to the car, I bought a tall, brown, gorgeous pair of D0c M@artens for a ridiculously low price (they were the last pair) at a shop where I could easily have outfitted myself for the next decade were it not for the lack of space in my bags.

That night we ate Indonesian food from a small take-out place near the house. The b.h. and I had never had Indonesian food before, and it was quite a happy discovery. Thursday we stayed at the house, packing and eating and being lazy while we waited to go to the train station.

Saying goodbye to The Dutch is always difficult, but we hope this time it won't be four years before we see them again.