My sister and I got a late start yesterday. We have been staying up late and then getting up relatively early but puttering about and chatting and drinking coffees. So, yesterday we got out around 3p. Sima wanted to take me to a brewery that is in a windmill. Sure, I am in Holland…we could have gone on the Heineken tour but this was a much better idea for me. We walked many blocks to catch the tram. It was a lovely walk. It was brisk yesterday. The sun was shining but it was definitely cool as we walked these beautiful Amsterdam neighborhoods.
We got over to the tram and were looking at the map. Sima was explaining where we were going and how to read the tram schedule when this old man walked up to us pushing his bicycle. He was grinning at me. As he stood in front of me he had me blocked by his bike and he was speaking to me in Dutch. At least, I think it was Dutch and he had this big smile as he spoke to me. Then he reached out to me. I thought I would be polite and shake his hand as he was reaching for me. Plus it was odd. Honestly, I wasn’t sure why he was reaching out to touch me. I figured a hand shake would put the kabosh on the ensuing weirdness. As he took my hand and started shaking it his grip got tighter. He wouldn’t let go of my hand. I tired to pull my hand away but couldn’t. He kept looking at me and muttering in Dutch. Then, EEWWWW, he started to rub the inside of my palm with his fingers while he smiled and muttered at me. I couldn’t rip my hand away. I finally took my left hand and pried my right from him. I kept explaining I only spoke English. Then Sima told him the same. Then he reached over and started rubbing my belly and saying, “Kinder.” Okay, so the guy thought I was pregnant!! If he thought I was pregnant why was he molesting me? It was a bizarre moment. I explained I wasn’t pregnant. I kept saying, “No!!” It was a combination of if you speak loud enough in any language “they” will understand you. Finally, the guy shuffled off after Sima got very stern with him.
The brewery was a much better experience than Lester the Molester at the tram stop. The windmill is beautiful. The guide at the brewery was great! He was very knowledgeable on the beer making process and knew a lot about this particular brewery. Up until recently it was owned by one man. That man, Kasper, sold the business to a larger business. But it has remained a small brewery making 250,000 liters a year up from the previous 200,000. They only export 1% of the beer they produce to the US and the UK. Pretty unfortunate as I found the beer to be delicious! I am not a big drinker or a big beer drinker but this is beer I could drink a lot and often!
We started the tour on the top floor. He explained the hops and the barley processes to us. Fascinating! 
Then he said, “now, we are going downstairs.” I felt a moment of panic. Not only am I not a huge fan of stairs…especially, going down them…I just didn’t want to embarrass myself as I had heard tales about Dutch stairs. Dutch stairs are known to be windy and tight and very shallow. They also don’t always have handrails. I let everyone go down the stairs ahead of me until there was just me and a young couple waiting to go down the stairs. One of the men had crutches. I told him I was going to be slow going down. He laughed and said, “Me too.” He went first. I stood at the top and, well, you can imagine the words that were running through my head. They were steep, and windy, and curved and had no handrail. The good news is since I am so wide my body hugged every curve and I got down no problem. When I met the tour in the room everyone turned and looked as they were waiting for me. I threw my hands in the air, curtseyed and said, “Ta Dah!” Sima said to the group, “those were her first Dutch stairs.” Everyone clapped. Then I thought the guide asked, “Am I your first Dutch guy?” To which I responded, “No.” Then Sima said, “guide.” Then I said, “Your not my first Dutch guy but you are my first Dutch guide.” Everyone laughed. It was a very fun moment. I went up the stairs last, again. I climbed them like a ladder with my hands on the steps in front of me. 
After the tour we sat outside under the windmill and drank beer. I shared Sima’s since the beer was strong, 8% alcohol. We talked and people watched and talked to other people. It was a great time.
Last night we went to dinner at a little neighborhood cafe. I usually have menu item envy. Inevitably, when I go out with people I often times wish I ordered what someone else ordered. Last night, however, I was very pleased with my choice. Ben ordered venison. Besides being Bambi it was so rare I kept expecting it to hop off the table and search for Santa. 
Sima ordered sole in butter sauce, which I had considered, but was very, very glad I hadn’t when it came with the tail, head and skeleton attached. I ordered the chicken satay. It came with spicy green beans that were cooked in a hot red coconut sauce. In the US, satay sauce, at least the sauce that I am used to, is light in color. This sauce was dark and rich and thick. It was delicious.
Such tasty pictures… and the descriptions are even better!