By Kathy Hughes
Contributing Writer
I described my wonderful “bike and barge” trip to Holland in a previous article, describing what a leisurely, relaxing trip it was, in fact, “the best vacation ever.”
I was with a group of 23 Central New Yorkers, but we were not all acquainted. The bikes and the tour guide were provided, and rode along with us as we lumbered along Holland’s legendary canals, visiting a total of six towns and cities: Amsterdam, Amstel, Leiden, Delft, The Hague and the seaside, Scheveningen.
We met our barge and crew in Amsterdam, which was also our port of return. The crew consisted of the captain, two cooks/ships mates and our tour guide. Our tour guide was an energetic woman in her late twenties, who spoke perfect English. If there was one person upon whom the success of the trip depended, she was the one. An outgoing young woman in her late twenties, she was a perfect fit for the job — she knew every bike route, every attraction on our route.
The rest of the crew was, well, different. The captain, probably in his mid to late fifties, was ‘captain” more in the military mode than a cruise ship. He didn’t take his meals with us, or socialize, but neither was he unfriendly. The two cooks were ex-British navy men, recently furloughed from the Faulkland Islands action. They were very willing to interact with us, making it clear that they weren’t sailors who cooked, but rather “chefs” who sailed. They got that right, the food was excellent.
When I first met the ship and crew, we were docked at Amsterdam. Since our cabins had not yet been assigned, and I was feeling urgent pressure to find a bathroom, I took the first chance I found in a room adjoining the lounge with a door marked “Privé.” When I exited, the captain and shipmates stood next to the door, and the captain not only looked displeases, he was displeased, very displeased.
“Don’t you know what ‘private’ means? It means you don’t go in there, only the crew can go in there.” It was clear that if I said it was an emergency, he was not going to offer a genial, “That’s all right, just next time pay attention.” At a loss for words, I found myself saying, “It said privé, I thought that meant ‘privy.’”
Unexpectedly, one of the English sailors piped in, “You know, she’s right. There’s an English word ‘privy’ that means toilet.” The captain’s face was not jolly as it fell, he still wasn’t happy, but I could tell I was off the hook. I cowered slightly, giving my rescuer a grateful glance as I did. This was a captain who took his role seriously, and everyone else was expected to also. I never questioned his authority again.
If there was any downside to the trip, it was that, with the pre-paid elaborate meals on board every day, we never experienced the local cuisine or restaurant scene. While Dutch cuisine isn’t generally notable, with a large influx from the former Dutch colonies in Africa and Southeast Asia, there was a diverse offering of international restaurants.
Yet, how could I complain? Furthermore, I would not want to do anything that might cause my champion, “the chef who sails,” to feel sighted. I think he really stuck his neck out for me with regard to the captain, who could have had his cat o’ nine tails at the ready, for all I knew.
