Day 65 - When is a Language Not a Language?

When it's a throat disease! There is a joke among Germans that Dutch is not a language, but an illness of the throat. It is true that there are a LOT of "Ch's" - pronounced, like, well clearing your throat - but the assessment is a little severe. That said, today we visited The Hague. In Dutch, Den Haag - Pronounced Den Hah-gch. In the Hague, we visited the Art Gallery with its fine collection of both old and new Dutch Masters. Among the prizes are a series of classic floral still-lifes. Did you know that until the 17th century in Holland flowers were not considered worthy to be the subject of a still-life? And did you know that those still-lifes are 1) Invented - the flowers in them are rarely species that bloom at the same time 2) were considered wildly exotic. At the time the famous still-lifes, tulips, irises and poppies were exotic imports. The painter had to have an in with a botonist or hortoculturalist from whom he could borrow specimins. And we have met The Girl With a Pearl Earring. She sends her regards. She is quite small - about the size of the Mona Lisa. Surprisingly, even with a book and a movie to her credit, her painting is not mobbed with visitors like Mona. Perhaps because she lives in a small Museum in a small Dutch city, rather than the Capitol Museum of what many consider the true Capitol of European Culture. Location is everything - I say it works in her favor. After the museum, we had a nice stroll about town, admiring the buildings and window-shopping.

Home again at the houseboat we visited while HS, B, and D began preparing barbeque. Tied to the big houseboat is a [much] smaller vessel. I decided to try going for a row in the canal. Upstream is hard - breaking through the pondscum is not to far from breaking through thin ice. I made it my goal to pass at least one bridge. I succeded, much to the distress of Lake-Chicken Rosula.

She is a VERY protective mother hen. When we fed her and her brood she would not let any ducks withing 25 metres of the boat, shooing them away with much posturing and chirping. The ducks I understand - they are only slightly bigger than she is. My paddle boat is another matter altogether. This lake chicken is no...chicken. And she has no sense of scale. The route to the bridge passed right by her nest. As my boat neared, she put on the same display, chasing my boat and practically running on the water while thumping her chest with her wings. She is one tough cookie, that Rosula.

I returned unharmed for delicious barbecue cooked on the boat's back patio. Yeah, It's a houseboat, with a paddleboat, and a back patio. I have some serious apartment envy right now. Once again, the food and the company were both great, but we were all so tired that we barely stayed up until 10:30. We are a pathetic excuse for young people.