In Holland, Michigan, single female travelers of my skin color are clearly a rarity.
The old man sitting at the window of one of the many downtown restaurants nudged his wife and pointed at me. The old couple on my left at the restaurant couldn’t stop staring at me or the food I ordered. The middle-aged couple on my right were startled when I requested them to take a picture of me with my camera. The vacuous young woman at the counter of the local museum asked me, “Have you come to look at the museum?” when I entered. The lady at the cafe couldn’t understand my simple request to open a juice bottle. Hell, a lot of people didn’t understand me in Holland.
It was all mildly racist or I am just spoiled rotten by Midwestern hospitality.
I should cut the Hollanders a little slack really. This is a small town the size of Peoria, (population about 250,000) on the western side of Michigan State. It is situated on the eastern end of Lake Macatawa, a dinky little lake (6 miles long and 1.2 miles wide), perpendicular to and feeding into the Lake Michigan. It is 80% white and was voted one of the best places in America to retire. It is also not so much on the regular traveler’s map.
Holland was established by Dr. Albertus Van Raatle, a Dutch separatist Calvinist in 1847. The Dutch heritage is central to the place’s cultural identify, and they get it off with the Tulip festival, an authentic windmill imported from Netherlands, a Dutch village and various other exotica. It is firmly a Bible town, with 170 churches, if Wikipedia is to be believed.
You get the picture.
I picked Holland as a holiday destination using the scientific method of playing “inky-pinky-ponky.” Memorial Day weekend was fast approaching and the vague plans I had of visiting friends fell through due to various reasons. D, the friendly shuttle driver at the hotel suggested Michigan when he overheard a couple of us discussing the weekend in the van. “How does one get there?” I asked him. “Train,” he said. And had me.
Anybody who has visited the US would agree with me that there is never a more exciting or wondrous sight as the gleaming, aerodynamically designed Amtrak train thundering past. And if you are in NY/NJ, you will find that the passengers are usually these sharply dressed professionals pulling their smart roller bags and matching computer cases, walking purposefully with not a hair out of place, casting disdainful glances at all the losers traveling by local trains.
I have always, to quote Liz Lemon of 30 Rock, “Wanted to go to there!”
So I came to my room, Googled “weekend trips to Michigan” and came up with several destinations in the Grand Rapids-Holland-Grand Haven area. I chose Holland because I liked the looks of Big Red, the beautiful lighthouse. With a fast beating heart, I booked my Amtrak tickets.
The Amtrak region of Union Station at Chicago did not disappoint at all. It was like the port at any great city of antiquity as described by travelers such as Megasthanes. It was teeming with people of all kinds of denominations. There, a Texan ranger--was that a saddle that he had thrown on his shoulder--walking past a group of Amish people, in their archaic attire! Oh there, a couple of pretty Indian nurses (or doctors) walking past with, “Mujhe nahi pata tha ki itni lambi line hogi!” Of course--a multitude of Latino people with their beautiful children, mingling with pretty/handsome college kids. Oh, to have the gleaming tresses, tight asses, and lithe bodies of youth! Would the picture be complete without the harried looking professional type with his briefcase and frown?
It was all very diverting.
The interior of the train was all swell, although the cafe car was disappointing. (I really didn’t know what I was expecting though.) My neighbor was a young man with a distinctive accent which he later explained as Scottish. He slept most of the time but we managed to pack a lot in the brief time we did talk. He also did something that pleased me very much--as soon as I said I write a travel blog, he searched for the URL on his phone an even graciously read some parts of it. He also complimented me on it. J, if you are reading this as you said you would, thank you!
I reached Holland at 9:30 p.m. but thankfully, there was a taxi waiting for me and I was whisked off to my hotel. The hotel, belonging to the same chain I am staying in Chicago, was away from town, in the middle of nowhere. Only lonely roads and distant factories surrounded it. It was full.
The next day, in my determined way, I found out that there is a local bus service, not unlike the one I used to patronize in Peoria, and one lone bus came near the hotel at 20 minutes past the hour, from 6:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., Monday through Saturday. I trudged along the lonely road and stood near the bus stop sign, with not another human being in sight. I was expecting a sinister trailer come up the road to the accompaniment of harmonica music any moment.
I was the second passenger in the bus and we made it that way to the Padnos Transportation Center. Luckily, the Windmill Island was just off the bus station so I walked thither. I have seen prettier parks. But the 250-year old De Zwaan windmill, imported from Netherlands as CKD and put up together in Michigan actually works. The flour they grind there is for sale. The tour guides are young women dressed in traditional Dutch costumes who also entertain visitors with traditional Dutch folk dance from time to time. The tour up the windmill alone was worth the trip.
The park is full of other Dutch exotica, like a recreation of a 13th century way side inn, a 19th century street organ, and a supposedly Dutch carousel. The signs are what really caught my attention, like “don’t touch the turtles--they bite!”
I walked around the gardens for a couple of hours and was getting quite fatigued by the heat and humidity. I set off in search of downtown for some food. On the way, I met a couple of women, who again did not understand me, but were curious about what I was doing there alone.
Downtown Holland is determinedly pretty and quaint, with a lot of interesting shops (not one chain store), lovely old buildings, and many restaurants. I had a very American lunch at Alpenrose. After lunch, I set out to explore the town a little more. The older parts of Holland are lovely, with old buildings sitting there like art pieces, a sylvan garden at the center and a surprisingly good museum. It is also a college town (Hope College) with the usual sprinkling of young people on bicycles, playing Frisbee at the park, or roaring around in fast cars.
I think I had a mild heat stroke by this time as my legs were cramping, my head was beginning to throb, and I was exhausted. I somehow made my way back to the transportation center by 6:00 p.m. The driver recognized me. This time, I was the only passenger.
I had planned to go to the Dutch village the next day morning, but two things stopped me. One, I realized that the buses don’t run on Sundays. I was unwilling to spend money on taxis. Two, I was still exhausted from the previous day’s excursions. I decided to conserve my energy and aim only for the dinner cruise I had booked myself into that evening.
The Holland Princess dinner cruise is on a 65' Victorian style paddle wheel river boat, done up quite tackily with plastic furniture, plastic crockery, and even plastic lei (sigh!). It docks at the eastern end of the Macatawa lake, near a scrap metal factory, on the very unimpressive Dutton park. My heart sank at the sight of all this.
But despite all this, the cruise was most enjoyable. It is a two-hour ride, during which the old boat sails sedately along the length of the Macatawa lake, toots merrily as it crosses the channel, sails a little bit in the open waters of Lake Michigan, and then returns even more slowly than it was on the way out.
All through our journey, we were outpaced by all sorts of recreational water vehicles known to man--speed boats, launches, sail boats, and yachts. People and dogs of all ages who were riding on them waved at us vigorously. Teenagers screamed in mirth when the boat tooted its old-fashioned siren. Cheerily fat people looked at us with great affection from under their colorful umbrellas on various scraps of beaches. Huge holiday homes of local and national millionaires with their private piers and assortment of boats lined the entire length of the lake on both sides.
But the sight most unforgettable was that of the Big Red. This lighthouse was first erected in 1872 at the mouth of the channel between the Macatawa and Michigan lakes and was improved upon until 1880. It is bright red and is one of the most beautiful sights in Holland. It is no longer in operation, but is a “protected” monument. They say the best view is from across the channel from the Holland State Park, but I say the Holland Princess cruise has the best, as it goes much closer. Pictures at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=215450&id=547851114&l=77c4ca71fa.
The Holland Princess was started very recently and I hope that people patronize it more so that they graduate from plastic to something more classy. I wish it all the best.
I was all ready to get back this morning, but had forgotten that I am Calamity Jane. While it was very warm and humid in the past two days, dark clouds gathered early this morning. The first crack of thunder was heard at 5:30 a.m. After about half an hour of light and sound show, the heavens opened and it poured. I haven’t seen a thunder storm like this in the US. My third floor room seemed much closer to the elements. I rode to the station in a torrential downpour with visibility of probably five feet.
I was wet and cold when I stepped into the station, along with a bunch of equally wet people, all exclaiming about the weather. There is something nice about waiting in a pretty train station with a bunch of people while the rain lashes at the window panes.
It eventually stopped raining. The train was a little late but I had a very pleasant journey back to Chicago, though Chicago also was very gloomy. I got back to my dear old Deerfield and was picked up by the hotel shuttle promptly. Ah, the comfort of familiar things!
The old man sitting at the window of one of the many downtown restaurants nudged his wife and pointed at me. The old couple on my left at the restaurant couldn’t stop staring at me or the food I ordered. The middle-aged couple on my right were startled when I requested them to take a picture of me with my camera. The vacuous young woman at the counter of the local museum asked me, “Have you come to look at the museum?” when I entered. The lady at the cafe couldn’t understand my simple request to open a juice bottle. Hell, a lot of people didn’t understand me in Holland.
It was all mildly racist or I am just spoiled rotten by Midwestern hospitality.
I should cut the Hollanders a little slack really. This is a small town the size of Peoria, (population about 250,000) on the western side of Michigan State. It is situated on the eastern end of Lake Macatawa, a dinky little lake (6 miles long and 1.2 miles wide), perpendicular to and feeding into the Lake Michigan. It is 80% white and was voted one of the best places in America to retire. It is also not so much on the regular traveler’s map.
Holland was established by Dr. Albertus Van Raatle, a Dutch separatist Calvinist in 1847. The Dutch heritage is central to the place’s cultural identify, and they get it off with the Tulip festival, an authentic windmill imported from Netherlands, a Dutch village and various other exotica. It is firmly a Bible town, with 170 churches, if Wikipedia is to be believed.
You get the picture.
I picked Holland as a holiday destination using the scientific method of playing “inky-pinky-ponky.” Memorial Day weekend was fast approaching and the vague plans I had of visiting friends fell through due to various reasons. D, the friendly shuttle driver at the hotel suggested Michigan when he overheard a couple of us discussing the weekend in the van. “How does one get there?” I asked him. “Train,” he said. And had me.
Anybody who has visited the US would agree with me that there is never a more exciting or wondrous sight as the gleaming, aerodynamically designed Amtrak train thundering past. And if you are in NY/NJ, you will find that the passengers are usually these sharply dressed professionals pulling their smart roller bags and matching computer cases, walking purposefully with not a hair out of place, casting disdainful glances at all the losers traveling by local trains.
I have always, to quote Liz Lemon of 30 Rock, “Wanted to go to there!”
So I came to my room, Googled “weekend trips to Michigan” and came up with several destinations in the Grand Rapids-Holland-Grand Haven area. I chose Holland because I liked the looks of Big Red, the beautiful lighthouse. With a fast beating heart, I booked my Amtrak tickets.
The Amtrak region of Union Station at Chicago did not disappoint at all. It was like the port at any great city of antiquity as described by travelers such as Megasthanes. It was teeming with people of all kinds of denominations. There, a Texan ranger--was that a saddle that he had thrown on his shoulder--walking past a group of Amish people, in their archaic attire! Oh there, a couple of pretty Indian nurses (or doctors) walking past with, “Mujhe nahi pata tha ki itni lambi line hogi!” Of course--a multitude of Latino people with their beautiful children, mingling with pretty/handsome college kids. Oh, to have the gleaming tresses, tight asses, and lithe bodies of youth! Would the picture be complete without the harried looking professional type with his briefcase and frown?
It was all very diverting.
The interior of the train was all swell, although the cafe car was disappointing. (I really didn’t know what I was expecting though.) My neighbor was a young man with a distinctive accent which he later explained as Scottish. He slept most of the time but we managed to pack a lot in the brief time we did talk. He also did something that pleased me very much--as soon as I said I write a travel blog, he searched for the URL on his phone an even graciously read some parts of it. He also complimented me on it. J, if you are reading this as you said you would, thank you!
I reached Holland at 9:30 p.m. but thankfully, there was a taxi waiting for me and I was whisked off to my hotel. The hotel, belonging to the same chain I am staying in Chicago, was away from town, in the middle of nowhere. Only lonely roads and distant factories surrounded it. It was full.
The next day, in my determined way, I found out that there is a local bus service, not unlike the one I used to patronize in Peoria, and one lone bus came near the hotel at 20 minutes past the hour, from 6:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., Monday through Saturday. I trudged along the lonely road and stood near the bus stop sign, with not another human being in sight. I was expecting a sinister trailer come up the road to the accompaniment of harmonica music any moment.
I was the second passenger in the bus and we made it that way to the Padnos Transportation Center. Luckily, the Windmill Island was just off the bus station so I walked thither. I have seen prettier parks. But the 250-year old De Zwaan windmill, imported from Netherlands as CKD and put up together in Michigan actually works. The flour they grind there is for sale. The tour guides are young women dressed in traditional Dutch costumes who also entertain visitors with traditional Dutch folk dance from time to time. The tour up the windmill alone was worth the trip.
The park is full of other Dutch exotica, like a recreation of a 13th century way side inn, a 19th century street organ, and a supposedly Dutch carousel. The signs are what really caught my attention, like “don’t touch the turtles--they bite!”
I walked around the gardens for a couple of hours and was getting quite fatigued by the heat and humidity. I set off in search of downtown for some food. On the way, I met a couple of women, who again did not understand me, but were curious about what I was doing there alone.
Downtown Holland is determinedly pretty and quaint, with a lot of interesting shops (not one chain store), lovely old buildings, and many restaurants. I had a very American lunch at Alpenrose. After lunch, I set out to explore the town a little more. The older parts of Holland are lovely, with old buildings sitting there like art pieces, a sylvan garden at the center and a surprisingly good museum. It is also a college town (Hope College) with the usual sprinkling of young people on bicycles, playing Frisbee at the park, or roaring around in fast cars.
I think I had a mild heat stroke by this time as my legs were cramping, my head was beginning to throb, and I was exhausted. I somehow made my way back to the transportation center by 6:00 p.m. The driver recognized me. This time, I was the only passenger.
I had planned to go to the Dutch village the next day morning, but two things stopped me. One, I realized that the buses don’t run on Sundays. I was unwilling to spend money on taxis. Two, I was still exhausted from the previous day’s excursions. I decided to conserve my energy and aim only for the dinner cruise I had booked myself into that evening.
The Holland Princess dinner cruise is on a 65' Victorian style paddle wheel river boat, done up quite tackily with plastic furniture, plastic crockery, and even plastic lei (sigh!). It docks at the eastern end of the Macatawa lake, near a scrap metal factory, on the very unimpressive Dutton park. My heart sank at the sight of all this.
But despite all this, the cruise was most enjoyable. It is a two-hour ride, during which the old boat sails sedately along the length of the Macatawa lake, toots merrily as it crosses the channel, sails a little bit in the open waters of Lake Michigan, and then returns even more slowly than it was on the way out.
All through our journey, we were outpaced by all sorts of recreational water vehicles known to man--speed boats, launches, sail boats, and yachts. People and dogs of all ages who were riding on them waved at us vigorously. Teenagers screamed in mirth when the boat tooted its old-fashioned siren. Cheerily fat people looked at us with great affection from under their colorful umbrellas on various scraps of beaches. Huge holiday homes of local and national millionaires with their private piers and assortment of boats lined the entire length of the lake on both sides.
But the sight most unforgettable was that of the Big Red. This lighthouse was first erected in 1872 at the mouth of the channel between the Macatawa and Michigan lakes and was improved upon until 1880. It is bright red and is one of the most beautiful sights in Holland. It is no longer in operation, but is a “protected” monument. They say the best view is from across the channel from the Holland State Park, but I say the Holland Princess cruise has the best, as it goes much closer. Pictures at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=215450&id=547851114&l=77c4ca71fa.
The Holland Princess was started very recently and I hope that people patronize it more so that they graduate from plastic to something more classy. I wish it all the best.
I was all ready to get back this morning, but had forgotten that I am Calamity Jane. While it was very warm and humid in the past two days, dark clouds gathered early this morning. The first crack of thunder was heard at 5:30 a.m. After about half an hour of light and sound show, the heavens opened and it poured. I haven’t seen a thunder storm like this in the US. My third floor room seemed much closer to the elements. I rode to the station in a torrential downpour with visibility of probably five feet.
I was wet and cold when I stepped into the station, along with a bunch of equally wet people, all exclaiming about the weather. There is something nice about waiting in a pretty train station with a bunch of people while the rain lashes at the window panes.
It eventually stopped raining. The train was a little late but I had a very pleasant journey back to Chicago, though Chicago also was very gloomy. I got back to my dear old Deerfield and was picked up by the hotel shuttle promptly. Ah, the comfort of familiar things!
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