Ed. Non personal and clickable images have been uploaded. When I feel like it, I’ll add some of the 200+ digital photos online.
Is it too late yet, 
to look back at 2004? In conversations between the better-half and the mirror-half, we were reminded of our first flight back to Holland. But before I go too fast, it was a second reminder of Alfons that mom’s health was going downhill fast, sent on a Tuesday, September 19th. The text read something like:
“I’d like to remind you that if you want to see mom alive, you have to plan something really soon.”
The next couple of days it was about decisions, permissions (I’m particularly thankful to my boss) and a Friday after-hours Emergency passport pickup (I also owe the Dutch consulate a gracious thank you). If I’m not wrong, the tickets were already ordered by then and we were scheduled to leave for Frankfurt am Main on Wednesday the 28th.
Frankfurt, yes. To be honest, 
I had no idea how to get to Holland from
Frankfurt, but I knew it had been traveled before. Up to this day, I still think it was a brilliant decision of my wife and me to go via Frankfurt. It was cheaper, sure, but travelling by train, back to the Netherlands? It’s magic. It’s amazing. The Bundesbahn trains are clean too. We weren’t aware of the fact that we were sitting in seats that were 
already reserved or pre-booked. As a tip, you can tell from the display on your right or left side above the window. If it says a destination, you’re not supposed to sit on that seat.
Another remarkable thing: 
You can tell when you cross the border between Holland and Germany. Watch for the yellow license plates on cars. You can also tell from the cows and maybe, if you’re lucky, tell from the windmills. Or you can wait for the train conductor.
We arrived in Arnhem around 4 where (surprisingly) 
Alfons was awaiting us to shoot the images of our first steps on Dutch soil. And he had bought our first Dutch train tickets. Expensive they were, but we deserved to go first class. It was perfect weather too. And come to think of it, at arrival at Deventer railwaystation, I should have made a picture of the crowd. Gave me a headache. The noise. The people. The hunger. Thankfully, Alfons was so kind enough to have some food ready. My wife liked the ‘amandel spijs letter’. There was also an emotional 
encounter with my sister and her kids, but I’ll leave those pictures out. From then on, it was to the hotel, freshen up and straight back to home for welcome, gift exchange, supper and talks. Long talks. Upbeat talks.
The days after went fast. I was 
surprised about my mom’s good appetite (something I took as a very good sign which it wasn’t: she died the week after). There were days we walked and travelled forth and back from hotel to home. The accomodation
(the hotel) was perfect: it’s in the middle of the city, in the heart of the shopping center. And someone had free WIFI available too. There was a silly encounter with an old friend of mine. There 
was also an encounter with a night guard who happened to be from Quebec. ‘We’re from Nova Scotia!’, I remember yelling back. We saw the market. We saw the windmills. We cooked. We lunched in restaurants were smoking was still allowed. We saw ‘the bridge too far’.We ate patat-met. I drove the bicycle, with the mirror-half on the rear seat. We noticed life was expensive, but public transportation was (as always) top-notch. I managed to see all the nephews and nieces, who I expected 
all to be still 6 years old. After all time had not been on my side for 3.5 years.
And time has not been on our side for 3 and half years. Until we meet again.
