Self-poortait
We got on a tram before i was awake, although strangely lucid and alert for a sleeping person. Then we got on a train. We took the train to a bus. And there we were, at the Kröller-Müller Museum.
I had been here before, but my memory, without aide of digital devices is sorely lacking. It was all new to me. (I don’t know what I was doing 3 years ago, let alone 10)
Touring the museum, leisurely (there was no crowd right when it opened), was quite nice. In between galleries, I sat and had a Fanta with Dan. I have always loved the non-sweet tickle of orange Fanta in Europe. Why on earth they sell the sugary crap-variant with the same name in the US, baffles me.
We regroup and wander the sculpture gardens. Quite idyllic, this place.
After some tasty sausage, potatoes, vegetables, applesauce, pickles and mustard (and more Fanta), it was off to the bikes to hit a tour of the Hunting Lodge.
The hunting lodge had one interesting combination of design details I thought was amusingly anal. The sideboard in the entryway had four legs that lined up with the tile pattern on the floor. How peculiar, these wealthy folk.
Leaving the lodge, we found two bikes missing, and the other group on the tour (a dozen perhaps) also found their bikes gone. We tried a few combinations of getting two fellers on one bike, with no success.
No mind, I walked with the Marmot and he pointed out trees and other details of the landscape I may have missed on wheels.
That evening, we hit bars and I frankly don’t remember much of them. Dark, smoky, crowded, and little beers.