Belgium and Holland (part 2 of 4)

"I'm reaching out
For something I can't touch
Although I know I want to
Taking in the scenery
You're the ghost in my machinery
... I want to jump into the river
Feel it on my skin."
 - The River, by KT Tunstall 

I was up early on Tuesday. Desi and I and the two kids caught a ride with a friend on our way to a place where she volunteers. We walked another mile or so more, pushing the strollers in front of us on the balmy morning until we reached a four-floor apartment building. The place is a ministry which helps women in prostitution. The top floor is an art studio for counseling, praying, and therapy. The floor below has a small kitchen and dining room space and a couple of offices. The second floor is also offices and a more formal meeting space, and the first floor is a coffee shop. Women are invited to stop in for counseling, for a meal, for help finding a new place to live if they need somewhere away from where they have been working, and, if they are serious about wanting a change, they can work in the coffee shop part-time. This allows them to earn an income and have something to put on a resume, along with a letter of recommendation. In this way, they can finally leave prostitution. 

Each floor was small, connected by very narrow stairs (they seem to like steep, narrow stairways in Belgium and Holland which often found me gripping tightly to the handrail; perhaps they're created to take up as little space as possible within a building), yet each floor was quite inviting. The art and counseling space was beautiful, so warm and welcoming I wanted to model some future living room after it. Up there was where Desi went to translate. Some of the women who come seeking help are originally from Spain and South America, thus Desi translates between Spanish and Dutch. I watched the two kids in the floor below, while a kindly volunteer cooked lunch. I answered the doorbell when it buzzed, letting in women who had come for counseling. One was a Muslim woman in a hijab who smiled shyly at me and the children. There’s a large Muslim population there, as in much of Europe. 

We ate lunch all together, which was again a mix of three languages (Desi and I speaking Spanish to the kids, the other volunteers and women speaking English with me and Dutch to each other).  I was only there for a morning, yet I could picture myself returning. The ministry was exactly what I dreamed of having for the women in prostitution in Quito. I wanted to know more about the resources it took to keep the place going. Desi told me that the whole thing started with individuals who struck up friendships with women in the windows of the red-light district in Amsterdam, just as Desi and I had done with women on the streets in Quito. From there they rented one floor of an apartment as an office and counseling space. When another floor in the same building became available, they rented that as well, and then the next. Finally, the man who was still living in the fourth floor eventually conceded that the best thing to do was move out and let the ministry have that space as well, since every day he was walking past all three of their floors and seeing the women go in and out. 

After lunch, Desi and I pushed the strollers through the city of Antwerp, taking our time as we admired more ancient buildings set as a backdrop for shop windows filled with modern brands, until we reached the grand train terminal. It's a stately building, a bit famous in the area, I gathered, so Desi insisted we take a number of photos, to which I certainly didn't object. Desi purchased our tickets to go to Holland, about a two-hour ride away. I brought my passport but didn’t need it. We crossed into a new country as easily as that. 

Loading two strollers on and off a train isn't easy. We had to sit in a connection car for the first leg of the trip, which was hot and noisy. When we switched trains, there was a car specifically made for people with bicycles and strollers; much roomier and with better air circulation. 

Desi’s sister met us at the train station along with Desi's six-year-old daughter, who had been having a ball yet was thrilled to see her siblings once more. We had dinner with Desi’s parents in their beautiful home. Right away, Holland captured my heart. Homes are built on either side of river banks. Though the rivers didn’t seem to generally be very wide, still people owned boats and canoes, kept moored right behind their homes and taken out as the afternoon sun waned. Desi and the kids and I stayed in the nearby home of her uncle, who went to stay with his mother a few doors down. The five of us would take the strollers and go walking along the river behind his home, and it was beautiful and peaceful and unlike anywhere I’ve ever been. 

On Wednesday we went shopping in a nearby town, picking up produce and pasta from a local market to cook for dinner that night. We stopped and toured a local windmill whose yellow blades rose above the rest of the buildings. We pushed the strollers along the sidewalks framing the canals, into town and back with our purchases. Holland is a marvel to me, all of it. The windmills, the canals, the whole notion of a country existing below sea level - it's incredible. I was only there Tuesday evening through Friday morning, yet I so hope to return someday. Someday. 



Getting coffee before going to the ministry center:

Antwerp, and the train station:

Riding the train:

Holland: