Okay... now that some people have asked, I'm going to explain the story of the Crazy Dutch Farmer. Mainly because some people think that Endra will get jealous otherwise...

 

So, Whilst on our way from Amsterdam to Germany, we visited a quaint little Dutch Cheese and Clog Factory/Farm (there were cows... it smelled... like crap - literally ). Farmer was nothing short of crazy... provided some laughs, but crazy, nonetheless. First thing he said when we entered the cheese-making area was, "Ladies to the front, men to the back. I don't like men, so I want them as far away as possible." He was semi-light-hearted, mind you, so don't think that he was altogether serious... we certainly didn't know whether we should take him seriously. Nevertheless, ladies ended up at the front and the men were at the back of the room.

 

He started singling out people, asking them what their origins were. He asks Zahra (one of the girls on the tour - 'cause he never spoke to the men) where she's from. "Canada," she replies. He asks, "Can you speak French?"

 

"No, but I can speak a bit of Persian."

 

"Hmm, I can speak a lot of different languages, but Persian is not one of them." Failing that, he picks on another girl, who is obviously Asian (not me), "Where are you from?"

 

"China," she responds.

 

"Ah," he's suddenly found the language that will flavour this group of visitors, "Ni hao," he starts spouting off in Mandarin.

 

So, he begins to explain the process of making Farmhouse Cheese (ie, made on farms using traditional processes rather than mass produced in factories and marketed). He explains that this process takes 3 months and the next process takes 6 months, these ingredients go into the cheese at a certain stage. Each time he tells us in Chinese before translating to English for the benefit of the wider group. After he's completed his explanation, he allows us to sample his wares (and I must say, it was good cheese - unfortunately, I would never have been able to get it back into the country) before we ventured forward to the Clog Room.

 

Now, the "Clog Room" is just my terminology for the room in which the clogs are made. Sounds fair, right? So, it was in this room, where I was taking pictures of the clog-making machines ('cause they were kinda cool) and our dear friend, the Crazy Farmer, turns to me and says, "No, that's not a very good photo."

 

He takes my camera from me (which I was very reluctant to hand over, the camera being brand new and me being the paranoid single female) and hands it to one of my tour-mates. He then tells me to come around to where he was standing, takes my right arm and says, "this goes around here," placing it around his waist. Takes my left arm and wraps that around the other side.  I'm extremely embarrased by this stage (no scoffing, it's true!). He wraps his own arms around my shoulders and instructs the girl who was holding my camera ('cause all the girls are up the front) to take the photo. Never mind that my so-called friends are doing nothing but laughing at me and force me to put this photo up for all to see.

 

Meanwhile, back at the farm, the Farmer proceeds to explain and demonstrate how clogs are made. Made from Poplar wood, they are carved using a machine that mimics the shape of a "master copy" and hollowed out using another machine that also uses a master of the hollow shape. They are hung up to dry (you can see them on in the photo hanging from the ceiling). Once dry, they are hand painted with various patterns depending on the purpose (ie, dancing clogs, "everyday use", decorative, etc) or carved using a hot wire.

 

At least I managed to get some clogs back into the country. they were my speedy-exit ticket out of customs to be honest. Meant I could declare them (as they're made of wood), explain to the nice customs officials what they were and without even seeing them, he waved me through to the outside world. Yeah, man!

 

 

 

Kim