Amsterdam Extension

After breakfast, embark on a walking tour through the charming streets of Amsterdam. Your afternoon and evening are free to enjoy Amsterdam’s wonderful restaurants and many attractions; explore the city’s art or historic museums; or take a stroll along the picturesque canals. This evening, dine in a local restaurant—Amsterdam offers many establishments in the “grand café” style and is also known for excellent Indonesian cuisine—and enjoy the city’s lively nightlife. (Breakfast included)

Get acquainted with the neighborhood and discover why romantic Amsterdam is a city best explored on foot. Meet your guide and set out into the charming streets. As you walk, admire the countless gabled houses. The city’s old tax code shaped these quaint homes into what they are today, as builders were taxed based on the frontage of their dwelling. Follow the tranquil canals (grachten) to the city’s open squares (pleinen), where cafés and shops greet you. The 60 miles of canals keep the waters of the North Sea at bay with a series of sluices at the city’s perimeter. In all, the network of canals forms a horseshoe shape with Centraal Station at the center of the mouth. Your guide will give you tips on getting around and staying oriented during your stay, and on walking in harmony among the many bicyclists and trams.

9:30am to 11:30am: Amsterdam walking tour (Viking included) Jim & Barbara reserved

Everything changed after my cousin, Renate Collin, contacted me on Ancestry several months before our trip. Her nephew, Klaus Koster, offered to meet Barbara and me in Emden if we could fit a visit into our schedule. A few days before we flew to Amsterdam, I called Klaus with the plan to meet him on Saturday around noon in Emden.

Saturday started with a 7:00 breakfast buffet: immense selection meats and cheeses; enjoyed bacon and eggs with well-done hash brown potato rounds, cinnamon roll and American coffee (dispenser labeled American coffee) Button dispensed a half cup of strong, very hot coffee. We would need plenty of nourishment for a long day.

By 7:45 we were walking to the Sixt car rental office in Central Station. A man at the desk denied us entry until 8:00 am. As we waited, I spoke with an American Marine from Maryland until we were waved in at 8:00.

The agent required only a California drivers license and a credit card; no international license was required although I had obtained one. The 24 hour rental was over 300 Euros; 600 including the refundable security deposit; I refused special insurance since I was in sticker shock. The good news was that he offered us a free upgrade from a manual transmission Kia to an automatic Hyundai Tucson SUV. Once the paperwork was completed, he offered us a map including a picture of the building where we could pick up the car about a half-mile away. He pointed the way and seemed relieved to say goodbye.

We followed the map to a dead end and a construction zone about a half-mile away, but we could not see the building on the picture. We asked several people for directions but they spoke no English or didn’t want to be bothered. A woman walking towards us sensed our frustration and offered to help. She was a retired kindergarten teacher who spoke broken English. We agreed that a nearby building with a flight of stairs going down below street level was our best bet. She offered to go with us, but we turned down her offer. At the bottom of the stairs, we asked some men wearing Sixt shirts for our car. They seemed bothered by our request, but showed us to a car parked a ways down the garage and gave us a key.

I was fed up with the lack of hospitality or directions, so I plugged my phone into a USB port and turned on the ignition. Then I tried to find an exit. Benefitting from a blessing or simply good luck, we found our way out of the lower level to sunshine. A few hundred feet later I pulled over to set up the GPS. Verizon had assured me that Google maps would work great in Europe. Wrong. I pulled out the USB connection and pushed a few buttons near the onboard navigation system. I entered the address to my cousin in Emden, Germany. It couldn’t find it. I entered Emden, Germany and was offered choices of some attractions, so I chose a sports bar and pressed GO. Within a block we realized that the GPS showed the way but gave no verbal directions. At some point, Barbara and I said our usual Hail Mary when starting longer trips. Barbara watched the screen and told me which way to turn as changes popped up. Better than no GPS, but no fun.

Somehow we made a vast variety of correct turns to get out of Amsterdam, into the suburbs, and onto the freeway. Our guardian angels were working overtime. The countryside now looked like the delta area near Sacramento or Stockton: levies, flat land with corn and hay fields, and dairies (many more dairies). The main differences were the tidy villages with brick houses and tile roofs; also, varieties of trailers being towed by small cars. I guess they could manage on this flat ground. The countryside gave way to the amazing architecture of Groningen...

...then returned to a rural country look. About an hour later, we pulled into a gas station for some water to quench our thirst and some M&Ms for a sugar kick to keep us awake. We figured out where cars parked when they weren’t getting gas. The store clerks knew enough English to serve us.

When we entered Germany, something flashed on the GPS screen that we had crossed the border. It was easier than entering California: no stopping or checking for fruit or anything let alone passports. The GPS took us on the autobahn and then onto some country roads. We passed through villages with more brick houses and tile roofs. No manufactured homes, no double or single-wide homes, no run down shacks, no homeless. Bicycles were everywhere. We slowed down behind a lone bicycle several miles between farming villages. Once we were back on the German autobahn, we learned to use the left lane only for high speed. Even when we were going fast, cars would come out of nowhere at amazing speeds and be on our bumper encouraging (forcing) us to pull over.

We knew we were close to Emden when we approached a long tunnel that took us under the Ems River. We followed the GPS directions until we entered the port city of Emden. The city was packed with tourists and people on bicycles. I knew my cousin lived outside the city, but wanted to get a feel for the city and to find a bathroom. I parked near a gas station away from the tourists and walked into a small store where I asked, “Toilette?” The woman there handed me a key attached to a stick, said something in German as she pointed outside, then smiled as I handed her two Euros (probably one Euro too much).

The onboard GPS still didn't recognize the address that my cousin gave me, so we tried Barbara's cell phone. We paid Verizon extra to use cell phones and to make international calls in Europe. Now it paid off as we were directed out into the farm fields just outside of Emden. We ended up by the side of the road between two farmhouses. Frustrated, I called Klaus. Thankfully, he answered and directed us to a restaurant near a lake (Uphuser Meer) where he lives. The road was very narrow and we had to pull to the side to let tractors get around us. It didn't look too promising until we saw a rural restaurant and a man waving to us. It was Klaus. He directed us to a group of homes near a lake a few hundred yards down the road and then to a place to park our car.

After a quick handshake (the emotion of meeting a Collins relative in Germany had not set in), Klaus (our ancestry connection) showed us the way to his home where his wife, Silke, was waiting. We admired Claus' talent as he explained in broken English that he had built this small house and owned another one nearby, Silke prepared the traditional Friesland tea that I had researched: https://germangirlinamerica.com/east-frisian-tea-and-the-ostfriesentee-ceremony/ As Barbara and I waited, Silke prepared the tea and set the table with an eighty year old heirloom tea set for the occasion. She set a piece of sugar (kluntje) at the bottom of each cup then poured tea. Then she added cream by pouring it over a spoon creating a cool effect. We each had a spoon but were told not to stir the tea. We sipped the tea to appreciate the cream, the tea, and the sweet tea at the bottom. Silke kept pouring more tea and offering more kluntje, if the previous one was gone, until we put a spoon in our cup to signify that we didn't want anymore. Later on, her daughter, Marie, offered samples of the tea and the kluntje to take back to California. Silke also offered us a piece of pound cake and some whipped cream.

As we finished our tea, Klaus and Silke's daughter, Tomke, joined us. She told us how she was finishing school exams to complete her nursing program. Then her sister, Marie, came through the front door. She had just returned from a holiday in Norway with friends. She told us about starting her second year in the Gymnasium program and anxiously excused herself to see her dachshund dog cautioning us not to get too near because her dog might nip at us. We took a moment for a family picture as Marie was leaving:

Klaus thanked his wife for the tea then walked with Tomke and us to the lake. Friendly neighbors greeted Claus as we passed their homes. At the lake we snapped a picture of Klaus and Tomke. He pointed out his small fishing boat and told us about his favorite fish from the lake, native eel:

Klaus offered to drive us to the cemetery in Emden to visit his mother's grave (Gerda Collin Koster 7/1/1927 - 3/3/2020). We would also view the gravesite of her brother Karl Collin (6/18/1920 - 3/25/2011). Klaus also gave us information and pictures about Karl Collin (1893-1990), Gerda and Karl's father, listing his sons and daughters (more information on Ancestry). All of this completed years of searching to see if the Collin name survived in Germany after so many immigrated to the United States in the 1880s. Karl's grandfather, Heinrich (1847-1872) had started a family in Germany just before many of his brothers and sisters immigrated. His brother, Englebart (1852-1895), my great grandfather, arrived in Baltimore in August of 1889 and died in Illinois in 1895. One surprise was the way Klaus pronounced Collin, ColLEEN (accent on the last syllable).

From Emden, Klaus drove us toward Moordorf with a short stop along the way at Suurhusen to see the pride of East Frieslanders, a leaning tower which out leans the tower of Pisa (According to the Guinness World Records it was at one time the most tilted tower in the world, though the Capital Gate tower in Abu Dhabi since claimed this record in 2010.) See below:

Once we arrived in Moordorf, we were on a mission to find more Collin graves. We wandered up and down the rows with no luck. Klaus requested help from friendly bystanders. Klaus was sure he had seen one there somewhere. Then he reminded us of the German custom to lease gravesites for about 30 years. The the remains were replaced with newer burials and grave markers. The greatest treasure was seeing the town where so many Collin ancestors had lived and the church where they had attended.

Moordorf Cemetery and Church where most Collin ancestors attended church and were buried.

Following our search, Klaus drove us back to his home by the lake where I posed with him by his VW Fox which he uses to commute to work. He has worked for VW for many years (including a few years in Chattanooga, Tennessee) and looks forward to retirement in a few more years. As we walked back to our rental car, he offered more insights about the Collin presence in Germany. He believes our Collin name originated in Norway. I had made a similar conjecture in my research. He also thought that many Collin ancestors found work in nearby Emden, a busy seaport, from all the surrounding towns:

Our trip back to Amsterdam offered more challenges. The GPS would not take an exact address in the Netherlands until we crossed the border. When we stopped at MacDonald's (a monopoly on the autobahn) on the way back, we could only order on a touch screen. Even the English version was very confusing. Eventually we sat down near an exit, swatted bees away, and watched happy children having fun in the MacDonald's playground area. When we arrived back to Amsterdam, the GPS took the exact address of the car rental return area, but we had to fill the car with gas. Soon we were in a labyrinth of Amsterdam streets using our GPS and Google maps on our Iphones to find our way. Finally at the gas station, I saw no place for a credit card, so I filled up the tank and paid in the office. The attendants smiled as I paid and said thanks and good-bye in English. Back on the road we followed directions from all of our devices until I reached a dead end near the place where the local Kindergarten teacher had helped us earlier in the day. I found a nearby alley that took us to the underground entrance to the rental car return garage. An attendant pointed to a very tight spot to park. I backed up without denting anything, put the key in a drop box, and joined Barbara for a 1-2 mile walk back to our hotel. Barbara was ready for a glass of chilled Chardonnay. I ordered a tall Heineken beer. An adventure of a lifetime was over. We were too tired to think about it as we headed to our room for welcome sleep.