I arrived in The Netherlands, a.k.a. Holland, very early Queen’s Day Eve to meet my new friend Karen and her dashing husband, Arthur. After extending a warm hello, we dined al fresco in the enchanting garden of their 1860s abode and then… we were off and running.
And by that I mean… running. At a bare minimum we moved briskly at a fast trot, but Karen and Arthur, like all other people living in those healthy, northern European countries (You know who you are, Finland and Denmark) referred to it as… strolling. Once they even called it “going for a walk.” Ha! But I knew better.