This is a sequel to the travelogues I wrote describing my visits to Amsterdam in 2001 and 2004. The main difference between this visit and the previous one is that thanks to the advance of medicine, I can now walk normally again. Sure does make a difference.

This visit, I know even more delightful Dutch folks, most of whom I've met through Rina and Rafaël. However, there are three local people who I know only via email because they found my previous Amsterdam travelogs and wrote to me. I'm looking forward to meeting them this visit.

As before, I still find Dutch vastly easier to read than to understand when it's spoken. My progress in learning it is glacial, partly because no matter whether I'm here or in San Francisco, I just don't have time to seriously study a language, but mainly because I've lost enough brain power to inhibit learning anything.

I can also blame Rina, Rafaël, and Edward. I've told them that they have simply got to introduce me to some dull, uninteresting people so that I can speak Dutch with them and get some practice. With the Dutch people I've met so far, we're having too much fun to slow down while I learn Dutch. So what I'm learning is what I'm assimilating without formal classes, stuff like the names of foods that I see in stores, words I learn from television and newspapers, and words I pick up from context when I'm listening to the Dutch speak to each other.

The focus this time is on food. I have brought exotic ingredients for a good many dinners, stuff like stone-ground whole yellow corn meal so that I can make "real" southern-style East Texas redneck cornbread from my maternal grandmother's recipe. I figured the chance of my finding the proper cornmeal over here would be slim since it has to be ground to the correct size between polenta and corn flour and, equally importantly, has to be made from the right kind of corn.

I've also brought a suitcase full of California/New Mexico/Mexico chiles and herbs so that I can make authentic chili and mole and such. I'm gonna feed these folks stuff oma never made. I feared that my suitcases might raise an eyebrow coming through Dutch customs this time, as they were full of packets of strange powders of various hues, so I was looking forward to saying, "Well, Officer, if you don't believe that's habañero powder, you could just snort some and see."

Alas, they let me in without examining my suitcases.