And it is the Netherlands and not Holland. Holland is, just the most southern provence I believe.
On our two hour plus drive the other side of Rotterdam, Maartin asked me as to why we Brits call his country Holland and not Netherlands.
I had to admit, I did not know.
Nor for that matter, why do we call those from Holland, or the Netherands, Dutch?
I have no idea.
What Maartin had planned for us on Thursday was a trip to a construction site for part of the audit. And due to an outbreak of COVID in the offices, the pool car is quarantined, or something. Or the person who is quarantining has the keys and no one can go and get them. And as I had a car paid by for the company, rather than hire a second car and mine sitting outside the hotel, I would drive.
OK, then.
I made sure that the start was later this day. A start of seven so I could have breakfast before going to the office, if I could remember the way, and from there we would drive to the polders near the coast.
Breakfast is always worth getting up for: two fine granary triangular rolls with butter and sprinkles. I have no idea why it works, but it does, and the rolls warm enough so the sprinkles melted to a goo. Two cups of smooth coffee, and I was ready to go.
The office was just a five minute drive away, it should be so easy to get to. I did have to find my way back to the main road through McDonalds, which should be simple, but a swarm of roadsigns set to confuse. Being early, I went the wrong way down a one way street, did an illegal turn and was on the main road.
Over the bridge once on the motorway, take the next junction, round the huge roundabaout and then take the left hand lane onto the retail park to the offices. Maartin was waiting.
He gets in, programs the sat nav for the nearest twon to the site, and off we set, back to the motorway and heading east and south, the road ran parallel with the new freight line from Rotterdam into Germany, but I saw no trains.
Rotterdam is a major city in the country, and is notorious for jams. We were stuck for half an hour in traffic inching along round the city towards Europort.
Europort is another city, really, mile upon mile of docks, wharfs, refineries and so on and on, with an ever expanding network of motorways that link the various areas of the port together with the city and the rest of Europe.
Maartin told me that Germany doesn't have the capacity for containers on trains, so despite the new freight line running into it's industial heartlands, their freight goes mostly by road. The roads were indeed jammed of truch carrying containers and tanks.
The air was thick with the tang of chemcials, it can't be healthy. And for the most part, this is Europe's port, bringing in goods and materials from around the world, just passing through the Netherands, going elsewhere, and the country has built ports and roads and railways to make it easier for other countries.
Just wen it seems there would be no end to the port, we took a turning off a roundabout, and we were back in farmland.
Towns and villages thinned out, until we took a country track across farmalnd which bordered marshes, and there miles from anywhere a team is erecting over a dozen turbines.
They had no idea what to expect, other than someone from central functions was coming to do a compliance audit. I could see the panic in their eyes.
Except the site manager.He knew his eggs, and was calm.
We talked and audited for four hours, I found out some stuff, and make notes.
Time was getting on, and I had hoped to do one more session back at the office, so just before midday we set off back to the office on the other side of the country, retracing our steps back through the part and beside the freight railway line.
We stopped off to refuel. I buy two Frikadellen and a drink, which I make disappear. We ate sitting on rubbish-strewn grass verge, traffic roared nearby on the motowat, but on the dyke above, friends talked as they cycled to nowhere in particular.
Back in the car for the last hour to the office, and the last person to be audited was in a meeting and so it never really happened. I could have made a scene, but why make a scene?
I write up my notes, then at four I present my findings, and we talk for an hour.
I had been putting off a trip into Arnham until today, I had brought my camera and was primed. When we walked out of the office, I was confronted by a black sky full of the promise of rain and probably a storm.
Its due to start at six, said Maartin. I looked at my watch, it was twenty past five.
Sigh.
I drove along the main route into the city, following signs to the centraal car park, until the signs vanished.
I drove on, until I came to an interchange. I should have taken the right turn, but went straight on, and by which time the rain started.
It was getting heavier too.
I realised I had no idea how to get back to the hotel. I decided that if I headed north I would come to the motorway and if I turned east I would come to the hotel, or near it.
If I was heading north, of course.
Traffic was jammed heading into the city, but I kept heading north until I came to the motorway, I turned east and hoped it would look familiar in time.
We came to the bridge and I relaxed, I had done it. Only the main three carriageways were separated from the turn off until I was past it, meaning I had to go to the next junction, through two miles of jams and find a way to turn round. This I did and was back in the hotel car park 15 minutes later. The rain hammered down and the thunder and lightning had started. Arnham must be some kind of lightning magnet, as the storm sat over the city for nearly twelve hours, flashing and banging away. I went for dinner and had ribs, which were not the best I have had, but were ok. I lay in bed, listening to the storm and the rain coming down. And fell asleep.
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