Amsterdam is a tourist's paradise

Amsterdam is a tourist's paradise, a city of windmills and dams and row upon row of gabled houses leaning crazily against one another along a network of tree-lined canals filled with houseboats decorated by boxes of geraniums and plants, and laundry flying in the breeze. The Dutch were the friendliest people Tracy had ever met.

"They all seem so happy," Tracy said.

"Remember, they're the original flower people. Tulips."

Tracy laughed and took Jeff's arm. She felt such joy in being with him. He's so wonderful. And Jeff was looking at her and thinking, I'm the luckiest fellow in the world.

Tracy and Jeff did all the usual sightseeing things tourists do. They strolled along Albert Cuyp Straat, the open-air market that stretches block after block and is filled with stands of antiques, fruits and vegetables, flowers, and clothing, and wandered through Dam Square, where young people gathered to listen to itinerant singers and punk bands. They visited Volendam, the old picturesque fishing village on the Zuider Zee, and Madurodam, Holland in miniature. As they drove past the bustling Schiphol Airport, Jeff said, "Not long ago, all that land the airport stands on was the North Sea. Schiphol means 'cemetery of ships.' "



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