An early train journey from Galway began this day of opportunity and mystery. Breege, my sister, invited me to join her, with Anne her daughter, at Dublin airport for a few days break in Holland. She, a widow, busy florist and mother of six, may not be up to the minute with holiday planning, but I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. New melodies began to sing inside me, I dreamt of ‘Tulips in Amsterdam.’ We checked in for KLM flight to Schiphol and enjoyed coffee, croissants and chat as we waited.

“Everything’s planned,” said Breege, “no need to worry. We’ll start our time in Aalsmeer, the famous flower-auction/market, then tomorrow we’ll visit Japp and Teresa, our friends in North Holland. We’ll hire bicycles, but now I’ll close my eyes.”

A pleasant flight and smooth landing, we got quickly from Schiphol to Aalsmeer. The auction in full swing was a mesmerising hive of activity by a madding crowd of workers, wholesalers, suppliers, auctioneers, bidders and buyers. Thousands of tulips, packaged, coded and sorted, were electronically moved around and out for delivery. I was fascinated by the slickness of the bidding, the hypnotic babble of auctioneers, the nonchalance of cart drivers, the quantity of tulips, the urgency of the execution and the quality of the whole enterprise. Afterwards we enjoyed lunch and located the Vermeer section in the Rijksmuseum, where Vermeer’s well-endowed, hard-working ‘Milkmaid’ poured milk into a pot, so real I could taste it.

‘The Girl with a Pearl Earring’ in contrast, lustrous eyes, blue turban, lips parted, was mysterious and alluring. Alas closing time quickly brought our viewings to an end.

“Is our accommodation nearby Breege?”

OMG, no reservation.

We bolted out. Tourist Office Closed. No smart phones. We trudged and trawled, ‘fully booked,’ no luck. A small man with a large suit case fell into step with us:

“I’m from Bangladesh, I look for hotel?”

We shared our predicament and joined forces. Where we went, he followed. Ready to despair, the four of us finally heard “Just one room left, four beds, in the back of the hotel.” I thought about Mr Bangladeshi; ‘only one room left,’ what would Jesus do? I looked at Breege and bowed ‘yes’.

Though I slept with one eye open, the Stranger in our midst was welcomed. In the morning he waited until we were ready to leave, then he shook hands with both of us and asked if he could take a photograph to remind him of Irish kindness.

Loreto/Evelyn McLoughlin
Western Province