The Old Coot has the blahs

By Merlin Lessler —

I was lucky enough to have been in the Netherlands last month. I still call it Holland – you know: the Little Dutch Boy, his finger in the dike, tulips, wooden shoes, windmills. That’s the extent of my knowledge of the Netherlands. Or was.

Now, I know a lot more. I took a guided tour in an area of a dozen or so antique windmills, one or two restored to working order, the remainder just sitting idle. A beautiful landscape image.

The trouble started when we crossed a bridge leading to Windmill Lane. There were about twenty of us in the group. Walkie-talkies hanging on a strap around our necks, earbuds jammed into our ears, and a tour guide talking. Talking, talking, talking – while we stood in the middle of the bridge, frozen in time, learning all the intricacies of windmills.

I call it “blah, blah.” I wanted to move, to get to the windmills. So, I drifted ahead, crossed the bridge, ducked into the combination gift shop, snack bar at the far side of the canal where the pathway to the windmills started. Then, I walked back to the group to interrupt the blah, blah and tell the guide I was moving on. I loved the look of surprise on the faces of our two tour friends, Laarnie and Elaine.

It was a look I’d see a lot of over the next few days. Every time I moved away from the group and gave my patented, blah, blah hand signal. Again and again, in towns along the route we traveled in a long boat on the Rhine River. I learned years ago to slip away from guides who overload tourists with trivial information. I wish they’d just hit the high notes and let us see and examine the subject of their blah, blah lecture.

The first time I executed this strategy, I was on a tour at the Sistine Chapel in Rome. The guide kept the group “locked up” in front of a signpost in a courtyard outside the building. I lasted five minutes; then my wife and I sneaked away into a long entrance hallway lined with exquisite sculptures and paintings leading to the chapel proper.

We looked at everything and then strolled back to the group held captive by the tour guide, who was just starting toward the hall. I was there to see things; I could Google the blah, blah later.

I’m now a well-seasoned blah, blah avoider. It’s a skill that also comes in handy at cocktail parties and other gatherings when you find yourself next to a human, blah, blah, windmill. Thanks to the mother/daughter team of Laarnie and Elaine our journey was a fun one. But enough blah, blah from me. I’ll stop right here and let you look at the rest of the newspaper.    

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