For music, American records twirled on a
wheezy phonograph. In the tight quarters
of a houseboat moored to a canal bank, klom
pen were a menace. Just as disconcerting
as a wood-shod kick in the shins was the sup
plementary vocalizing by Dutch girls. They
sang "Good Night, Irene" and "Tennessee
Waltz" without knowing what the English
words meant.
Vittorio's dazzling smile brought him plenty
of partners. Philippe, crestfallen, was turned
down by every girl in the place.
A week later he discovered the polite
"Would you care to dance?" (bow low from
the hips) that Kasse taught him to parrot
in Dutch really meant "I hate dancing, don't
you?"
A holiday gave us a free weekday to see
the famous cheese market at Alkmaar. We
left camp early on a Friday and drove to a
dairy near Alkmaar where Mijnheer Best
made prize-winning Edam cheeses (page 405).
Most Edam cheeses actually come from
around Alkmaar, not Edam. Mr. Best took
us through his scrupulously clean plant, ex
plained how he made his cheeses, and showed
us a rack ready for market.
"But they're yellow," said Charlie. "Edam
cheeses we buy back home are red."
"Those are export cheeses," Mr. Best ex-
