The following trip report will be written without once using the word "quaint")
Delft is a quaint little canal-laced town in the Netherlands. Its buildings are quaint; its people are quaint and in fact, it's probably the quaintest quaint that ever qauinted. Were someone to ask you, quite randomly, to name the Dutchest town in all Dutchland, and you weren't allowed to say Amsterdam, Delft would be a close second.
It was to this qu -- uh, charming -- little burgh that Rick Steves tours deposited our company of comrades after spoiling us with Ghent. Ah, Ghent! Here, spirits were high and war guilt utterly lacking (at least in the tour guide who showed us the town). The beer flowed, the gin flowed, the bidet overflowed, and a wonderful time was had by all. And now we were in Delft. In case you're not familiar with the name, the town of Delft is responsible for that blue-and-white dinnerware that never quite rises above kitschy and is oft purchased by people who're momentarily overcome by quaintness, then gifted to the person whose home has the most wood paneling.
Yeah, I don't like Delftware -- so sue me! Just don't take the Delftware cat that I purchase for my wife, who loves the damned thing.
Here's the layout of Delft: there's some canals; there's some bridges over the canals; there's some shops along the canals. There, now you've seen Delft and don't have to go there yourself. I've saved you time and money and you can repay me by giving me the latter. Oh, actually, there's also the Church of the Alarming Lean. Apparently, civil engineering in 1246 wasn't quite up to modern standards, and when a canal was built next to it, said church started to lean in ways that 200,000 ton stone buildings shouldn't. The Dutch, alarmed that they might lose a perfectly-good church -- of which they only had about 22 million scattered about -- quickly stabilized the foundation and saved the thing from toppling over, thus saving Delft the distinction of being "that place where the damned church fell over".
Speaking of things that should fall over, I need to mention the hotel we stayed at.
Oh, God, that hotel.
Ok, first the good: the hotel features a wonderful bar with extraordinarily-cheap -- at times free -- booze. Normally, this fact alone would earn it a 5-star review from me on Travelocity. As a bonus, the hotel chicken coop produced an amazing FOUR eggs a day, while the apiary dripped with delicious honey. Also, the breakfasts were pretty damned good.
But I need you now to come on a walk with me. A walk through the hotel lobby and the astounding bounty of four eggs proudly displayed in a basket on the front counter. We're going up the stairs now, so do mind the millimeter-wide steps you're expected to ascend on the way to the many upper floors. Ah, here we are: my room. Let me open the door for you.
Welcome to The Moroccan Whorehouse!
(con't in next post!)