About two miles from the almost-island of Marken, North of Amsterdam, the heavens opened.  In a way we had already been quite lucky, managing to evade for several hours the blackening clouds that surrounded us on three sides.  Drenched, took shelter in this tourist-trap of a shop.  There were no complaints from the proprietor at the swarms that had squeezed themselves in from the rain; with such a captive audience he was doing a roaring trade in Delft-Style ceramic items, coloured clogs and wooden tulips.  The till was pinging.