Is my love of tulips genetic?

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I love tulips, though they have no scent, I could devour a 5-lb brick of 5-year aged gouda in one sitting, and I wear clogs, the modern day equivalent of wooden shoes.  Can this all be explained by the fact that my father was born in the Netherlands?  Is there a genetic link to inherently love objects of a country in which I have not lived? 

Regardless of the answer, I love landing at Schiphol - every time I have been to Amsterdam somebody (flight staff, immigration officer, etc) comments upon my name.  It's one of the only places where my surname is pronounced correctly, and makes me wish the language had been passed down to me.

"You have a Dutch name!?"

"Yes, my father was born here."

"Ah, guten morgen!"  And then an indecipherable string of words I cannot understand, and an apology that unfortunately I do not speak the language, followed by a silent pledge to myself that I must process the paperwork to obtain a Dutch passport when I return home. 

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Awakening with the city you land in is a nice way to start a trip.  School kids are waiting for the bus, men in ties are bicycling to work, old men are walking their dogs, and smartly coiffed women are reading on the trolley.  After an early check-in to the hotel a lovely surprise awaits me at breakfast.  When I was little my breakfast would often consist of toast with butter and De Ruyter "chocolate hail".  Basically, little sprinkles of chocolate pieces; not the most nutritious brekkie, but delicious!  To my glee, the hotel had miniature boxes of chocolate hail!  Too much fun. 

After a breakfast of champions, a tour of the Van Gogh museum is in order.  I found it somewhat odd that such a modern building design would house the collection, but the architect, Gerrit Rietveld, is reported to have been a progressive thinker & designer of the 1920's and the building itself is an attraction to some.  I would advise that you spend the extra $4 on the audio guide.  How else could you know that the bright, sunshine filled, gold hued painting you are standing in front of was actually created when Van Gogh was in a fit of depression and confined to a room in the mental hospital?

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A late afternoon stroll down the canals nibbling a delicious chunk of gouda and a refreshing Jupiler, then off to bed to attempt to kill the jet lag and get ready for a day on the plane to Mumbai.