24 Hours in Texel

Texel is a small island off the Dutch coast, 23 km long and about 9 km wide. Its population of just 13,000 swells in the summer months by migrating Germans, wishing to get away from it all.

My exploration Bible, The Rough Guide to the Netherlands, refers to Texel as an untouched gem. Thousands of holiday makers can’t be wrong, so we thought we’d go and give it a try.

I'm usually a meticulous holiday planner. I check out hotels on trip-advisor,  research locations, know exactly where I'm going and what to expect when I get there. This time however, something went awry.  Accommodation on Texel is limited. I booked in a hurry – I can remember thinking the room did seem comparatively expensive but as the alternative was a caravan or a tent, I didn’t want to deliberate for too long and lose it.

The Rough Guide said bicycle was the best form of transport for Texel. It promised gorgeous beaches of soft white sand. I had visions of myself and Mr T cycling around the coast in our shorts and T-shirts. We'd pack a picnic, dip our toes in the North Sea.

And that of course is the problem with Texel, with the whole of the Dutch coastline in fact. It's the North Sea. It's never going to be warm. In fact if you can even make it onto the beach through the force ten gale that constantly blows in from the west you can consider yourself lucky.

The Texel weather forecast for our planned overnight stay was abysmal. Any thoughts of cycling in a pair of skimpy shorts was put to one side. I packed my ski-jacket.

The ferry crossing from  Den Helder took just twenty minutes and our first port of call to shelter from the rain was the Kaap Skil Museum van Jutters & Zeelui - a bizarre collection of maritime artefacts which is best described as a mega-beachcoming museum. It would appear that anything and everything that is washed up on Texel goes on display here. The exhibition began with the usual nautical paraphernalia - barnacle encrusted canons,  cracked clay pipes, odd bits of crockery from 18th century shipwrecks - and ended up with a collection of vintage bottles and odd shoes. I know the Dutch don't like to throw things away but sometimes these things really should be left on the beach to be swept back out to sea...

For many people Texel's draw is its lack of attractions. People go there for the isolation, the remote landscape...we just wanted somewhere dry, so we headed for our hotel, which I assured Mr T was on a harbour front, surrounded by bars and cafes. It was in the middle of nowhere, not a harbourside, bar or café in sight.  My heart sank - and then lifted as the receptionist showed us to our room. I appeared to have booked the honeymoon suite. On top of that she then asked would we like a spa treatment, or a dip in the pool? Why did I not know the hotel had a pool or a spa?

The fact that we hadn't bought costumes with us probably wouldn't have actually been a problem as most  spa facilities in the Netherlands are au naturelle...however, the receptionist happily pointed us in the direction of the nearest 'resort' where we hurriedly purchased swimwear, mingling amongst disgruntled holiday-makers seeking out pac-a-macs and Texel sweatshirts.

Our hotel was definitely the best thing about Texel, although I couldn't quite persuade Mr T to undergo the 'Wool Bad' spa treatment – not, as I first thought, a glorified sheep dip but the opportunity to luxuriate in a tub of sheep fleece. The mere thought of anything woollen brings Mr T out in an itchy rash.

At the Ecomare seal sanctuary the receptionist was reluctant to let us in an hour and a quarter before closing time, protesting that we couldn't possibly see it all. I’d already seen enough of Texel to know that we could cover the whole island in sixty minutes and go home satisfied.

Texel is not the place to come if you want 24/7 excitement – it’s the place to come and be at one with nature; to walk amongst sheep and seabirds. It's the place to come and sit in your tent or caravan in the middle of a farmer's field or nestled in the sand dunes.

The next morning as we stood wrapped up in jeans, sweatshirts, ski-jackets, on a blustery viewing platform overlooking  the De Slufter nature reserve, which according to The Rough Guide was the prettiest spot on the entire island, I thought why am I being buffeted by the wind, looking at a barren landscape of tidal mudflats populated by seagulls when I could be at home sitting on our comfortable warm, dry sofa with a mug of tea. That’s when I knew that Texel was not the place for me.

24 hours exactly after we arrived, we left. I like my gems to have at least a little bit of sparkle.

Spot The Difference

Last week Mr T received three speeding tickets in the post. In the UK this would result in points, points, points and probably a spell back at Driving School. In the Netherlands you just pay your fine and wait for the next ticket to drop through the letter box. Generally speaking the Dutch do drive under the speed limit; cars don’t go rushing past you on the motorway. The Dutch are frugal people and they certainly won’t want to keep wasting money on speeding fines.

This made me think about the differences between us and them. There are certain aspects of UK life which seem to have become very Americanized; everything is becoming very 24/7. Over here, that is definitely not the case.

Shops have only recently started opening on Sundays, and even then it tends to be the bigger high street shops, as opposed to the small independent stores. The Dutch are not early risers.  Sunday shopping doesn’t begin until twelve and will finish promptly at six.  During the week, apart from the larger supermarkets, shops shut at five or five thirty on the dot, and even the largest supermarket will be shut by eight. Most places will stop letting you in ten or fifteen minutes before closing time so that the staff can leave on time. To me, this is a good thing. I think they’ve got the work-life balance quite right.

On Mondays most of the Netherlands remains completely shut. Larger shops will open at twelve but smaller establishments including many museums etc, won’t open at all.

A lot of businesses appear to be run from the family home and seem to function more as a hobby, than a profit making enterprise. The Dutch are more than happy to leave you to browse on your own. If you want to buy anything, you will need to make the first move.

What else is noticeably different? Bicycles - apart from the obvious ie everyone uses one, helmets are another phenomenon that just doesn’t happen here. Nor do brakes on the handlebars.  Mopeds and scooters are also included in the no-helmet situation, and they are entitled to use the cycle paths.

Health care – you have to pay for it. Fortunately so far our contact with the Dutch health care system has been minimal. We have registered at a local doctor’s surgery and Mr T needed one appointment for his frozen shoulder – which he got straight away, same day.  You have to join an insurance scheme. Fortunately Mr T’s work have taken care of this for us, which generally seems to be the thing. I’m not sure what happens to the elderly, or the unemployed.  On the whole the Dutch seem very fit, healthy  and super-slim – obesity is definitely NOT a problem.

I’ve no idea about the education system and for the first time in many years it’s been a total relief not to have to worry about finding the right schools. Most of Mr T’s British and American colleagues with families have based themselves in The Hague where there are several international schools. In Haarlem I understand you have to put your child’s name down for the establishment of your choice the moment they are born.  I believe childcare is subsidised, and as a lot of Dutch only work part-time it’s a common (and refreshing sight) to see Papa out and about entertaining the little ones during the day.

Language – as nobody else in the world speaks Dutch apart from Belgium and Surinaam (which despite me thinking for the last nine months is in Indonesia is actually in South America) most Dutch are multi-lingual. They are also very fond of the F word – you’ll hear it regularly from the mouths of little kids to radio presenters. Be warned.

Red Lights – Amsterdam is notorious for its sleazy red light district but even a sleepy little place like Haarlem has its fair share of brothels. These are not hidden away down dark alleyways but on very normal streets. Anyone seriously thinking of moving to the Netherlands, check out your prospective neighbours lighting arrangements after dark before signing that rental agreement.

Coffee shops - if you are after a cup of tea and scone, these are not the place for you. If you are looking for refreshments, head for a tea rooms or a cafe.  

Cats v Dogs – it’s very much a cat orientated society especially here in town. Cats in pubs, cats in shops, cats in windmills, cats in my garden, and in my house. The patio doors are now firmly shut to prevent any more intruders!

Some Like It Hot

They always say be careful what you wish for. When I returned to the UK after 3 years in scorching, drought ridden California I wished to feel the wind in my hair and cooling British raindrops on my face. It subsequently blew a gale and rained solid for the next two weeks.

Now of course,  I am sweltering in the Netherlands. I’m a woman of a certain age and controlling my body temperature is hard at the best of times. Yes I wanted sunshine, but I certainly didn’t want my own personal steam-room. We were warned humidity could get  high in a Dutch summer. Yeh right, I thought, I’ll believe it when I see it.

Last week the temperature soared, and Haarlem became almost tropical.  Apart from the  humidity, it’s  like being back in California – crossing the road to walk on the shady side of the street, ensuring chores are completed first thing in the morning before the temperature hits 30 degrees, and willing those few high whispy clouds to block the afternoon sun – just for a few seconds of light relief.

Poor Ed has been stretching out on the tiled floor, desperately trying to cool down, while the Dutch have been embracing the heat the only way they know how – stripping off and drinking beer. All week long pleasure boats have been cruising past my house with dozens of near naked bodies partying on board.  The canals become a public lazy river while the local parks are full of families picnicking and BBQ-ing. Kids have been jumping into the water to cool down and to be honest it’s very tempting to join them – especially as the local swimming pool has now closed down for the next six weeks so that staff can take their holidays (??)

Yes, that’s another thing. The Dutch are all now on holiday.  The schools finished on Friday and our street is deserted. Mr T complains that nothing will get done at work and his American colleagues are in shock at the very thought that the Dutch have enough annual leave to take three  whole weeks off in one go.   But that’s what the Dutch do. They play hookey when the sun comes out and when the school holidays start, they hitch up their caravans and head south. 

The hottest day so far coincided with the start of the Tour De France in Utrecht. We had to go. ‘Le Tour’ is one big circus and Utrecht was buzzing.  We dashed from the shade of one tree to another trying to find a convenient spot to view the time trials. It was positively exhausting.  Mr T bought the T-shirt, I bought a hat. 

How I envied the Dutch couple who climbed out of their first floor window to watch and sat under the shade of an umbrella with their feet in two buckets of cold water.

Positively inspired on Sunday morning Mr T slipped into his yellow jersey and headed out on his road bike. I stayed in bed, willing the temperature to drop, and now of course it has.

And although it has absolutely nothing to do with this post, here's a picture of a thatched houseboat. Only in the Netherlands!