Escape to the Country

Over the last month we have been  exploring some unchartered territory in the Netherlands. Our first foray into the unknown was to the countryside south of Rotterdam, which we thought might be the perfect place to re-locate. 

Things did not bode well from the start. The only redeeming feature we could find in the first town we visited was the fact that it had a metro line out of it. Not exactly an attraction, more an escape route.  When we arrived in Brielle, further west, we thought we might have struck it lucky. It was like Haarlem in miniature. The trouble was its cuteness was its downfall. We had walked around it in 30 minutes. What we do if we had to live there for a whole year? 

Disheartened, we plundered on. Our next stop Hellevoetsluis, which although sounding like some highly contagious medieval disease is a modern purpose built town very close to Mr T's oil refinery. Hellevoetsluis must be the only place in the Netherlands with a shortage of coffee shops - of any description. In an attempt to find somewhere to buy lunch we ended up in a 1970's style indoor shopping precinct, desperately seeking a sandwich. Any Dutch high street is a nostalgic trip back in time - a chance to re-visit C&A, Etam, Dolcis, happy haunts of my childhood. Hellevoetsluis even had a Dixons. It was not the place for us.

Our trip to the Freisland in the north reinforced my belief that in Haarlem we have well and truly found Mecca. With the sun shining on Easter Saturday we headed to Grongingen, and a long awaited trip to the David Bowie exhibition at the Groninger museum. This was orignally intended as Mr T’s Christmas present, but due to adverse weather conditions earlier this year, and other commitments, we hadn’t been able to make the trip. The exhibition was originally due to close at the beginning of March, but fortunately for us, (although obviously unfortunately for him) poor David’s sad demise meant it had been extended for an extra few weeks.

We travelled to Groningen via the 32 km long Afsluitdijk, a major feat of Dutch engineering which took 5 years to complete. As we took a blustery stroll across the footbridge to admire the watery views, the choppy North Sea on one side, and even rougher Ijsselmeer on the other, a friendly Italian visitor insisted on handing us his toilet-pass from the cafe. We were grimacing because of the wind, not because we needed the loo....

We continued onto Groningen via Leeuwarden, home to a leaning church tower which can only still be standing due to another feat of Dutch engineering (photos don't do the slant justice).

Grongingen is a university town which contains all the usual Netherland essentials of gabled houses, canals, cobbled streets and a grote markt, a vismarkt, and just for a change, an Albert Heijn supermarket housed in the very palatial surroundings of a former corn exchange. It has a lively, vibrant feel but it's long way from anywhere else.

We enjoyed the exhibition, and we saw Grongingen looking its best in the sun. Quite naturally, the next morning it was raining and as we drove the two hundred miles back to Haarlem through flat fields full of sheep, geese, ditches and dykes, I had a definite case of deja vu. The trouble with the Netherlands it that whether you travel north, or south, it's all the same. If you’ve seen one old town, you’ve seen them all. 

We stopped briefly in Urk, once an island, now a harbour on the edge of a reclaimed polder. The houses were similar to those in every other defunct Zuider Zee fishing village we've visited, tiny cottages where you can paint your front door and fascia boards any colour as long it is dark green.

Things I have learned since living in the Netherlands

I really should be beginning this post with the word Dutch – but unfortunately the language isn’t one of the skills or snippets of useful (or even useless) pieces of knowledge I have acquired since arriving in Haarlem. I am now on my second attempt at an on-line Dutch course and am already a week behind.  Quite simply I lack the incentive, the impetus and the enthusiasm. Instead, I have spent the last week attacking my novel with renewed vigour after receiving a very positive critique.  Fiction has taken over – hence no witty episode on our recent trip to Budapest. Budapest was lovely – a great city, go if you can, faded grandeur, lots of history, interesting food…(picture of Masterchef style pudding coming up) but instead of extolling the virtues of travel, I have been creating additional tension between my hero and heroine. I’ve even had to put my follow-up – which I am also itching to complete – on hold. I suspect Mr T is very frustrated that when he returns home at 6 pm I am still beavering away at my keyboard instead of the kitchen. I have to remind him how lucky he is that I have a hobby that keeps the boredom at bay.

So everything is on hold. However, the student has arrived for a few days and as we set out on our bike ride yesterday it became apparent that there are a few words and phrases that are synonymous with living in the Netherlands, and I am apparently repeating them like a parrot.

1.        I should have worn a hat.

Hat hair is the norm in Holland. There’s no point striving for their catwalk look. Go hatless at your peril. The alternative is of course…

2.         I’ll never buy another coat without a hood.

In addition to ensuring you have a hood – one you can tighten with toggles is best, the longer your outer-wear the better. I once saw a woman in an ankle-length shiny mushroom coloured padded coat. She looked like a giant pupa but she was certainly warm and dry. I’ve been trying to find a something similar ever since.

3.        Don’t bother with the umbrella.

It’s totally pointless. Yes the Dutch have invented a so-called wind-resistant umbrella with a shorter/stronger canopy, but you still regularly see these mangled remains protruding from litter bins on a blustery day. The Dutch also like to think of themselves as Mary Poppins on wheels.  In my mind carrying anything whilst cycling is just an accident waiting to happen – and that includes umbrellas.  The only sensible option is to resort back to number 1 and 2.

4.        The Dutch don’t do health and safety.

Back home if your ten year old wanted to hitch a ride on your bike (and that includes sitting, or even worse, standing on the rack over the rear-wheel clutching hold of your shoulders) you’d be grabbing your car keys.  But here…no Papa needs to get the whole family somewhere quick and it's everyone on board, whichever way they can.  Helmets? What helmets?

               

5.      If the wind was against us on the way here – why is it still against us on the way back?

A common cycling term. It doesn’t matter what direction you are cycling in, you will always be heading into the wind. If you want resistance training this is the place to come.

It’s no wonder the Dutch are so fit. They eat loads of carbs, cover everything in slagroom (whipped cream), drink gallons of beer yet are still as skinny as rakes.  It has to be down to peddle power. They really can have their apple cake and eat it.

              

And this is my Hungarian dessert.....