On Vakantie

There’s a real buzz in Haarlem at the moment. It’s all to do with the holiday season.  The campsites nestled in the sand dunes between here and the coast are  full to bursting point. And when the happy Dutch and German campers want a break from BBQ’ing  the evening meal, they head into town.

Haarlem also seems a mecca for visiting Spanish and Italians. I’ve never really thought about it before, always preferring to head south to warmer climes for my summer holidays, but I suppose if you live somewhere warm all year round, you might well head up north to do a bit of sight-seeing. I’m not entirely sure that a guided tour of Haarlem’s Red Light district would be top of my holidaying agenda, but as we sat outside our favourite Irish bar the other evening, a steady stream of tourists appeared to be enjoying a visit to the nearby brothel.

Other visitors include those who arrive by bicycle barge. This is an excellent way to travel through the Netherlands. You stop off at a new town every day and explore on two wheels, then return to your barge for a meal and bed every night. 

The Dutch take their annual vakantie very seriously. Despite the influx of tourists bringing business into town, there are still bars, cafes and shops which remain gesloten whilst their owners take their own break.  The pool where I take my weekly swim has also closed for six weeks – this is apparently so that staff can rotate through Haarlem’s two remaining pools to allow everyone to take their annual leave. It sounds like a good idea for the staff, but closing your pool, when the kids are off school??  To me that doesn’t make an awful lot of sense, although I have to admit our street feels like a ghost town at the moment with most of our neighbours away. Perhaps it does work. The locals go away, the tourists flock in.

This weekend also saw the arrival of the Haarlem Culinaire food festival. A dozen or so local restaurants set up pitch in the main square offering tempting bite size portions to sample. As with all things Dutch there was plenty of loud music and copious amounts of alcohol on offer to accompany the event. Any excuse.

And for once it has been ideal weather for partying. We’ve had a ‘first’ since we arrived in the Netherlands eleven months’ ago.  An entire week rain-free.

And that wasn’t the only first. We actually made into the prize money at the pub quiz, reaching the dizzy heights of second place. Whether this was helped by the fact that some of the regulars are away on vakantie, I don’t know, and I don’t care. As we’re never going to beat the professional team who win every week, second place is good enough for me!

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!

Being Grateful for the Small Things

It is sometimes hard in these cool, grey, breezy Dutch summer days to maintain a chirpy outlook. The upside of ex-pat life continues to outweigh the downside but the downside does exist, and occasionally threatens to become a right party pooper. The weather continues to cast dark clouds over  this little corner of the Netherlands and on days when I feel I really should be wearing at the very least cropped trousers and a T-shirt, I am still putting on socks and winter boots and instead of buying suncream, I find myself purchasing yet another new umbrella.

The doom and gloom has been compounded this week by the fact that both daughters have now been and gone on their summer visits; fledglings fleetingly returning to the nest before flapping their wings back across the North Sea.

I know that I have to be grateful for the small things in life - as my health visitor once pointed out when I complained that baby number two only ever slept for bursts of twenty minutes at a time, be glad of those twenty minutes.

I am glad that I have raised two seemingly independent young women, yet at the same time I feel quite redundant. Shouldn’t they still need me? Then I remember that of course they do still need me. Mum’s are invaluable at this age when it comes to proof-reading essays, advising on job applications and CV’s, and passing on invaluable life skills – like knitting.

Daughter number two – who does now sleep for way more than twenty minutes at a time, wanted me to teach her to knit. Apparently the internet is full of crafty ideas and patterns. Knitting is ‘in’.  I was only too happy to help. What could be more fun than sitting down together for a moment of mother-daughter bonding over a bit of knitter-natter.

We started off with 30 stitches, which rapidly increased to 72. Something had gone horribly wrong – but nothing, I insisted that couldn’t be rectified.  It was going to be a bookmark, but why not aim for a scarf, or actually, a hat for the cat. Ed looks very fetching in pink.

I now realise why ant-eaters spend the entire first year of their lives clinging to their mother’s back.  At the weekend we paid a visit to Amsterdam zoo, which proved to be a surprisingly enjoyable day out. I’m not a great fan of looking at captive animals, but if an animal has been born and raised it that environment it would be somewhat cruel to let it loose into the wild to fend for itself.  We donated to the campaign to create a larger enclosure for the olifants by buying a reel of sellotape (can’t quite see the connection) and enjoyed the opportunity to walk through the monkey house and get close up with lemurs and lizards.

However the highlight for me was the anteater. The idea of carrying your young on your back sounds like a great idea when your baby is only inches long, but the baby anteater hitching a ride at Amsterdam zoo was nearly as big as its mother. In fact it was hard to see where baby ended and mother began (a bit liked our four armed knitting experience).

Mother ant-eater seemed quite content with the very large baby on her back and I can totally understand.   She is probably dreading the day it wants to take its first few steps.  In fact, every time it tries to get off she probably pushes it back on.

If Daughter number two  wants to progress  from cat hats to tea-cosies, she is going to need a lot more lessons with mother.

As Good As It Gets

Daugther No 1 tells me my blog is not funny anymore; she complains it’s not exciting enough. I don’t quite know what she expects. I thought last week’s post was actually quite eventful -  a daring boat fire rescue and the tale of the kidnapped cat – but for someone who rubs shoulders with Chinese Celebs and parties regularly in Beijing, my life in Haarlem may seem somewhat dull in comparison.

How can I 'glam up' my blog? I could mention the movie shoot spotted this morning by Haarlem’s windmill. That’s pretty glam, although anyone who has ever seen a film crew at work will know that it is a laboriously slow process. Lights, camera and not a lot of action. I could have witnessed the Dutch equivalent of Johnny Depp taking a quick fag break between scenes, but how would I know?

Even if something exciting did happen in Haarlem, we’d be the last to hear about it. We don’t watch Dutch TV news and although I do occasionally listen to the radio for a bit of day-time company, I certainly don’t understand what's going on.

In an attempt to uncover something scandalous to write about, I’ve researched Dutch news stories on the internet.  This week’s top story – woman trampled to death by cow on farm. Tragic for all concerned but hardly cutting edge, and definitely not appropriate  material for a lighthearted witty blog post.

Apparently there was a report in the local paper of two beggars spotted in Haarlem’s hallowed streets. Only two - that's news?? In the US I wouldn’t have made it more than two hundred meters from our apartment without running out of fingers to count vagrants on - a sad state of affairs that never warranted a mention on the nightly LA news. At least Haarlem’s up-market beggars are showing typical Dutch resourcefulness by apparently claiming they are short of cash for hotel bills incurred whilst visiting sick relatives. It beats sitting in the street holding a cardboard sign professing to be an Army Vet.

People don’t choose to live in the Netherlands because they want excitement. Everything over here is very low key. And they certainly don't come for the weather. There is only one word to describe the Dutch climate and that is depressing. I'm holding it entirely responsible for my current lack of creativity. 

This Friday offered a tantalising glimpse of what life could be like. Last week I thought I’d peaked at a T-shirt on the beach, now, believe it or not, I've made it into a bikini. Who’d have thought?  After a leisurely lunchtime cruise with our visitors around Haarlem and a picnic on a boat moored amongst the lily pads, we spent the afternoon relaxing around the local lake on soft, golden sand, basking in the heat….And then we wake up, and it’s Saturday. The skies are grey, the wind has picked up, and I’m lending daughter and boyfriend an umbrella and a coat before they set off on the train to explore Amsterdam.

If I am not funny anymore, it’s because there is nothing to be funny about. Sometimes you just have to tell it like it is. The dog on the boat really is about as good as it gets.

Taking to the Water

The sun has finally come out and everyone has been basking in the warmth. It’s a different world in Haarlem when the sun shines. Café tables appear as if by magic in the Grote Markt, families take to the canals on their boats, pensioners pull up chairs outside their front door while the more mobile head off on their bikes to Bloemendaal where a whole town of ‘pop-up’ bars and restaurants has appeared on the beach.

Even if we never get another hot day, at least I’ve finally been on a Dutch beach in short sleeves (although I couldn’t help but thinking the people who still had their fleeces on probably had the right idea….).  

(Mr T complete with fleece )

There is nothing better than a cycle ride in the sunshine, until you turn a corner into the wind, and suddenly what was a pleasant freewheel becomes a strenuous work-out. No wonder these people are so fit!

Sometimes I find it hard to put the sights and sounds of this small corner of Europe into words. In many ways it is so similar to the UK, yet in many ways, so very different.

Want to catch a few evening rays and don't have a balcony? No problem, just open your first-floor window super-wide and sit on the sill.

200 people completing an en masse roller blade around the town at 9.30 pm on weekday evening? That definitely wouldn't happen back home.

Stuck for a hen night/bachelorette party idea? Hire tandems for the bride-to-be and all her friends and  go for a cycle ride to the beach. Yes, really.

The Dutch have always battled against the elements and, believe it or not, there is a downside to all this sunshine. Our estate agent blamed the hot weather for our malfunctioning toilet cistern suggesting the plastic rod expanded in the heat, and a rogue cat took shelter under our settee all night after wandering into the living room through our open patio doors. 

And then on Sunday, as Mr T and I strolled over the bridge by our house on our return from a trip to Amsterdam we witnessed what we thought at first glance was an over-enthuiastic attempt at an on-board barbeque but in fact turned out to be a boat engine fire. Mr T dashed on ahead to help with the rescue attempt as the passengers jumped ship. By the time I reached the scene Mr T seemed in dire danger of  being pulled into the canal by the rather large Dutch lady he was struggling to help out, but with the assistance of some other passers-by fortunately everyone made it safely to the shore unscathed. Within minutes the whole boat went up in flames sending plumes of black smoke into the Haarlem skyline.  

This whole incident has put a dampener on the plans to take the water ourselves when daughter No 1 and boyfriend arrive next weekend, although Mr T assures me the hire boats run on electricity (water + electricity, how safe is that?). Still if the fine weather persists, we will give it a whirl. I have now memorised the Dutch for Fire Brigade - it's Brandweer, and the emergency service number is 112. Let's just hope this is something I never need to use.