Scanning the landscape all around as I cycled into my tenth and final country, the amount of undulation and variation of levels seemed remarkably minimal. Never before have I travelled through a place where everything is on one huge open plane. Quite incredible to think that in theory you can see the curvature of the earth there are so few hills. The expanse of crisp blue overhead feels all the more enveloping and there really is a sense of vastness in the sky due to so few interruptions.
Every road, even the small country lanes that skirt around fields and through farms at the very least have cycle paths marked on the tarmac. Larger roads have their very own satelite paths dedicated to cyclists, and as I found out when one haired past me, little buzzy mopeds!
Setting off from my first night in a dutch wood, one of the few places I found to wild camp in the Netherlands. The size of the country and the flat landscape that I was earlier regarding with pleasure means that most of the open land is used for farming and the few woods appear to be fenced off, presumably to stop buggers like me from enjoying the freedom of the land!
Crossing the country in a northwesterly fashion I journeyed through some rather pleasant little towns and villages. Beautiful large windowed, narrow terraces with strikingly different facades that somehow has a delightful undertone of orderliness.
From the border I travelled along the long straight roads, amazed by the comprehensive signposting, not just the direct routes between towns but the network of short tracks and trails between points that cover the whole of the country. An infrastructure devoted to cyclists!
The placement of cyclists on the vehicular food chain, took me by surprise as well, cars and lorries that I am used to waiting for when for instance, they are turning off the road across my path or even when turning off a roundabout were now waiting for me to cross! Slightly flummoxed when faced with a huge juggernaught that gently comes to a stop, waiting for a bumbling fool on a heavily laden bicycle to figure out which direction to go. The number of times when I was actually looking at signposts and cars would stop to let me cross prompted me to cross over without knowing where I was going just so their slowing down wasn’t in vain is countless!
As I neared the large town of Apeldoorn the weather was looking decidedly shifty, a brief look around and some getting lost in the charming suburban lanes I finally found my way up the single slight incline I found in the whole country. With a dark grey sky I was keen to find somewhere to camp, on a main road that due to roadworks was deathly quiet I cycled for miles peering into the acres of perfect forest on both sides. The only problem being the fence on one side and the strange signs on the other. I couldn’t read the majority but when words similar to ‘explosion’ and ‘army’ crop up I decided that side may not be the best idea! After a while the fence oppisite relented and chased back into the wood a good few hundred metres, leaving some lush open beech forest, big old trees had fallen and the area was suitably overgrown. I made my way around the rotting fallen trees and into a clearing with soft mossy ground. Stunning Bracket funghi growing everywhere giving it a fairytale glen feel.
Settling down to read The Hobbit after dinner, happy in the coincidence of the current passage being in the Mirkwood but hoping the giant spiders would not make an appearance! Luckily I was spared, but the silence of the nearby road meant that through the evening I heard the haunting sound of owls hooting to each other and remarkably the sound of a beetle chewing amongst the leaves around the tent!
A misty morning in the wood was burned off by the sun which came out as I made my way to Amerfoort, a walled city with some remarkable medieval buildings. My first town built around canals as well, I spent a few joyous hours wandering the cobbled backstreets until I tried to find somewhere to eat. The sun had seemingly brought the whole of the Netherlands out to sit in the cafes of the town. A lack of benches saw me stood up making sandwiches balanced precariously on the rear panniers of the bike!
Leaving the city I joined the cycle route towards Amsterdam, practically following a motorway so it wasn’t quite the calm tootle I had in mind. As the density of housing increased I was once more a little worried about where I might get to sleep. This time I sneaked into an old section of road. The new motorway route had left this section redundant and looking rather forlorn. I justified the positive use of the land for camping as the poor grass might not see another use until it gets bulldozed for another building!
A leisurely coffee watching the boats pootle up and down the canal in Muiden before cycling the straight lane towards the city. Making my way along the busy cycle paths, I followed the locals on their dutch bikes wheeling their way around the vast expanse of this diverse capital. As pathways crossed the sheer number of cyclists swerving their way around each other was incredible. Imminent chaos and crashes avoided without so much as a thought. As an onlooker you could stand at a junction with your head in your hands as sporty types whizz along the narrow path, overtaking a family out on their cargo bikes who in turn come up against a couple merrily chatting side by side. Surely be a recipe for disaster but somehow, pedal powered telepathy maybe, the whole city winds it’s way around each other and everyone finds their own way to their destination. All the while retaining an utter coolness and sense of not even trying! Remarkably I managed to join the throng, maybe not appearing quite so cool but I didn’t crash into anyone!
After a brief survey of the centre I decided to make my way to a campsite. I didn’t want to tempt fate flying along the busy cycle lanes fully loaded for too long. Towards Zeeburg to the east I passed through rows and rows of beautiful social housing blocks, something the Dutch are masters at. What could so easily appear monotonous and over populated has a vibrancy and sense of space. Each building is beautifully designed and detailled. The individual houses/flats complementing those around it, just like the terraced houses from smaller towns. The overall blocks have a refined solid quality and the single elements their own idiosyncratic quirks. Built around the network of canals the areas have a real sense of community.
Whole streets of families had taken out sofas and dining tables from garages to enjoy the unseasonal sunny weather. It was almost as if the buildings had lifted themselves up and moved backwards exposing the living quarters within. Just that no-one had noticed! Children playing up and down the roads and central playgrounds without the worry of cars or getting lost, all the while bordered by the delightful houseboats that line the waterways.
Built on an island with a view over the water and a long sweeping bridge, it was a lovely spot for a campsite. The area is an old hippy enclave with old painted campervans and some great street art. The site itself a nicely chilled place, an attempt of adding some psychadelia with brightly painted cabins and flags undermined by having goats living in the middle field!
There was a good atmosphere too, a sort of sparsely populated festival. People camped in groups huddled around passing joints in a circle. A lot of steady shuffling back and forth to the bathroom blocks and cafe, a general relaxed feeling wafting around. In the mornings there was more coughing than I’ve been used to! The groups were now sat around in similar circles eating cereal from mugs and rolling the first of the day. Just like being at a little festival!
I spent a couple of days wandering around the remarkable city, through busy markets and along pretty canals. People watching while eating chocolate cake in the hectic red light district, sunbathing on wooden water-taxi platforms, reading my book while sitting in the lush green parks and generally having a jolly good time! It didn’t take long for me to succomb to the draw (literally!) of the renowned coffeeshops.
After a while of searching the packed centre, the big groups of bawdy young weed tourists and slightly seedy looking lurkers put me off and I decided to widen my search. Away from the mass of obvious and tacky looking cafes I found a few more alternative places which have seemingly been around for years, decorated by artists and frequented by locals.
A strange experience, ordering a coffee as per usual but with the addition of an extra menu where you can select a gram or two of various extravagant sounding weed or hash. Even more bizarre is the normality of sitting reading the paper, and while the coffee cools rolling a nice big reefer to accompany the strong brown liquid and crumbly bisquit! Sitting taking it all in I got chatting to another guy and played cards for an hour, chatting as if we’d always known each other. As I melted into the mass of other slightly hazy people wandering happily through the city everything felt rather warm and fuzzy. I may have been lucky in my findings but the 3 coffeeshops I settled in had friendliness oozing from the warm glow inside.
Everyone chatting away quietly or just minding their own while reading old music magazines. I spent a while writing and trying to rationalise the multitude of thoughts rattling around my head before relenting to just merely enjoying my coffee and weed and the experience of doing so in such lovely surroundings. In Amsterdam I couldn’t feel more safe or comfortable. One evening around 9:30 I was walking down a back street, the lights from the houses oppisite glinting in the water and the chatter from windows above me as some gathering or party was taking place. I sat on the floor under the glow of a streetlamp and read for a while. It just felt right, I was in the centre of a big crazy city on my own in the dark down a side alley utterly enjoying my time.
The culture and atmosphere is unique, everywhere there is something beautiful, a letterpress printshop, the delicate cakes and pastries of a bakery, the elegant instruments in a back street music shop, people sat on the side of a canal engrossed in conversation, boats pootling along with folk sitting in the back drinking a bottle or laughing amongst themselves.
In the end I just had to leave! Otherwise I feared I would stay indefinitely and miss my ferry home!
Departing such a happy and positive place was a strain, although the knowledge that I would come back sometime eased the feeling. I passed through Haarlem another beautiful town with a magnificent church and bustling central marketplace. Making my way all the way west to the coast, I cycled though the sand dune areas north of Zandvoort.
Wild camping for the last time in a pine forest overlooking the small hills of the dunes. The sun cutting through the morning mist created spectacular light effects as I found my way to the North Sea.
After making my way all around Europe, swimming in every ocean I passed I told myself I had to do it. Luckily the weather was kind and even though the swim was refreshing to say the least, getting out and warming myself in the sunshine was a lovely end to the ocean swimming part of this trip!
I followed the coast, through towns that echoed the seaside charm of the ones over the water. Zandvoort even seemed to have a similarity to the Scarborough and Filey that I spent so many cold windswept summer hours in as a child!
I found myself quite amazed at how unDutch The Hague felt, a concrete jungle of business and capitalism. The only sense that I was in Holland were the number of business meetings taking place on the numerous street cafe tables. For a change I wandered into Chinatown and found an asian foodcourt. Similar to the ones in Malaysia. I got chatting to a group of Indonesian people and enjoyed some authentic and spicy grub. Cycling into the wind along the canal to Rotterdam iss apparently not the best way to digest such a feed but I had little choice and had to suffer in silence as my belly gurgled all the way to the city. That bloody song by the Beautiful South incessantly swimming around my head. I don’t even particularly like the tune but for some reason couldn’t stop singing it.
As the last large city on my travels I was somewhat underwhelmed by Rotterdam. Some rather incredible design and architecture galleries and interesting shipyards were offset against a grey sprawl of tired looking streets and once great architectural statements. I don’t know whether my mood was tarnished by thoughts of finishing my trip but everywhere I searched I could only find a small element of the quirk and personality I’d come to recognise in the Netherlands.
My final day in continental Europe was once more a battle against huge force nine headwinds as I made my way to the Hook of Holland. If I weren’t so bamboozled by the idea of the journey coming to it’s conclusion I might have been slightly annoyed. Instead I could only laugh to myself and think that maybe someone upstairs was trying to stop me from leaving!
I drank a few self congratulatory beers and an adequate pizza in the small port town while I waited to board the ship. On board and after a wander through the usual unexceptional self serve restaurant and the brash duty free shop full of expensive things I didn’t want nor need I sat down to read. Only I couldn’t concentrate. For the first time in five months I was surrounded by conversations in english! My ears were drawn to every slight mumble of gossip and chatter. Solitary travel invokes a slightly unbalanced sense of self importance whereas now I was bombarded by the goings on of dozens of other people, let alone the scrolling world news. Totally overwhelmed I made my way to my cosy little cabin and spent a rocky night trying to sleep in a real(ish) bed. It took me a while trying to figure out where the opening of the mattress was before I remembered that unlike a sleeping-bag you rest under it, not in it.
Readjusting to the real world may be more difficult that I thought!
• EXPLORINGFOREVER • 