The Netherlands

When I arrived in the Netherlands, I did not only leave behind the depressingly-early darkness of Scandinavia, I also avoided the hostels that had been home for the previous ten weeks and stayed with family friends in the city of Utrecht. Having a bedroom of my own would have been pleasure enough, but Jan, Lena and Maia were so hospitable and friendly that my vague plan to spend one week in the Netherlands was forgotten and I eventually departed after enjoying a very relaxing two weeks in their company.

Dutch trivia: the historic national colour of the Netherlands is orange, the colour of the Dutch royal family (the House of Oranje-Nassau) and dates back to Willem van Oranje (William of Orange, 1533-1584).

Utrecht is a small university town, threaded by canals and centred by a fascinating old quarter. It was a pleasure to explore the narrow lanes, the small shops and the network of canals and bridges. The most convenient method of transport in Dutch cities is the bicycle, and so I reacquainted myself with the two-wheeled vehicle after a 10 year hiatus. I also had to come to grips with weaving my way through the pedestrians and along the narrow cobblestone streets, perpetually reminding myself that in Europe it is customary to travel on the right-hand side of the road. Once this no longer required my full concentration, I was able to properly enjoy the quiet charm and beauty of Utrecht.

The town dates back to a Roman fortification and settlement founded some time in the first century AD, and metal bands stretch across some of the cobblestone streets, depicting where the Roman walls and roads once lay. The streets are lined by picturesque medieval buildings, and ancient fortresses and several old churches are strewn across the city. In particular, many beautiful stores and cafes are found on the narrow streets that run along the main canals. Also found on the canals are a large range of restaurants, which are built into the canal walls themselves and sit only marginally above the water. Following the main canal north, leaving the city behind, I cycled across scenic parkland and discovered a collection of quaint old houses, each lined by individual moats. A man’s home is indeed his castle (sorry, I had to).

Returning to town on the other side of the canal, I was busy admiring the tiny houses whose gardens back directly onto the water, when I stumbled across Utrecht’s very own red light district! Unlike its much better known sibling in Amsterdam, the prostitutes of Utrecht display themselves from the windows of countless houseboats that seemed to line the canal without end. That they are all on show in the early afternoon of a weekday was surprising, as was the casual attitude of most passers-by, who ignored the prostitutes as we might the mannequins in a store window.

And so, in a single afternoon Utrecht had managed to both charm and surprise me. To my chagrin, Utrecht also proved the undoing of my cartographic ability, and it took an entire week before I was able to cycle directly into town and back again without getting lost.

I also managed to lose myself when I set out to ride to the nearby villages of Bunnik and Zeist — despite being located to the east, I came to realise that I was somehow heading back towards the centre of Utrecht. I am now certain that the Netherlands is my own personal Bermuda Triangle, and that I was saved from sinking only because I was already below sea-level. Once I found the correct direction I enjoyed a very pleasant ride across some beautifully green and vibrant farmland. The villages themselves were small and picturesque, isolated clusters of medieval buildings amidst a green sea.

The Dutch landscape is covered in an extensive network of canals and ditches, which not only keep the Netherlands from being submerged, but also served as a defence mechanism that allowed the Dutch to cover vast tracts of land with water deep enough to prevent soldiers and horses from approaching, and shallow enough to prevent a naval attack. I knew that much of the Netherlands lies below sea level, but I was extremely surprised to learn that some of the country was claimed from the sea less than a century ago! These areas are called polders, and the ones I saw were covered in farmland and huge wind farms.

Much of the farmland is divided into extremely long and narrow fields that are lined with ditches instead of fences, and small bridges serve as gates. One afternoon Jan and I walked along a narrow ridge of land that stretched between two such regions of farmland, which was originally a heavily-trafficked medieval road along which the farmers and other pedestrians were obliged to surrender a portion of their goods to use — a medieval toll road! From this ancient road, we caught a bus to a nearby village where I tried a traditional Dutch dish of raw herring and onion. Jan neglected to mention that the herring was raw until after I had taken my first mouthful, but (fortunately for me!) it tasted nice enough.

As Utrecht is located in the centre of the Netherlands, it was very easy to visit any other region by train. My first port of call was Amsterdam, which in many ways was exactly what I had expected: beautiful old houses (some leaning at all angles except those perpendicular to the ground), wide canals, ubiquitous coffee shops, bicycles and cyclists in unbelievable numbers. Lunch was a traditional Dutch affair of fries served with mayonnaise. Between the afternoon discovery of a microbrewery hidden behind a tiny storefront on one of the canals, and stumbling upon a cosy bar in the late evening (figuratively speaking), it became obvious that the Netherlands produce some excellent beers.

Of course, Amsterdam is also home to the infamous red light district, where all manner of prostitutes beckon from behind floor-to-ceiling windows in an attempt to part tourists from their euros. No photographs of this district are allowed — the area is covered with surveillance cameras and apparently this rule is strongly enforced — and the women are observant enough that they disappear from view the moment anyone points a camera even vaguely in their direction. True to its name, the windows are indeed lined with red fluorescent lights.

The Hague (Den Haag in Dutch, which sounds unbelievably similar to someone clearing their throat) is the financial district of the Netherlands and would not necessarily be the most interesting Dutch town to visit, except that it is home to a permanent M. C. Escher exhibition. The exhibition is housed in a delightful building, and the rooms are illuminated by chandeliers of many different and wonderful shapes. A few works of other artists were also on display, presenting illusions and contradictions similar to those found in Escher’s work.

The top floor of the building was given over to optical illusions in general and included a display of Escher’s “Print Gallery” where the central circle had been completed to infinite regress (which apparently entailed some rather complicated mathematics). This was shown both as a print (which was obviously limited to a finite level of detail) and also depicted as a video that endlessly zoomed into the centre of the work.

I then emerged from the gallery to find the Hague completely covered in a white blanket of snow. Despite this unseasonable weather, I walked to the coast and saw two surfers emerging from the stormy grey sea, unperturbed by the freezing winds and the pure white of the snow-covered beach. After a brief look around the shoreline, I shivered my way back to the train station — no trivial matter, rather a long and treacherous walk along the ice-covered pavement.

I also ventured into the northern reaches of the Netherlands, arriving at Den Helder by train and then taking a ferry to the southern tip of the island Texel (pronounced “Tessel”). The oceans were grey and stormy, and the wind was stronger than any I have ever encountered — it was not physically possible to walk across the front of the ferry during the crossing. The wind was no less substantial on the island itself, many times bringing me to a complete stop on the bicycle as I pedalled directly against it. I visited several of the delightful villages scattered across the verdant countryside, enduring the schizophrenic Dutch weather that every hour oscillated between sunny skies with a gentle breeze, and pouring rain and hail accompanied by bike-stopping winds.

Once I had cycled half the length of the island, reaching the third and final town on my improvised itinerary, I traversed the west coast of the island, a giant national park consisting of sheltered forests and grassy sand dunes. With the wind at my back it was no longer necessary to pedal, even when climbing gentle inclines. I was able to sit back and observe the furious hailstones floating on the gusts of wind, which were violent enough to dislodge entire flocks of birds from their perches, throwing them against each other in a chaotic maelstrom. The schadenfreude was most gratifying.

If you are under the impression that my Dutch sight-seeing could not possibly have consumed an entire fortnight, you would indeed be correct. In fact, I spent roughly as much time ensconced on the couch, with a book and the occasional beer, as I did wandering the Dutch cities and countryside. In many ways my time in Utrecht was a holiday within a holiday, where I often took the time to do nothing at all. And so it was with great reluctance that I eventually left Utrecht — and Jan, Len and Maia — behind. Unfortunately my time in Europe is unfortunately limited and there are too many places that I wish to visit. The next country on my list was Belgium and so I boarded a train to the medieval town of Bruges.