Blink and you’ll miss Belgium
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.
So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade wines in your sails.
Explore. Dream. Discover.”
Mark Twain
I’d like to say that Twain’s words rang in my ears as we boarded the ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland. However I was feeling far from literary after a depressing farewell meal in the world’s most packed McDonald’s (McCovid anyone?) as everywhere else, including the local Premier Inn restaurant was fully booked. Then there was the pre-occupying thoughts about getting Janis up the giant steel ramp and onto the boat, anxiety lurking like a soggy chip in the pit of our stomachs.
We did of course make it, settled into our port-holed cabin, at the front of the ship no less! and woke up to find ourselves docking into a sunny Thursday morning with crowds of raucous seagulls to greet us. We eased our way down the gangway and out onto the unsuspecting Dutch roads, repeating the words “Drive on the right, DRIVE ON THE RIGHT” like a pair possessed.
After a couple of hours getting acquainted with the motorways we arrived at our lovely campsite to the south of Amsterdam. A bucolic place surrounded by woodlands, with a gorgeous lake for swimming and conveniently located at the end of the metro line.
However, wanting to do as the locals do, we hired bikes for a couple of days so that we could explore the streets and bridges and canals and such-like. After a 40 minute cycle in 30 degree heat we crash-landed into the centre of Amsterdam looking like a pair of sweaty, touristy messes and not remotely like the perpetually cool, pastel clad locals gliding past without effort or concern. The vast network of bicycle only highways that took us from out in the suburbs and into the centre of town was so impressive…I mean, it’s really not all that surprising that the Dutch cycle, and like doing it. A LOT. It would be rude not to given the set up. I certainly felt a lot less concerned that I would be deliberately squashed by an impatient taxi or lorry. Although this was replaced by a real and sensible fear of falling into the nearest canal….
After a couple of days spent meandering and a picnic in the magnificent and plentifully shaded Vondelpark, we hit the Van Gogh exhibition.
I hadn’t realised that the large majority of his work is not at all what we would recognise from the vibrant sunflowers, fields of wheat or self-portraits built of shimmering, fizzing dabs of pure colour. In fact most of the works we associate with this sad and quiet man happened only after he had met Gauguin, cut off a large part of his left ear and was consigned to several mental institutions. In the last two years of his life from 1888 to 1890 he produced some of his most famous pieces. Paintings which practically shout to us with hot yellows and blues, burning reds and joyful cafés and the endless, boundless skies of the south of France; and yet he himself felt such despair. I just really really hope, that from time to time, looking out at the fizzing, swirling, pinwheeling points of light in those starry skies, he enjoyed some bright moments too.
“With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget” - Don McLean
And in acknowledgement of the current mad mad world, the gift shop sold face masks in prints from his Sunflower and Almond Blossom paintings, so we got one of each.
Post Amsterdam we hared south through The Netherlands, barely pausing to count windmills or mice with clogs on and then over into Belgium. Here we were greeted by rain and some grumpy supermarket staff when we stopped for supplies. Of course everyone is trying to do their best with the current situation but I did think that forcing us to have a trolley each to ensure distancing felt a little silly.
“Madam, you need a trolley” (in Flemish)
“Eh?”
(Miming this time) “You need to have a trolley”
(Also miming) “No. It’s OK. We’re TOGETHER you see and we just need a BASKET. But thank you.”
(With grumpy eyebrows and in English) “No. It’s not OK. You are obligated to have a trolley. Both of you. For the Covid”
….oh
As I sulkily trailed behind Andy, pushing my empty “chariot”, I was reminded of the pretend mini-trolleys they used to give children so they could join in with the shopping experience. I’m sure it used to look like they were having more fun.
ANYWAY, after liberating ourselves from said trolleys we parked up for free in the grounds of an old chateau with water pouring from the grey sky. After agonising over which spot to take in the deserted but slowly flooding car park, getting increasingly irked with one another and then cooking my first proper meal in the van (chicken legs with onions and mushrooms in a crème frâiche sauce with broccoli thank you very much) we eventually crashed out, thankful to be somewhere warm and dry.
Pushing aside curtains the next day, we found the world a different place. Gentle tendrils of light crept through the silver birch trees around the van, and further on, a vast, green, beech-filled woodland greeted us.
We hurriedly made coffee, grabbed some fruit and muesli and headed for the nearest picnic bench where we ate looking at the 15th Century castle. Mist rose around us from a small stream and hung in shafts of light as it floated through the trees. Scents of damp earth, bracken and hidden flowers smelling mysteriously of grapefruit mingled with aromas of wet grass and sun-warming pine. We were the only souls around and as breakfasts go, this was one of the best.
Starting the day in such a private, beautiful place suddenly made me realise the possibilities of the adventure we had embarked upon. Whilst I’m certain and hopeful I’m not the first person to realise this, I’ll say it anyway.
We have all spent such a lot of time trying to find THE thing to see, THE view, THE defining experience of a place. Tying ourselves in knots to find the right tour or boat trip, ensuring we follow the well trodden trail for fear of missing out on the thing we are meant to do. So with that morning, I decided to try and fight against all that. To let things just unfurl for us, to not seek, but just to find. I’m writing this whilst drinking some very nice and very cheap rosé (Domaine de la Coche - Val de Loire, Pays de Retz IGP since you ask) so perhaps I’ve become sentimental…..but I think it’s important to set that intention and more importantly, have some witnesses.
I feel that by allowing things to just happen a bit more, we’ll get the most jolly bonne things out of life. Cheers!