The Dutch Farm

We had rented out our flat in Vancouver to a Medical researcher as the apartment is conveniently located close to his work and to the Metro which goes straight to the airport. He has rented it for a year with an option to extend.

Therefore I have returned to the Netherlands to find a place to stay during the winters and breaks. Returning to the Netherlands, after not having lived there for 62 years, can be both surprising and challenging.

The Dutch also have their fondness for paperwork, much like the French but organized with efficiency and helpfulness.

I had found a suitable little place in a 1910 Dutch farm, not too far from Schiphol Airport. A little flat tugged in between the orchard and the hothouses and comes with a private patio which I share with two Calico cats who are competing for the sunny spot on the bench outside. 

The farmhouse is quaint and next-door is a cottage-looking building with large French doors and lace curtains. It is the residence of two pot-bellied pigs and some large Brahma hens and not without its proud rooster doing his job. 

There was a hen nesting in the yard and I was looking forward to some small chicks running around they never hatched. I also purchased some-assembly-required-IKEA-furniture for the making of a new home in the Netherlands. It was simple and they deliver to the small apartment. The farmer came with his toolbox and started to assemble the units so that I could have a bed to sleep on.

I had sent for my bicycle and other small belongings from the barge in France. After all, you need a bicycle to get around in the Netherlands. With spring being just around the corner and the tulip fields in range, I was ready for when they start blooming. I had somehow never managed to see the tulip fields and this would be the first time.

The Beach

About two years ago we rented out our loft and moved our belongings back onboard Zonder Zorg in Auxonne France.  After adjusting to the time change, I took several trains to get me to Haarlem, just outside Amsterdam the Netherlands.
               

                                                       The perfect place for some serious cheese shopping,

Liquorice tasting 

and some paperwork that needed tending too and I checked myself into a hostel for a week.

      On Sunday the sun appeared, the crocuses popped some more and the Dutch cycled to the beach.

I walked from Zandvoort to the Zuid Kennermeland National Park and a stroll through the dunes. 

The family oriented Dutch brought their family, of all ages, to the beach while others just enjoyed getting a head start on a sun tan. 

Along the beach, I enjoyed watching the activity from kite flying, horseback riding, fishing and the start of sand castles. 

The fish truck made its way onto the beach and once it stopped, the locals lined up as they have been for years. 

Well behaved dogs appeared from every direction with balls and sticks with some brave once taking a dip in the North Sea. One dog was burying its toy in a newly dug hole.

 I can only imagine what this beach looks like in the height of summer.

Stadhuis Haarlem

The City Hall of Haarlem dated from the 14th century with its location at the Grote Markt, in the heart of the city. Under the gaze of the St. Bavo Church, and its numerous restaurants, bars and shops.

I have walked passed by the entrance way multiple times but decided, now that the tourists have left, to have a closer look. The grey-toned brick pavement was inviting and through an archway was a courtyard built of the same narrow bricks.

Remnants of the past, the local well, now turned into a pleasing displace of blooming plants, bringing a calmness to the enclosure.


Then I spotted the unintrusive bronze wall mounting in the courtyard. In a short paragraph, it honoured the Canadian troops that liberated the area during world war 2.

The plaque conveyed many things and it made me proud to be a Canadian. It liberated the small seaside village, not far from Haarlem, where my family lived.  My father who had been an indentured labourer in Germany for five years was able to return to his family. Due to this event two years later in May 1947, I was born. After my 18th birthday, I immigrated to Canada and then became a Canadian.

Boys will be boys

Walking through the pedestrian shopping malls in Haarlem I came across these two boys. It had rained the night before with few signs left of the downpour, but one puddle.  

The only pool to be seen and the two towheads spotted it. While the mother was in a conversation with either neighbour or friend the two boys entertained themselves. They seem to be brothers, one older than the other. Mothers conversation ended and she called the boys. 

The two left, but the younger one turned around and had second thoughts about the puddle.

The little one now had it all to himself. 

The towhead tried out several maneuvers and turns. 

The mother called again. 

One more splash and it was time to go home.

Streets of Haarlem

Walking through the streets of Haarlem you are aware of the bricked pavement. Small narrow bricks dating back in time when they were fired in the area and laid down on a foundation of sand gathered from the dunes. They vary in colour from gray, charcoal, sand coloured and slowly turning to shades of red. Even in the red, there is a variation of colours depending mostly on the firing. Presently there is still a profession called Street Making. An apprenticeship was followed in that trade taking into account the curve and the drainage of the pavement. With modern equipment, it has made the task easier, but most of the digging has to be done by hand as pipes and cable are buried underground. 

There is not much distinction between the sidewalk and the road and the small commercial carts that once maneuvered through these narrow streets, have been replaced by bicycles. Bikes have become the mode of transportation and with the separate bike lanes, it has become the preferred method of getting around the city.

Although there is not much of a sidewalk, there is room for a bench and flowers pot and plants. The benches are to sit on, but mostly avoiding visiting cyclists placing their bike against the glass window  panes

The streets have become pedestrian walkways and cyclist have to dismount, otherwise, face a fine.  The pavement has also become part of the neighbourhood, while streets are swept and leaves gathered there is still time for a quick word to the neighbours between chores.

Away from the flowers and plants are the temporary units that sell their freshly baked goods. They make their circuit and move to different locations during the week.

The aroma of freshly baked waffles is hard to miss and difficult to walk past. It is amazing with all the freshly baked goods; obesity is rare.

There are narrow passageways that have been there for hundreds of years and invite you to follow it.

Some doors lead to a courtyard or a well establish gardens.

Some passage is the width of a wheelbarrow and has doors leading to it with plants hanging from brackets.

Traditionally, a small business was run by a woman as her husband held a full-time job. The business was on the main floor and the owner lived above the store. She ran the business and raised the children at the same time. It is closed during lunch hour and closed one day during the week and on weekends. 

Businesses spill out onto the sidewalks with their wares and displays. Bars and restaurants claim most of the sidewalks.

As I was looking for direction to the shortest route back to by hotel, I spotted the crow sitting on the information post and as I was looking for the shortest route, decide to follow it.

Not far from anywhere, is the cheese shop with its display on the sidewalk along with its cheese samples.

Walking from Woerden to Gouda

I had packed my walking boots and a small backpack for my brief visit to Gouda and Haarlem. As I was traveling with carry-on baggage only, it did take up most of the space but was well worth the effort.

With a short train ride to Woeren and following the signs to the historical village and then into the marshlands. The village is old and was part of the Northern borders of the Roman Empire with the first stronghold built in 40AD.

With lush green field and well-maintained houses and gardens I started the walk back to Gouda.

Outside one of the farms was a table, selling jam, with a beautifully handpainted cabinet and small pouch attached for coin. 

I could not resist but opened the door to find a display of homemade jams, handwritten labels and finishing it with a small cover. 

Not far from the road were some goats who posed for a photo and then continued with their graze.

A curious goat wanted a better look and in this flat terrain, he could probably see for miles.

An apple tree is heavily laden with fruit and ready for some Dutch Apple Pie.

With the sun now losing its strength, it gave a glow as it filtered softly through the trees. 

Canals open up to a larger waterway 

and an escape route for the ducks.

Decorative urns are everywhere even in the algae waterways, making it look like a lawn. 

After four hours it was time to catch my train in the outskirts of Gouda back into town. 

It has been a terrific walk.