Day trips

I have been painting again over the past two months. I haven’t been working quickly; just working when I felt compelled. I was working on an updated version of a piece I painted last fall. The first painting to the left is one I posted on my blog last November and has been sitting on my wall across from my bed ever since. It has been bothering me. I like the concept that all colours repeat themselves with one “square” in between. But I felt it looked too jumbled and needed some order to be introduced. So, I painted another version of it which now takes its place on my wall. Nina prefers the first one, but I am far more partial to the second version.

With the extra paint I had mixed for that painting, I started to work on a second piece as a way to avoid wasting the paint. I had no idea how it was going to turn out or even what I was doing. In a fashion unlike how I approach my other work, I completely made it up as I went along. Both Nina and I liked the outcome and it now also rests on the wall across from my bed.

The clock is ticking down. When it will stop, I don’t know. I still have no idea where we are going next and when exactly that will happen. But the one thing I do know for certain is that my time in Amsterdam is running out. At some point in the next three or four months I will be leaving this country and that has set in some panic. I have made peace with leaving and setting up a new home in the UK. But I still have a lot of adventuring to do here and that is the ball I have now set into motion.

Last Saturday, with a weekend to myself, I took the train 20 minute west of Amsterdam to Haarlem. I had a great time and it was a wonderful day. Sunday morning I woke up to gorgeous weather; the sun was shining and it was warm. Perfect beach weather!

I headed to the train station and boarded the train toward Haarlem. I saw all the same scenery as the train traversed the countryside and stopped in Haarlem. This is one of the more picturesque train stations I have seen. Built in 1908, it’s the only Art Nouveau station in the country. Few people got off and the majority of the passengers were sporting shorts and flip-flops. The train left the station and kept heading west for another seven or either minutes before arriving in Zandfort aan Zee (sand fort at the sea).

I did a little bit of research on Zandfort aan Zee over my breakfast. I discovered the small resort town was known for two things; the beach and their motor racing circuit. I also glimpsed over a map as I didn’t hold much faith in the small two-platform train station having much in the way of a tourism office.

Upon arriving I made my way out of the station. The sun was shining and the ocean breeze was sweeping through the town. The majority of the people headed straight out and up the road to the beach a few blocks away. I opted to turn right, walking perpendicular to the sea, heading toward the distant sound of revving engines.

I traipsed through a vacationer’s bungalow park that once belonged to the racing track. They sold half their land and redesigned the circuit in the 1970s which made way for this mass of cookie-cutting cottages.

I walked up a large sand dune at the end of town and from the top I had a magnificent view down on the Circuit Park Zandvoort; the motorsport racing track. This track is still used for Grand Prix races, although today it was hosting some nostalgic racers.

This series was for cars from the 1960s and 70s including old Porsches, Minis, Austin Healeys, Citroens, Alfa Romeos and many more I couldn’t identify. One of the cars was so small and pathetic; I think it was solely there to make the other drivers feel better. In the 10 minutes I watched the race he must have been lapped twice by the rest of the pack. Every time he came by, he was passed by somebody and my range of vision was limited to two corners on the 4.3 km track.

I was able to walk down the other side of the dune and found myself at the fence just metres away from the screaming cars. Unfortunately they weren’t “fast” cars by most racing standards, so I grew tired of watching them fairly quickly.

I walked the block or two to the beach. The North Sea glimmered and I realized how much I loved the idea of seeing the sea. I also felt a little foolish as I realized how close it had been to me all this time. From my apartment to the sea took me about 50 minutes and it hadn’t dawned on me before to come see it.

I have acclimated to European life quite well. Although having been raised in North America, some things are harder to let go of than others. My perception of distance is one of them. I am used to living in a massive country not on an oversized sandbar. The Netherlands can comfortably fit into Canada 240 times. Hell, it fits into New York state almost 3 ½ times! So to go on a daytrip here is really easy. I can cross the whole the length of the country in around five hours.

Last year I had a bike and was consumed with exploring Amsterdam on it. It was a good way to see the city, but I wasn’t thinking about going anywhere that couldn’t be reached by bicycle. Now that my bike has been stolen (and I have a hard time calling it a ‘bike’ since it was hardly able to function as one anymore) I am now looking farther out at my other options. And when I bring my decent back with me from Vancouver this summer, I am sure I will want to resume my rides. Although, with a “real” bike (opposed to the Dutch variety) I will be able to cover some real distance and travel to other towns like Haarlem.

The smell, sound and feel of the beach was wonderful. I realized I hadn’t seen the sea since I left Vancouver 14 months ago (unless you count seeing it from an airplane when I flew to London to meet Shawn last fall). This beach seemed to stretch forever and I walked down to the edge of the water. I walked along the beach in a southern direction and if I kept walking for another 20 km I would arrive in Nordwijk where Nina and I spent our last three days together in the summer of 2007.

Zandvoort looked a lot like Nordwijk as I am sure all Dutch resort towns likely do. However I did see something I hadn’t seen in Noordwijk, or anywhere else for that matter. Amsterdam has loads of herring stands; they are all over the city on the sides of streets and canals. On this beach there were also herring stands, on wheels, pulled by large tractors! They drove up and down the beach offering snacks to the bathers. And as I walked I discovered herring wasn’t the only food on offer. The next mobile snack hut offered fresh pizzas as they sported a pizza oven inside.

Each section of the beach had a restaurant/bar and looked after the sand around it. Reclining lawn chairs and wind barriers were scattered along the beach bearing the name of the associated restaurant from whom you rented them. With bar and food service, reclining chairs and sun, this was a perfect place to spend the day. However I did not come dressed to lounge on the beach having left my swim shorts at home. I came to see the beach and have a long walk along it. I also hadn’t counted on how warm it would be despite the wind.

As it was a Sunday the whole town was open with a massive street market. This removed any natural charm the town might have had as the streets were teaming with people and vendors. It was a zoo. However in fairness, I didn’t really care too much about the town. I would only return to spend a day on the beach.

I went back to work on Monday feeling refreshed. I had had a busy weekend, but I can think of few things more enjoyable than finding myself somewhere new with undiscovered, and hopefully interesting, sights around every corner.

Monday was also a beautiful day. The heat had been building up over a week and the air was thick. As the sun set and the sky darkened, a cover of high cloud rolled in over the city. I was sitting at my dining room table and kept seeing flashes out the corner of my eye. I went onto the balcony to see what it was.
Deep in the clouds there was a lightning storm that emitted this dull glow every once in a while. Along with it came a strong wind, almost out of nowhere as the day had been so calm. The air was still warm and this reminded me a bit of a tropical storm. What I didn’t realize is that I was in for one of the worst storms I had ever witnessed.

The tops of the large trees in Rembrandt Park stand at eye level with the 4th floor windows of the building and they were swaying like blades of grass in a breeze. The rain started to come down at an angle and the clouds above the city were looking dark.

I went to my room and sat on my bed with the lights off. The lightning started to dart out across the sky with more frequency. Between 11pm and 1am there were three to four lightning flashes a minute! The thunder was deafening and at some points it was in unison with the lightning. By 1am the storm had moved away and there was a calmness, so I went to sleep. At 5am I was awoken by more thunder and lightning and I went back to the living room window to watch. The rain was coming down horizontally due to the strong winds. The city in front of me was black except for the white flashes of lightning that were increasing in their frequency. I went back to bed and remembered my time in Cinque Terre where there had been a similar storm over my hostel. As the building was two stories high and not as sturdy, it shook as if bombs were landing around it. That was the worst storm I have ever been in; this was a close second.

In the morning it was over and I found out it wasn’t just in Amsterdam, it had been parked on top of the whole country! There were more than 500 km of traffic jams around The Netherlands due to the wrath of that storm. Below my building is a grassy area, a sort of garden that leads away from the building and merges with the park. At least, that is how it usually looks. This morning there was a newly formed pond below the building with two ducks swimming around. Over the walking path there was a downed tree, one of the many the storm uprooted.

By Wednesday I had reached my quota of hours for the week and was foreseeing an opportunity to take a day off. I checked the weather report which advised me Friday would have more favourable conditions. I ensured I finished everything that needed to be done on Thursday so I would be free and clear.

I spoke to Marc as I had had Delft on my radar for some time and he confirmed it was worth a visit. Although it came with the caveat that I already live in the best and most beautiful city in the country. I explained to him that, from my perspective, it is all living history and is interesting to see. Also, it would be a shame to have lived in such a small country and not taken advantage of the opportunities to see the different regions and provinces. With that he offered up a few more options for my next round of daytrips which also sounded like good options.

On Friday I left my apartment around noon and headed to the train station. Like the previous two trips, my train started down the track toward Haarlem. After leaving Haarlem’s station it turned left and headed south toward Den Hague. We travelled through vast countryside that renewed my doubt that there are in fact 16 million people in this tiny country. No single city has a million people and few have more than half a million. Every time you leave a city you find yourself travelling through flowing meadows with small villages and towns dotting the landscape.

The train left Den Hague heading toward Rotterdam and somewhere in between lies the historic city of Delft. Their train station is small, sporting three tracks, and lies on the edge of the historic town centre. I walked into the middle toward the three prominent church spires. The canals were smaller than those in Amsterdam, yet it had a similar feel as Haarlem which I likened to a mini, or quaint Amsterdam.

I later asked Marc if all towns in The Netherlands look like this and he reminded me the bulk of my travels have been to cities and towns in North and South Holland. He recommended I travel to some of the other provinces in order to see more diversity in the architecture and style of the towns.

While walking down a charming canal I came across a kiosk selling boat tours which I thought would be a good way to orientate myself and learn some of the history. Even though they advertised the tours are in English, the bulk of the commentary was in Dutch with the Coles notes version reiterated in English. So I spent most of my time snapping pictures and enjoying the warm sun.

Delft is best known for the pottery they produce (by the same name) and as the hometown of the painter Jan Vermeer. It is not well known that the microscope was invented here.

One of the highlights of the boat tour was riding into the harbour where we stopped with a view toward the old city. Large photographs of Jan Vermeer’s View of Delft painting were handed around as we were at the location where he painted it in 1661. The harbour was completely different now with the only common building being the tower of the New Cathedral. To the left you see Vermeer’s painting and the photograph below it is that same view as it looks today.

After the tour I headed to the New Cathedral and climbed the tower. As I rose dozens and dozens of metres above the city it occurred to me that every stone and rock around me would have had to be manually carried or hoisted using ropes and manpower. I didn’t dare complain about the cramped circular staircase and narrow hallways when the only thing I had to carry up was myself.

There were three or four levels where one can walk around the outside to get different views depending on how much height you want. However, what I found interesting about that was the opportunity to see the decorated facade at the different levels with more detail than you can usually see from the bottom looking up, or from the top looking down.

The view from the top was stunning. There was a light breeze which was well appreciated after being in the sun for the past hour or so. From the top, the town looked like a model, too perfect to be real. And considering the town dates back to the 13th century, it is amazing to see the purpose of the layout from a topographical viewpoint.

Inside the New Cathedral I saw the entrance to the tomb where every member of the Dutch Royal Family has been buried since the mid 1500s. Previously the Royal Family had been buried in a town in the south of the country, however in the 1500s that part of the country was occupied by the Spanish and a new resting place needed.

When I came back down I headed toward the Catholic Church across the road, but it was closed. I then headed to the Old Cathedral, but it was also closed. I started to regret the time I spent on the boat tour as it had prevented me from visiting these other churches.

The trip to Delft was supposed to take about one hour. However the train schedule online hadn’t given me the correct information which caused me to waste a half hour at a station where the train was never going to come to. I went to a different station to get an alternative train and arrived in Delft an hour later than I should have.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the old canals and residential lanes. Earlier in the day I had accidentally wondered upon Delft’s Synagogue which was fashioned more like an old courthouse than a house of worship. On the boat tour I learned it was actually the oldest Synagogue in The Netherlands.

I found an Italian ice cream shop and treated myself. I sat along a canal on the edge of the old town, away from the tourist attractions and mostly surrounded by locals. I could faintly hear what sounded like marching drummers in the distance. I continued eating my ice cream and the sound got closer and closer. A few blocks away they came into view and marched down the canal I was sitting by. It was an elementary school’s marching brass and drum band accompanied by a team of tiny baton twirlers. The small band was followed by a parade of families that stretched for many blocks behind the band. It looked as if the whole school and every family associated with it were out in support.

The musicians were playing their hearts out. The band was playing the same song, but it almost seemed like each member was playing it at a tempo that suited them individually. Perhaps next year they get to the part in their lessons where they work on playing in unison.

After spending a good five hours walking around the inner town I decided to head back to Amsterdam. I was wiped out from all the walking and feeling drowsy from being in the sun all day.

I drifted in and out of sleep on the ride home. I opened my eyes briefly and caught a glimpse of a passing tulip field. They were growing purple flowers and it looked as though a magnificent sheet of velvet had been laid down over the ground.

On Saturday Nina arrived and we went into Chinatown for some dinner. When Mom had been here in the fall we had visited the tiny Chinatown which resides on the outer edge of the Red Light District. Unfortunately the quality of Chinese restaurants here is not too high, but we found somewhere semi-decent to eat.

On Sunday we headed to the Oude Kerk (Old church) to view the World Press Photo exhibit. We had been to it last year and were eager to see the photographs on display this year. Almost all of them were in relation to news stories that had occurred in the past year. Most of them were morose; showing pain, death and suffering. It had been our intention to go when Dad and Andrew were here last month, but time hadn’t permitted.