Be informed

Zandervoort aspires to be Nice (in France). The beach is occupied by rows of sunbeds and associated bars and cafés. We selected one of these cafés for breakfast. We were served a curious concoction. Surprisingly lacking in cereals, toast and jam. Breakfast, but not as we know it.

The wind again had presence. Following the LF1A we passed through Zandvoort’s southern neighbourhoods where the architecture at least was better. Less stark and modern. However, along the coastline, Zandervoort has many imitators. Katwijk aan Zee, for instance, the mouth of the original Rhine. The route between the two continues the dunes theme.

Sheveningen is the beach town of the country’s capital, Den Hag. Getting through also requires diligence as the cycle route meanders its way through residential and industrial streets. It is a working port. We had afternoon tea at a café in a 1960s shopping arcade in Kijkduin within earshot of a brass band playing for customers. I felt like I was in England.

And then finally to a campsite on the edge of a curiously named town, Monster. The campsite was great. Cheap, lots of room and a washing machine. We pitched the tent, showered and then went in search of food. Fortuitously, we headed to the beach first and found a restaurant on the beach. Unexpected. Monster is not the kind of place that suggests beach restaurants.

Although the menu was not veggie friendly, we were served with a dish that involved stuffing an apple (picture above right). It was surprisingly good. We were the last customers out of the door at closing time.

We then attempted to walk into Monster itself in the dark. We got so far before we gave up and went back to the campsite. The short distance that we did walk presented a well-preserved wind pump and some interesting street furniture like the specimen on the left.

And then on to our final day. Hoek van Holland and then round the channel crossing it at Rozenberg where we had a bizarre lunch experience in a bar. There was not much open in the town on a Monday. Not sure why. We anticipated tumbleweed blowing down the main street.

Europoort is then another ten kilometers of unmemorable dockland. And a queue to get on board the ferry. Fortunately it was not raining.