Gouda, Kinderdijk and Bergheim. Day 2 of the Low Countries road trip.

It’s never a great sleep with the throb of a huge engine underpinning every second of the trip but I was risen from my slumber with a sprightly ‘bing-bong’ over the tannoy warning us that we were heading towards land.

One quick shower later, my daughter and I were on the deck watching the world go by as we edged into Holland.  Almost immediately, we were able to watch locals on their pushbikes heading out to the end of the pier on their Saturday morning constitutional and lazy fisherman hanging their strings into the sea in expectation of a nibble.

In almost no time, we were off the ferry and waiting to get through customs.  We pulled up to the little booth and handed over the passports and the chap asked us what the purpose of our trip was.  I wasn’t sure if now was the time for complete honesty to be honest.  My daughter had clawed over maps of Europe and decided that our ultimate destination would a little village in Germany called Titz.

Immature?  Yes.  Silly?  Yes.  An incredible idea that I was one hundred percent behind? Of course!

So, rather than trying to explain to a Dutch border official that we were spending 4 days on the road to visit a place with a rude name, I told him that we were on a road trip and we would be heading to Gouda. For the record, I pronounced that “Gow-da”.

As he scanned the passports into his little machine, he had a very confused look on his face and didn’t respond to me at all.  Trying to explain our weird destination choice, I added ‘Yes, we are a big fan of cheese’.

‘Aaaaaaaah’ he said, with a look of clarity coming over his face, ‘Hooo-da” with an extra throaty sound on the ‘Hooo’.  This seemed to make a lot more sense to him and he waved us through.

An hour later, and with 55 miles on the clock, we were parking up in Gouda.  It was a lovely place that ticked every stereotypical box that Dutch towns would have.  There were canals crisscrossing the city spanned with very pretty bridges and covered in flowers, there were more bikes than cars and there was a general feel of wealth about the place. 

We made our way to the town square to see if we could pick up some lunch and we were delighted to see that it was market day.  There were dozens of trucks and stalls spread around the square and it was bustling with life. 

We were hungry, bordering on hangry, and so pulled up at a lively looking restaurant with an undercover seating area that stretched out from the glass fronted building to almost touch the edge of the market. 

The place was called Goudsglas.nl, and under the warmth of a patio heater and with blankets available for our knees should we need it, we ordered our breakfast.  We were hardly able to keep our eyes off the action and activity of the market spread out in front of us.

There were smiles as friends caught up in the street, frowns as grandmas squeezed and prodded at fresh fruit on the stalls and shouts in throaty and course sounding Dutch as market stall holders tempted in fine looking passers-by towards their wares.

It was very clear that Gouda was a cheese town.  My lunch was made up of cheesy potato croquettes with chips and salad while my daughter opted for the cheese soup which, of course, was accompanied by cheese croquettes too.

It was lovely to sit there in the drizzle and take it all in, but we had to keep moving. We spent the next hour or so walking around the market and the wider town taking it all in.  I would say that every third stall was selling Gouda cheese, in all of the different sizes and flavours that one could imagin, the rest being made up of fresh fish, vegetables, clothes, sweets, pastries, the list goes on.  There was something for everyone.

The more permanent shops were equally interesting too.  There were very few nationals or chain around the market square, but lots of independent shops ranging from weird and whacky bric-a-brac come antique stores, gem stores, book shops, cafes and bars all separated by pretty and perfectly clean houses that provided a window into the clean and professional looking homes of the Dutch.  Each house seems to be a photoshoot for House and Home magazine waiting to happen.

We stumbled into a lovely little spot, the Stroop waffle factory or syrup waffle for those that like a translation.  A very warm and happy lady behind the counter welcomed us in with such gusto and love that I immediately knew that we were going to buy something in there.

There were samples of broken stroop waffles to try on the counter and, having had a nibble, the inevitable happened and boxes of full biscuits along with a cone of broken pieces were nabbed.  A sample of syrup waffle liqueur was offered but I refused on the basis that I was driving.

My daughter took the shot and her eyes lit up, so I dabbed the bottom out of the sample container to get a taste and it was incredible.  Just the drop that I had was enough to warm the back of the throat with a clear taste of Stroop Waffle that appeared to be on fire.  As I nodded my approval, the lady behind the counter joked, “Pah, 14%, it’s like Lemonade!” as she waved me away with her hand!

With the parking nearly up, we made our way back through the town to the car and headed off for the next adventure.  Just under half an hour later we were on the motorway through the centre of Rotterdam while playing the song Rotterdam by The Beautiful South at full belt.  

We were heading to a lovley little spot called Kinderdijk.  It is a world heritage site that is famous for its 18^th century windmills that loom silently over the canals in full working order.  There is a small café and museum at the head of a foot and cycle path that loops along the waterway with stops every so often for photo opportunities, each one more pretty than the next.  The busy walkway was a great way to stretch the legs and take in the beautiful views and the peaceful late afternoon sunshine.

We bought some Gouda cheese and a pot of strawberries from the market stall and then walked back to the car park which was that of a factory about a mile down the road as the main carpark was full.  This gave us a great chance to see a man doing his gardening in a pair of authentic wooden clogs and then have a plate of chips with mayo and soft drink.  Along with the windmills, this was the most Dutch day either of us had.  All we were missing was a few tulips and a gallon of orange paint and we had the full house.

We headed east towards our final stop for the day, our hotel in Germany.  Daughter child was asleep when we reached the border and I woke her in shock as we crossed into Germany.  As soon as we hit the border  it was as if every car had hit a power-up on Mario-Kart and had started to fly!  Honestly, the change in tone between the relaxed and chilled Dutch roads and the speed of the German autobahn was incredible.  

Don’t get me wrong, the roads were not crazy and chaotic like an Italian road, but you certainly had to keep your wits about you, it wasn’t for the fainthearted.  We flew like the wind through Germany so that we were not spun off the road and passed the huge surface mines of Garzweiler and Hambach.  

The size and scale of these things was incredible.  Hambach alone is almost twice the size of Edinburgh at 170 square miles and Garzweiller coming in at ‘just’ 19 square miles which is the same as Heathrow airport.    It looked like a giant had gouged a huge pit in the earth that seemed to go on forever. It looked weirdly and jarringly out of place with the greenery and nature surrounding it.

Totalling 228 miles since we got off the ferry, we pulled up at the Park Hotel in Bergheim, Germany.  We waited in turn as three ladies that looked as if they had made the same journey as us, but on bikes, were seen to and then we were shown to our room.  

It was perfectly clean and pleasant, if a little tired.  Very much like myself after the long drive and busy day.  Not being deterred, daughter child and I set off to see what Bergheim had to offer.  We wandered through the almost deserted central pedestrian street to see what was open and if there was anywhere nice for tea.

It was a lovely little place, summed up by the little glass box in the centre of the street that was filled with books, available for anyone to swap in and out.  In fact, it wasn’t just books, there were also DVD’s and home videos of family holidays.  All of this was counter balanced by graffiti of a phallus, it will never not be funny, no matter where in the world you go!

On the return leg of the walk, we went into the one of the very few open shops, the Kaufland supermarket.  We picked up a few gifts and car snacks for the road the following morning before settling on the Cafe Extrablatt that was in a building that looked like someone had landed a flying saucer on the town square. 

A few tables outside were occupied by younger drinkers but the cooler evening air was starting to get a little windy and so we headed inside for the noise, lights and bustle of the restaurant.   It was very busy, with tables of families and friends enjoying their weekend.  You could have dropped that place into any town in England and it would have been exactly the same scene, we are all very similar in terms of what we like to do to relax and unwind.

It was a little bit like a German version of Frankie and Bennies, a chain with burgers, pasta, Mexican food, cocktails and  fancy drinks.  I picked something from the menu and the server looked at me quizzically.  ‘Are you sure you want this one sir, this is vegan and you don’t look like a vegan?’.  I could have hugged him.

The food was excellent and the huge stein of beer that I ordered went down very nicely too.  It had been a long day, 228 miles in total, and daughter child and I were both knackered and so we made the short walk back to the hotel and flopped into bed.

There was no air conditioning and it was a warm and muggy night. There was a stand-alone electric fan that was able to move the warm air around a little and so we had two options;  hot and silent, or warm and noisy.  We went for warm and noisy, hoping that we would fall into a beer and cocktail fuelled slumber, ready for our big day tomorrow.