The cow and I were staring at each other. The inevitable tractor had made me quickly pull my bike over, right up next to her. She eyed me curiously, probably wondering what my problem was. Behind her, a whole herd of chocolate-splodged dairy cows, contentedly grazing green pasture, and a sign advertising free-range milk.
I was trying to decide whether the sky or the water were more blue. Until my thoughts were interrupted by some cold drops splashing my bare legs. Dad and I were in the middle of the Grevelingenmeer, a huge body of water which is in fact a lake although it could pass for the sea, so vast and endless it is. There we were, in a bright orange kayak, a stark contrast to the blue all around us.
I know that there is some polar vortex right now in the US, bringing insanely cold temperatures. So I should not complain, but it is cold here. Most days don’t get above 5 degrees, and most nights go below -1. Its snowed a lot too. But there are mornings that fill you with hope. The sky is clear, turning from indigo to pale blue, a large golden moon between the rooftops. Slowly, the sun butters the world in a mellow light, and its just so beautiful. Freezing, but beautiful.
Christmas morning. The moon was still visible, a large pale silhouette. The sky was lilac, and seemed to fill the windscreen. Dark coated horses ran underneath, their long manes flowing, hooves flying. Slowly a powder-pale blue seeped through the sky, the moon faded. Bare trees lined the roads, we were the only car around. There aren’t really many places left in the world that are truly peaceful. I love chaos and colour and buzz, but after a tiring first half-year teaching, peace was just what I was looking for. Peace, with a little side of adventure. And you can find both in winter in Zeeland.
Biking isn’t the same to me as running, and I do miss my long runs outside. But when in Holland, bike. And I’m glad I finally got back on mine, literally. On a perfect autumn day, there is just something about free-wheeling along the tree lined lanes, wind in your hair, sunglasses on. Biking to and from school each day is so quick, just ten minutes. Five minutes on two wheels to the town. In Holland, where biking is more like a form of transport, its easy and safe.
That funny time of year in Europe. When the heat hangs on, but the sun takes longer to surface in the mornings, and the moon is still a feature of the sky when you first step outside. The last week of my admittedly very long summer holiday. It was hard to leave family in England, but the dogs were along for the final ride. A week in Bruinisse, a chance to enjoy our soon-to-be-home, before I started my first real job.
The seal spat out the fish for the third time. Patiently and resignedly, the lady netted it out of the water, reinserted a tablet into another fish and tried again to feed her difficult patient. He had half his back scrapped clean off, perhaps from a run in with a boat’s propellor. Lucky he was here, I thought and could one day be returned to the wild. We were in Aseal, a sanctuary for our flippered friends who need rescuing. And visitors can see how the staff are looking after these creatures and preparing them to be released as soon as possible. I wasn’t expecting to find such a place here, in Holland. But then, I had a lot of surprises during our week in Zeeland.
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