Swimming in the North Sea

The beginning - a sunny and warm August morning, we stand at a bus stop on one of Haarlem's streets and watch as one full bus of holidaymakers drives past without stopping, then a second - also past. We understood we would have to go to the terminus by the railway station, otherwise we would not reach the sea that day. No sooner said than done. Having finally happily boarded a bus, we realised that a "full bus" in our and the Dutch understanding are two entirely different things. The bus driver truly monitors the load and does not take on more standing passengers than the rules allow; moreover, at the penultimate stop before the sea he cheerfully announces on the microphone (in Dutch and English) that everyone should be patient - the refreshing sea is just around the corner.

Getting off in Zandvoort, we pass through a couple of blocks of two-storey houses consisting mainly of holiday homes and hostels to let, as well as numerous shops and cafés. Signs at the rental houses in German indicate that there is a large number of holidaymakers from Germany - something we confirmed on the beach as well, where German could frequently be heard all around.

To reach the wide, long beach - dotted with deckchairs, sun umbrellas, and wind shelters - one must descend a fairly steep dune slope. There are quite a few people. One would need to walk quite a long way to escape the sun and wind seekers.

We spread out our blanket and settled on it. Warm, pleasant, and peaceful - no loud music, no shouting holidaymakers (unlike what is customary on our native seafront). Closer to the built-up area the beach cafés are bustling with life. German tourists are particularly fond of digging in the sand with smaller and larger spades. The locals joke that the Germans have not stopped digging trenches since the Second World War.

The sea near the shore is very shallow. You wade and wade and wade, but the water level is barely below your armpits. To one's surprise, it is quite salty and even very warm - that day it seemed much warmer to me than the Baltic Sea. Only the very line where the water meets the sand is covered with previously unseen, sharp shells that from a distance look like elongated, split pieces of bone. Not particularly comfortable to walk on barefoot when wading out of the sea.

The people around are mostly tanned to a dark brown, as if they had spent the entire summer not by the North Sea but on some Caribbean shore. We asked the neighbouring Dutch people where one could find shower facilities, as after swimming we could feel salt on the skin. We were met with surprised looks - oh, really, no, there aren't any, but if you wish you can quite freely go into any beach café and use the ladies' or gentlemen's room. We felt like fussy Latvians for whom, no matter how good things are, they are never quite good enough.

Nothing for it - we changed, sheltering behind the towels we had brought, and set off on a little walk around the small town. The eye was caught by an old water tower that still stands above the houses, and the courtyards of the holiday homes that looked like an idle dreamer's vision. Everything simple, beautiful, and tasteful. From time to time the city flag and coat of arms peeped out on the houses or their roof ridges - the coat of arms amusingly depicting three crossed fish. Quite a penguin-ish coat of arms. In one of the town's little treats we also sampled quite penguin-appropriate snacks - kibbeling - hot pieces of fish, battered and deep-fried in oil.

The only things one can do in Zandvoort are swim, laze in the sun, and enjoy food and drink. But sometimes nothing more is needed either. In short - if you simply want to do nothing, then Zandvoort aan Zee is the place.