Up The Northern French and Belgium Coast Onto Holland

Heading north is not in my general nature, as my southern instincts pulls me more on a  southerly route, except occasionally it seems in September when cooler temperatures beckon my spirit.

I am likewise pulled towards the sea as if I need the views and sea air for my well being and just pure enjoyment.

The northern coast of France onto Belgium is easy to reach, and a few hours more can drive into Holland.

I enjoy doing slow travel rather than trying to cram everything in a short time.  Living in Paris, the crossroads of Europe, facilitates me taking short trips in all directions.

New vistas and new discoveries are always on my radar of living.  For me, it is essential to discover and learn about different cultures, different foods and everything in between!

My wish for some cooler temps started the first day.  Paris was quite warm when we left and by the time we reached the coast, I was needing my coat, which I had the foresight to bring.

The long strand of beach just south of Dunkerque looked desolate under the dark gray clouds and pervading sea mists.

Walking the trails of the natural dune and bird reserve Platier D’Oye nevertheless felt wonderful to stretch my legs and take in the fullness of the refreshing sea air and Flemish dunes.

A chorus of quacks could be heard well before the flock of grey geese and ducks came into sight, who squawked even more upon seeing us.

Besides sucking in the salty sea air like it was a long sought-after gift, I reveled in all the wonderful smells I encountered on the paths.

The honey odor permeating the air came from some unknown yellow flower and then there were the herbal notes of the thick underbrush of garrigue.

I saw many bush like trees full of bright orange argousier or sea buckthorn, that the Baltic countries love making syrups and jellies.

I had chosen a simple hotel nearby looking over the deserted beach, where the tinkling of sailboat rigging, cries of seagulls, and the gentle lapping of waves when the tide came in could be heard.

My bucolic experience was only marred by a disappointing dinner that night, where the robust white wine from Luberon proved to be the only saving grace.

I had specifically timed my trek to reach Oostduinkerke Koksijde the next morning in Belgium for the low tide where I could see an ancient way of catching shrimp.

The small grey shrimp from the North Sea bear little resemblance from the plump ones I grew up eating from the Gulf  Coast.

They are eaten with the shell and have a very refreshing briny sea taste, rather than the sweetness ones finds in other shrimp.

You will find them on any decent raw seafood platter in Paris and often seen alive and jumping in the northern coastal seafood markets.

No boats are needed, just some willing and very strong and sturdy horses!  Pêche aux crevettes a cheval is a long tradition of this area still carried on, perhaps more for tourists today than for practical reasons.

By the time we found which beach the horses were working, most were slowly trodding back leaving huge horseshoe depressions in the wet sand.

Though the horses had thickly muscled legs, they must have tremendous pull power to tug a wagon with a net trolling for shrimp in the surf and sand, and the fisherman on board, especially if there is a counter current.

The shrimp catch had been poor that day, due to the higher water temps encountered this season.

The fishermen were rewarded with tall glasses of beer, but I felt sorry for the horses not being served anything, after all of their exhausting work.   Perhaps their treats were waiting for them back at the farm.

They are said to only work from April to end of September and spend the rest of the time in the pasture.

Bruges was only about 40 minutes away and was a perfect stop before heading towards Holland.

The picturesque canals winding through the city were best seen by a boat tour.  The Flemish architecture makes for a pretty backdrop with the traditional decorative topped houses.

Streets lined with one chocolate store after another interspaced with shops selling lace gave it a heavy touristy flavour.

I did not want to stay in Amsterdam, much preferring the serenity of the Dutch countryside.

In close by Almere, I found an idyllic lake house to rent that proved to be a haven for quiet and peace that I was craving.

Just the sounds of waterfowl, ducks and a few small seagulls could be heard sitting on the dock overlooking the “lake”. We would call it a bay inlet only separated from the open sea by a stretch of sand dunes.

All the houses had their own sailboats and yachts moored to their backyard piers and this airbnb owner described his as an old Cornish crab boat.

I really enjoyed sipping my before dinner sparking I had brought with me, gazing until the last rays of the sun had slipped beyond the horizon.

Dinner at a lakeside restaurant we walked to through some wooded paths served some simply grilled thick pieces of cod.

Next day was reserved to see the cheese market at Alkmaar, about 45 minutes drive north of Amersterdam.

The old medieval town was very pretty and retained a viable authenticity including the cheese market.

The Alkmaar cheese market started 400 years ago and is actually a ceremonial sort of weighing the huge round disks of gouda cheeses, each weighing over 13 kilograms.

Judging by the huge crowds it draws, it remains a popular attraction to witness for the Dutch as well as foreigners.

White-clothed men each wearing hats beribboned with different colours of ribbons would carry off the scales 8 rounds of cheese on wooden slats to be carted off in wagons to be sold.

The colourful ribbons denoting different cheese guilds fluttered in the breeze as the men ran a special “cheese strut” to balance the cheese hanging from shoulder harness.

Tiny puffs of Dutch pancakes fresh off the grill,  smeared with butter and dusted with powdered sugar, was a simple treat to eat on a coolish morning.

Yes, of course, we didn’t leave the market area without three small rounds of flavoured gouda made with raw milk.

The different flavours chosen were fenugreek, spicy pepper, and stinging nettle, that is very popular with the French.

All were nicely flavoured but the texture I found rubbery in comparison to French hard cheeses, but that is the nature of young goudas.

The lovely old cathedral is sadly no longer in use, but full of interesting marble grave tomb slabs that make up the dimpled floor.

The town is as crisscrossed with canals as Amsterdam, and offers a marvel of Dutch architecture and culture without the noisy crowded sidewalks of Amsterdam.

However lovely Amsterdam can be for some admirers, we only spent a long afternoon there.  Too many bell clinking bicycles and too many pedestrians on small sidewalks made for too much dodging both.

Aimée almost got “run over” by a reckless bicycle and I a scooter. The safest way to see the city is by a canal boat tour.

I am a big fan of fresh herring, the duly glorified fish of Holland and the Scandinavians, whether raw, pickled or cooked.

I love the Dutch version of sliced raw morsels served with pickles and onions! So fresh tasting and delicious, and so good for you with all those omega three’s.

Back in Paris, I often sautee it dusted with flour till golden brown and serve with a Morrocan chermoula.

The flower bulb market offered a sea of all sorts of flowering bulbs that Holland is deservingly famous.

I have long admired the Dutch for their very avant-garde and courageous societal perspectives and mentality.

The Dutch being very reasonable and pragmatic, are not interested in changing the shadowy parts of human natures  and vices often judged unacceptable and in need of eliminating in other cultures.

From legalizing and regulating prostitution, the oldest trade,  to open cannabis sales, along with innovative drug treatment centers that a lot of Europe has adopted, the Dutch show a wisdom and tolerance in human behavior.

Better to regulate in a safe manner rather than fight a losing battle with humans, who have an inclination to do whatever is strictly forbidden and hidden.

It was hard to leave the wonderful peacefulness of the spacious lake house, seabirds, sunsets and water views.

I much prefer to live in the city, yet have a great appreciation and need of periodic nature breaks for the fresh air and quiet.

Not surprising that many Parisians who can afford it, have a little country house to retreat to on the weekends.

The drive back Sunday wasn’t as arduous as the drive going, except for getting back into Paris.

Last Sunday was Paris Sans Voitures, or Paris without cars, days I love having! The entrances to the city from the peripherique were closed till 6 pm.

We preferred to detour and meander around the small villages of Rungis, Orly and Sceaux just south of Paris, then taking the small routes in, rather than stay stuck in long lines waiting for authorization to return to our place.

Despite the drive, I had enough energy to make a lovely pear tart Tatin for Sunday dinner.

My own candlelight views overlooking the rooftops of Paris framed by all my colourful flowers was as welcome and invitingly beautiful; as coming back to Paris always holds its own magic for me!