20250905-13 Netherlands, Belgium, and the Channel Crossing

We left you in Amersfoort, about to venture to Gouda (pronounced Howda, but with an intense growl on the ‘H’). Halfway along the ride we planned to visit the largest castle in the Netherlands – Kastell de Haar. Unfortunately the heavens opened up well before then and by the time we reached the castle we were drenched. We stopped for a picture, but didn’t enter as we were wet and chilled (and there was no place to store panniers, always a consideration).

We carried on in the pouring rain to the absolutely beautiful city of Gouda, famous, of course, for its cheese.

Our hotel was absolutely beautiful, part of the Relais & Chateau chain, “Weeshuis Gouda”. Among other things it had been an orphanage. (Highly recommended.) The sun came out after we checked in to allow us to walk about. As one enters the central square one cannot help exclaiming ‘Wow’. The huge space is dominated in the middle by a stately town hall with its red shutters. Patti recognized it right away from a photo of it that her dad had taken in 1957. Our first stop was a cheese shop where we sampled a large assortment of flavoured Gouda cheeses (like every dutiful tourist does). We had arrived in Gouda too late to visit the museum or large church so we walked – so many canals! so many red doors and red shutters! – enjoyed a fabulous truffle-y dinner at an Italian restaurant (L’Angolo Divino, highly highly recommended), and then strolled back through sunshine and crowds of tourists to the hotel to warm up and to dry our clothes with the room’s hair blower.

The hotel didn’t have a space large enough to house the trikes so we had to fold them and lift them sideways into the hotel’s adjoining chapel building. They stayed safe and dry overnight, but while John was lifting them out the next morning he put his back out. The kind of “back out” where every single motion causes a ridiculous jab of pain. Onto the bikes with a rolled up raincoat behind John’s lower back, knowing fully well (from past bike trips – it’s happened before!!!) that this recovery was going to take its time.

Our route out of Gouda was to take us through farmlands crisscrossed with countless narrow water channels. (Kudos to the Duthc for their water management. It’s really quite something to see.) About 2 kms up the route an oncoming cyclists told us the bridge ahead over one of these water filled ditched was closed – no way through. Poring over our phones we determined that we had to backtrack. After reversing and rerouting we reunited with our plan – but that detour had added about 8 kms to our distance.

It was a long ride – about 78 kms, but we finally made it to Willemstad, a very small, old village surrounded in a seven-pointed star-shaped wall. Unfortunately John couldn’t move. Cycling had been endurable, but standing and walking were incredibly painful.

And then it got worse…

There was a big concern when we plugged in our two bike battery chargers: the room’s circuit breaker blew. After the hotel staff reset the breaker one of our chargers failed. We tried everything but it simply would not work, and every time we plugged it in the hotel room’s lights would flicker. At least we still had one, and our battery usage wasn’t too bad in the Dutch flatlands. We found an online bike parts website in the UK and ordered a new charger to be shipped to our hotel in Chichester, about ten days away. We figured we could limp along until then.

Patti ordered Dutch fare – cheese croquettes! – from room service and we very exhausted travellers fell asleep.

The next morning, John made his way gingerly down the stairs to the hotel’s restaurant, and Patti looked after moving panniers, batteries, assorted equipment, out to the bikes. We snarfed down breakfast and began our journey to Veere. Another long ride (72 kms) took us by the UNESCO windmill museum near Rotterdam. The weather was fine, although we were battling a very stiff headwind out of the west. We knew there was a massive bridge coming – the Zeeland – where we encountered 5 kms of the strongest headwind we’ve ever experienced. It was wild.

And then it got worse…

With about 1 km left on the bridge, an extreme storm hit us. Howling wind and pelting rain. It let up just as we left the bridge, but the last 15 kms into Veere was punctuated with recurring heavy showers and we were really, really wet. We actually stopped, stood up, shook our selves and then laughed (perhaps in relief that we had survived! It was really miserable.)

We had to use a ferry to get to Veere. We lined up. As they ferry docked we became increasingly concerned (or terrified) that the trikes wouldn’t fit on the ramps to the ferry deck. The very helpful and chatty ferry operator took over and kindly guided the trikes on board. We are eternally grateful. (We were in no mood for more lengthy detours.)

Veere is lovely. Kind of a small version of Niagara-On-The-Lake but more authentic. Henke, the owner of the Veere Hotel, warmly welcomed us and the kitchen supplied us with wine, zero-beer and a large order of french fries (with mayonnaise) which we enjoyed in the room while we warmed up and dryed our clothes (again …). We waited through another torrential downpour and then ventured out for a stroll in the sunshine, found a good restaurant off the-beaten-path and had a splendid meal. Then, b ack to the hotel for a good sleep, ignoring the many heavy rain storms that passed through during the night.

The ride to Bruges the next day was uneventful. Flat, straight, following canals.

As we entered Bruge a lift bridge rose in front of us, blocking our path. We waited about 45 minutes while a long canal barge entered the lock. The barge was long enough to block our road and the adjacent road about 50 metres to our left. All traffic stopped as the gates closed the the water slowly rose. Eventually the bridge came down and we finished our last kilometre to the hotel. (And once again, we were chilled… we were dressed to move, not to stand and wait.)

Bruges is famous – the ‘Venice of the North’ – riddled with canals full of jam-packed tour boats. We walked around, visited the Basilica and the Cathedral, had an OK dinner, and went to bed. We liked Bruges but Ghent, which we had visited last spring, seemed like a much more interesting city.

As we left Bruges the next morning, we passed by the ‘Canada Bridge’, honouring the Canadian infantry that had liberated Bruges on September 12, 1944 (coincidentally the same date we were there). Being Saturday morning, the canals were full of rowers (scullers) training, with their coaches cycling on the adjacent bike paths wearing headsets for communications. It was a beautiful sight.

As we rode on the sky ahead became very, very dark. A downpour began, and didn’t stop for all of the 2.5 hours left of our ride into Dunkerque. (Although, to be fair, the ride was on excellent bike paths?) We checked in to our not-fancy-at-all Best Western hotel and began wringing out and blow-drying our clothes once again (!!!)

Dunkerque must have been severely damaged during WWII. Most of the construction downtown is run-down 1950s – 60s vintage. The town tower and city hall are old and very impressive, though.

The sun emerged and allowed us to walk around a bit. The restaurants were not inspiring, most were closed, and John’s back injury was exhausting. We changed gears and visited a boulangerie, a cheese shop, a craft beer shop, and a grocer for a baguette, sandwiches, truffle cheese, zero alcohol beer and a bottle of red wine. Dinner in the hotel room watching the Canadian Womens’ Rugby team beat Australia to advance to the World Cup semi-finals was actually one of the best meals of the trip so far!

Next morning we ate an uninspired Best Western breakfast and set out on the 20 km ride to the Dunkerque Ferry Terminal. The terminal is HUGE. Much commercial traffic passes through, crossing the Channel to England and Ireland. Brexit likely caused a panic construction of a second customs area for the UK only. We missed the sharpied ‘GB’ on one of the signs and ended up at the Ireland dock. We had to backtrack about 8 kms to get to the UK facility. GRRRRRR.

We were surrounded in tractor-trailers, but rode safely into the bowels of the ferry. The Channel was smooth for the two hour crossing, and we got a good view of the white cliffs of Dover through light drizzle and filthy ferry windows. We disembarked and battled some crazy left-hand-side traffic to our small B&B – The Churchill House. We had been spoiled by Dutch cycle paths and well signed routes, but we were in England now and eventually figured it out. It was Sunday night, so the pubs’ and most restaurants’ kitchens were closed. We settled on a Nando’s for some OK chicken fare.

And – poof – we’re back in the United Kingdom to begin our traverse to Cornwall!

Amersfoort, The Netherlands

Gouda, The Netherlands

Zeeland and Veere, The Netherlands

Bruges, Belgium

The ride to Dunkerque, France