So September is here, summer is over, the rain has been pouring (yesterday it came down so hard that I was worried about the paint on my car being washed off), the garden is muddy and marsh-like and the leaves are turning yellow. Still I can’t complain because the kids are finally back at school - hallelujah - and August was a positive and productive month in the Baldwin household.
Whilst the blog was noticeably quieter than normal (apologies to my avid reader/s – hi mum/dad/sis), the month was actually busier than any this year.
After the joys of the new shag pile getting laid and the house finally returning to its normal operating mode, Mrs Baldwin, the junior Baldwins and yours truly went to Holland for a well-earned vacation.
Whilst I could use this post to share my holiday snaps (because I look fetching in swimwear – obviously), I thought that instead I’d pick out one or two highlights from my Dutch exploits.
Just in case you’re nervous at this point, there won’t be any details shared about drug taking, hard-core pornography or shopping for prostitutes. Why, because I went to Center Parcs, rather than Amsterdam; the only red lights glowing were on my dashboard; the coffee shops visited actually sold coffee. I did watch one or two dodgy movies but they are only described in that way because of the subtitles, the channel being called Veronica Disney and the occasional presence of Sylvester Stallone.
Having driven through France and Belgium and into Holland on our journey towards Venlo (which isn’t that far from Germany), the first observation has to do with driving through France, Belgium and Holland. I feel the love for the European legislative collective that has deemed that 130kph speed limits on its motorways hit the g-spot. Having to drive hundreds of miles was just that little bit easier thanks to an 80mph limit instead of 70. Mr Cameron, please pay attention!
Secondly; my Passat Estate’s Satnav unit comes with European maps and that was a joy to discover – though, and this is an improvement tip for Volkswagen, Holly (for my electronic buddy deserves a name) had an appalling grasp of Dutch pronunciation. Whilst I enjoyed listening to the Dutch rolling of the tongues of the local news anchor women, Holly was rather more Angela Merkel than Bobbi Eden.
On the subject of language, just about every Dutch person I interacted with was able to switch to English without hesitation. On a Center Parcs resort you might expect it but in every service station or supermarket we visited en-route or in Venlo, Venray and Horst, the same skills were evident. The education system in Holland puts the UK to shame. To be frank, I can’t speak a word of Dutch and was genuinely embarrassed by my ignorance.
I mentioned Supermarkets a moment ago. Mrs B. and I had an uncomfortable moment in a Lidl in Venlo. Having scanned a trolley of goods through the checkout, our UK debit and credit cards were deemed unacceptable – the computer said ‘nee’. Between us, fortunately, we were able to scrape together just (and I mean just) enough Euros to pay in cash. The guy on the till was able to express his sympathies in English – at least communication wasn’t a further embarrassment. Lidl is no frills shopping and in the UK, I avoid the brand – I guess that no frills in Holland extends to a rejection of foreign currency exchange transactions. We didn’t have problems using our cards anywhere else so Lidl’s stock has gone down even further in my estimation. The “live a Lidl” tagline should be “loathe a Lidl” in my opinion.
After that bit of whinging (good though it felt), I’d prefer to end this post on a high.
But first a bit of background.
We hired bicycles because we were in Holland and it would have been rude not to - so many people get around on pedal bikes that I wouldn’t be surprised to see an image of a bicycle on the country’s national flag.
On a sunny Tuesday afternoon (25th Aug.), a collective decision saw us ride to Horst, which was about seven kilometres away. For an adult that journey would be easy, but for my eight year old daughter, it was hard work. Upon arrival in Horst I spied a road sign for a café and duly lead the family towards it.
A few hundred metres further on, it turned out that the establishment was Café Cambrinus (CC) and it wasn’t actually a café at all but a pub on the Dutch gig-circuit and a known purveyor of high quality, often unique ales.
And it was shut.
We regrouped to rethink and turn back the way we had come when the proprietor of CC opened the door to mention that his bar was closed. What happened next was lovely, he took one look at my puffed out, hot and bothered daughter and said come in.
Jan took us through to his beer garden, introduced us to his wife Henny and their dogs and got us some drinks. We all sat around a table and chatted (in English) and it was a really nice experience. That bit of kindness shown to complete strangers made our day and was a highlight of our entire holiday.
My thanks go to Jan and Henny for their hospitality.
At the end of our week away, coming back through Calais, observing the refugee chanty town and seeing armed French police patrolling high perimeter, barbed wire topped fences evidenced that strangers showing kindness to one another is not something that can be taken for granted.
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Whilst the blog was noticeably quieter than normal (apologies to my avid reader/s – hi mum/dad/sis), the month was actually busier than any this year.
After the joys of the new shag pile getting laid and the house finally returning to its normal operating mode, Mrs Baldwin, the junior Baldwins and yours truly went to Holland for a well-earned vacation.
Whilst I could use this post to share my holiday snaps (because I look fetching in swimwear – obviously), I thought that instead I’d pick out one or two highlights from my Dutch exploits.
Just in case you’re nervous at this point, there won’t be any details shared about drug taking, hard-core pornography or shopping for prostitutes. Why, because I went to Center Parcs, rather than Amsterdam; the only red lights glowing were on my dashboard; the coffee shops visited actually sold coffee. I did watch one or two dodgy movies but they are only described in that way because of the subtitles, the channel being called Veronica Disney and the occasional presence of Sylvester Stallone.
Having driven through France and Belgium and into Holland on our journey towards Venlo (which isn’t that far from Germany), the first observation has to do with driving through France, Belgium and Holland. I feel the love for the European legislative collective that has deemed that 130kph speed limits on its motorways hit the g-spot. Having to drive hundreds of miles was just that little bit easier thanks to an 80mph limit instead of 70. Mr Cameron, please pay attention!
Secondly; my Passat Estate’s Satnav unit comes with European maps and that was a joy to discover – though, and this is an improvement tip for Volkswagen, Holly (for my electronic buddy deserves a name) had an appalling grasp of Dutch pronunciation. Whilst I enjoyed listening to the Dutch rolling of the tongues of the local news anchor women, Holly was rather more Angela Merkel than Bobbi Eden.
On the subject of language, just about every Dutch person I interacted with was able to switch to English without hesitation. On a Center Parcs resort you might expect it but in every service station or supermarket we visited en-route or in Venlo, Venray and Horst, the same skills were evident. The education system in Holland puts the UK to shame. To be frank, I can’t speak a word of Dutch and was genuinely embarrassed by my ignorance.
I mentioned Supermarkets a moment ago. Mrs B. and I had an uncomfortable moment in a Lidl in Venlo. Having scanned a trolley of goods through the checkout, our UK debit and credit cards were deemed unacceptable – the computer said ‘nee’. Between us, fortunately, we were able to scrape together just (and I mean just) enough Euros to pay in cash. The guy on the till was able to express his sympathies in English – at least communication wasn’t a further embarrassment. Lidl is no frills shopping and in the UK, I avoid the brand – I guess that no frills in Holland extends to a rejection of foreign currency exchange transactions. We didn’t have problems using our cards anywhere else so Lidl’s stock has gone down even further in my estimation. The “live a Lidl” tagline should be “loathe a Lidl” in my opinion.
After that bit of whinging (good though it felt), I’d prefer to end this post on a high.
But first a bit of background.
We hired bicycles because we were in Holland and it would have been rude not to - so many people get around on pedal bikes that I wouldn’t be surprised to see an image of a bicycle on the country’s national flag.
On a sunny Tuesday afternoon (25th Aug.), a collective decision saw us ride to Horst, which was about seven kilometres away. For an adult that journey would be easy, but for my eight year old daughter, it was hard work. Upon arrival in Horst I spied a road sign for a café and duly lead the family towards it.
A few hundred metres further on, it turned out that the establishment was Café Cambrinus (CC) and it wasn’t actually a café at all but a pub on the Dutch gig-circuit and a known purveyor of high quality, often unique ales.
And it was shut.
We regrouped to rethink and turn back the way we had come when the proprietor of CC opened the door to mention that his bar was closed. What happened next was lovely, he took one look at my puffed out, hot and bothered daughter and said come in.
Jan took us through to his beer garden, introduced us to his wife Henny and their dogs and got us some drinks. We all sat around a table and chatted (in English) and it was a really nice experience. That bit of kindness shown to complete strangers made our day and was a highlight of our entire holiday.
My thanks go to Jan and Henny for their hospitality.
At the end of our week away, coming back through Calais, observing the refugee chanty town and seeing armed French police patrolling high perimeter, barbed wire topped fences evidenced that strangers showing kindness to one another is not something that can be taken for granted.
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