Reflecting that Dutch is a similar language to Welsh, to play Scrabble with, we set off to tackle the hills that are ahead of us. Stopping in the Hague for a coffee and to recall a stinking hangover after a soiree at the Ambassador’s residence some years ago, we caught up with the final destination of the Volvo Ocean Race.
A common theme with Harwich is bunkers. Unlike us the Dutch haven’t turned it into a personality trait. No doubt in a year the draw bridges will be up and customs a chore to navigate (grrrr).
We hadn’t expected the Highland cattle nor the cheeky fox. Bikes had been expected though perhaps not in the sheer volume and variety, nor motopeds using the cycle paths. Rohloffs abound. It’s fantastic to see how the infrastructure is not just bike friendly, it’s bike biased.
The landscape art interrupts the views of the sea, telling the tale of the people. On the day Mackintosh’s masterpiece seems to have died, it was good to reflect how art frames our lives: memories etched forever.
We end up in steel town, though at a prettier marina than Port Talbot offers. A similar beach to Aberavon: the beer is more expensive!
Here’s our route.