Playing the tourist – windmills, clogs and cheese

Hello and welcome to the latest blog from The Olivia Rose Diaries on July 14^th 2023.

Earlier this week we left our mooring at Weesp and made our way through Amsterdam on the River Ij. This big commercial river goes through the industrial heartland of the city, and it provided us with a different perspective on working life afloat.

Only joking about little men! If you zoom in you can see what looks like high-viz yellow jackets right at the top. Michael told me that’s what they were and I almost believed him. Should know better by now…

We were heading for Den Helder, right up at the tip of North Holland. However there were several interesting things to see on our route so it was going to be a stop-start journey. Our first stop was at Zaandam, on the River Zaan. Olivia Rose is a Dutch motor cruiser and she was built in a boat yard in this area back in 1991, some 32 years ago.

We cycled out to the boatyard from our mooring, wondering if we might meet the man who built her. Sadly, they stopped building boats twenty years ago and are now just a chandlery.

Next stop was the Zaanse Shans, a living museum that celebrates the history and ingenuity of some of the most well-known components of Dutch life.

We arrived just as it opened for the day and were surprised to find that it was already quite busy with tour groups, their guides delivering a commentary with all the enthusiasm of people who utter the same words day-in, day-out, and the tourists wearing the slightly glazed expression of people who had been talked at for too long and would rather be wandering around by themselves, free to buy ice-cream, some cheese or even a pair of clogs.

The windmills are the biggest attraction and by pure chance we happened upon a windmill that had just opened up for the day. Keen to have a look before too many other people descended upon it, we paid our 5.50€ and went inside.

A tall, tanned man with a big smile welcomed us and explained that this was a working mill, still selling the products it produced, and specialising in milling linseed.

‘He reminds me of someone….’ murmured Michael. ‘But I can’t think who…’

‘Patrick Swayze,’ I promptly replied. ‘It’s the chiselled features. The strong jaw…’

‘That’s it. I bet he makes the female tourists swoon.’

‘He certainly does.’ I said quietly to myself.

Aside from his good looks our guide, who I now called Patrick in my mind, was an excellent communicator, very knowledgeable and with a real passion for his job.

Working in a mill such as this in the 17^th and 18^th centuries was hard. It operated day and night, six days a week, and the working day was a long one, with 16-hour shifts. The workers walked home in their own time, and their earnings were meagre. Their pay was dependant upon what they produced, and so periods of little wind meant they took home less money. Finally, and perhaps worst of all, the noise in the mill caused permanent damage to their ears, causing many of them to became deaf.

I remarked that the loss of your hearing seemed a high price to pay just to keep your job and Patrick nodded his agreement.

‘We did terrible things to people back then. But we still do terrible things today….’

By now the mill was beginning to fill up and our private tour was over. Next stop was the clog museum and shop. I had always thought the modern clog was nothing more than a tourist gimmick, garishly painted, just a souvenir to take home and hang on the wall or lose in the back of the cupboard. Some of them are indeed like that, but others were very appealing and meant to be worn. Made of leather or suede they could set you back 90€ or more.

It was the old clogs that really drew the eye though. Apparently the type of clog you wore said as much about you and your social standing as does the type of car we drive today. Displayed in glass cabinets were clogs for working in the peat bogs, for farming, for crossing icy lakes, for everyday wear and for Sunday best.

It was a tradition that a prospective bridegroom would spend hours and hours carving out a pair of wedding clogs for his bride, a tangible sign of his love for his wife-to-be.

Lastly, we entered the cheese museum and shop. The canny Dutch had placed cheese-tasting counters throughout the shop. I was tempted by a red pesto variety, which looked rather alarming but tasted delicious, until I saw that a very modest slice would cost almost 12€. It was good, but not that good.

By now the entire complex was heaving with tourists, with rows of coaches lined up in the car park. We were surrounded by American accents, but heard noticeably few British voices. I get the impression that, apart from Amsterdam, the Netherlands isn’t really on the British tourist radar and that seems a terrible shame. The more time I spend in this country, the more fascinating I find it.

There were other museums, craft shops and souvenir shops to visit but by now we had reached saturation point and there were too many people for our liking. This is without doubt a very touristy place, catering to the large groups and adept at parting tourists from their money, but I still enjoyed our time here. The history and culture of the Netherlands is complex and fascinating and this living museum provided a great way to learn more about the country.

See you next week.

MJ