Holiday in your own country – Column

It's over again….

… that beautiful summer. Think of Gerard Cox and the 'lalalala' choir. That summer was different here than other times because our dog is now so frail that we did not want to outsource him or take him with us. And then you are lucky if you live in Gelderland, against the Achterhoek and close to Germany. Then you look for your entertainment in day tourism. You do that together with your Love. Or on your own. On the motorbike.

Then you can set your navigation to winding routes or just think earlier “I'm going approximately in that direction and randomly turn left and right.” Here in the east we still have 300+ km of unpaved public road, and the left right story just counts. But it can lead to mild surprises. When your last 'left' turns out not to be a through path but a kind of driveway 1.0 to an authentic looking older building.

Not an abandoned ruin or anything, but with indications that not much maintenance has been done in the last twenty or thirty years. Since there is no further plan, you decide to turn around for the next 'left' or 'right'. At that moment, as if he were Max Verstappen in his qualifying lap, a rather massive looking XXL dog comes racing around the corner of the building. Barking specimens do not bite. This one did not bark, but jumped up with his front paws against my thigh and gave me a huge lick over my face with a tongue of a meter or two. A jet helmet does not provide much full-face protection. And the animal stank from its mouth.

From around the corner of the former farm someone unexpectedly shouted in ABN "Nero! Stupid animal! Come here!" Nero stepped away from me and raced back, nearly knocking over what was apparently his owner. That owner turned out to be Randstedelijk not only in his accent, but also in his appearance. As NRC readers, Volkskrant readers and TV viewers know, gender issues are quite topical in the West. But the person who walked towards me smiled kindly and in the East we are open to new developments.

Long story short: I was on my own property. But that was okay. And the dog already had an appointment with the local dental hygienist/vet. “Nero is dumb, but old and sweet. And sometimes he thinks he’s still a puppy. I think his previous owner had an old motorcycle and he has fond memories of it.” Nero had checked in again and was sitting there panting contentedly, wagging his tail.

I prefer to ride a motorcycle alone. When you are alone, you are more focused on the outside and you are not threatening to the 'outside'. Of course, that depends a bit on your beard growth, sunglasses, tattoos and the type of motorcycle you ride, but in general the chance of unexpected pleasant encounters is considerable. I was offered coffee. And a wet cloth to wipe my face clean.

My interviewer reported that the building and plot were recent heirlooms from a forgotten great-uncle. That the current state of affairs consisted mainly of taking inventory of the estate. What – with a surprised shrug and hand gesture – what do you do with an old, broken tractor that has been outside for ages?! And a broken Toyota? And you didn’t want to know what was stored in the barns!”

The romantic in me dreamed of dusty Vincent HRDs and Knuckleheads on flat tires… Not so. But the single deceased great uncle had collected a huge pile of junk. I advised my host to just make a second-hand sale of it. “In the West, you guys are crazy about that old stuff, aren’t you?” With both hands over his mouth, the new homeowner M/F or whatever shouted: “But that’s a FANTASTIC idea!!!” I heard the exclamation marks one by one. So it was a very good idea. Old zinc wash basins and tubs are great!   

We said goodbye and after a few more lefts and rights I arrived near Winterswijk. That's where Roel Donatz is with his motorcycle shop. Roel is a driven technician. He has mainly specialized in repairs and maintenance of difficult/rare motorcycles and I think he was one of the first to make Czechs and Slovaks happy by providing them with classic Jawas. When he has motorcycles for sale they are usually very greedy specimens. The shop was closed. I looked inside. Got back on the moped and decided to go home.

The Stelvio and North Cape are of course tourist highlights. But dancing on the secondary and tertiary roads of Gelderland and Overijssel is just as good. And it is much quieter… And I will go back to Winterswijk sometime, the place that usually gets the emphasis on the wrong syllable from westerners.

My Love had been busy in her allotment garden.

We discussed the pleasantly quiet day and decided to celebrate the holiday with a walk to Het Schilderij, the inn a metre away from home. In the terrace garden of Het Schilderij you imagine yourself in the South of France. The service is friendly. The waitress spoke plain Dutch and knew all the types of wine and beer that were served. The food was honest, tasty and reasonably priced.

We lit our cigars and asked for coffee.

A holiday in your own country does not have to be a punishment.