Goat cheese and tulips

Sunday afternoon in February in Essen.

Desperately, we look at the forecasts for the coming days. Yes, we know that we shouldn't expect summer temperatures at this time of year, but the weather app promised sunshine just the day before yesterday.

I still have a week of vacation from last year that I don't want to let expire. So, we saddled the Mistral to take a little trip along the Palatinate Wine Route. Because where wine thrives, the sun shines - that’s the theory.

But even before we start, the prospects of heavy rain and even snow showers ruin our plans. The hero presents a solution to the problem before we depart in the morning: he can pick up some affordable treasures near Münster, where the weather is pleasantly mild for the season with a few hours of daily sunshine, and the doctor has recommended relaxation in the refreshing sea air.

Now we find ourselves in the middle of Essen on a busy main road, having fled from the local Ikea flea market, where almost exclusively Asian, pink plastic goods were being sold. Squeaky plush monstrosities, sparkling phone cases, garish polyester sweaters, bizarrely colorful flip-flops. Everything impossible, just not the treasures the advertisement promises.

Amidst the unbearably ghastly imported goods, we discover two or three flea market stalls, but we no longer have fun rummaging. Besides, it’s just uncomfortably cold in Essen right now.

Now for a look at the weather report for our further travel plans. A few cold air drops are making their way to us from France. In their zone, there can be showers, prolonged rain, and even snowfall. A few kilometers before the Dutch border, the thought of going to the faraway, sunny east becomes moot. With our luck, the first cold air drop will already be there by the time we finally arrive.

So we resolve to head to the Dutch North Sea coast. We can easily cover the 300 km, the weather outlook is moderate, and tonight we’ll cook with a view of the sea!

On Dutch highways, only 100 km/h is allowed, so we cruise comfortably at 80 through the small country.

I am a little excited. I was in Amsterdam twice 30 years ago, I can still vaguely remember canals, windmills, and tulips in the surrounding area, but otherwise, I don't know much about the Netherlands.

It also surprises me that an entire country can be so flat and a quarter of it lies below sea level. We drive and drive and drive, and the scenery doesn’t change at all: flat fields, occasionally a few trees stunted by the wind, huge farmhouses, a few canals or streams. An entire state that looks like the local Oderbruch!

Regardless, we stand by the sea for coffee. Right by the water, which is slowly rising again. The dunes are heavily reinforced with concrete and stones, and in some parts, you can drive on them with the car. We can hardly believe it, because what has been abolished at other coasts is still possible here.

After a mussel exploration tour during low tide, we sit in the cozy-warm caravan, enjoying our hot drinks and warming ourselves by the view of the waves, seagulls, and tides.

But we are not allowed to spend the night here. Just as at really all other parking lots near water. Everywhere bright signs inform us that all forms of camping are PROHIBITED, even though used condoms testify to the lively love life of the cheerful Dutch.

For the first night, we find a wide roadside area by a field. The place we initially chose is occupied by a huge, steaming manure pile.

The nearby lighthouse blinks maritime light reflections.