Sun, 22 November 2009
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On Sunday I decided that, since half of Holland would be heading for the beach, we'd make another plan. My children persuaded me otherwise, so I called a couple of friends with four wheels to see if they'd join us in seeking out a secluded seaside spot. No joy.
Without a car, the best place we could head to was the beach at Wijk-aan-Zee. It's around half an hour by train from Amsterdam to Beverwijk. From there you catch a bus (no 78), and within ten minutes you're at the beach. 
We arrived around 15:30 just as many people, mostly families, were heading home.
I nursed any tension built up over the week from the comfort of a sun-bed. The lady renting out sun-shades, beds and windbreaks gave to me for half-price, horrified that I was prepared to pay the full five euros for the remaining two hours of rental time.
Both children complained about the sand getting everywhere. I explained that this was because we were on a sandy beach. They ran down towards the sea and were back within three minutes having cut their feet on the sharp little bits of razor and clam shell lying on a ribbon of wet sand preceding the sea.
After examining the cuts and reassuring them that sea-water is a natural antiseptic, they recovered rapidly and joined up with some kids collecting crabs and jelly-fish eggs from shallow pools of warm, murky water.
By 17:17 the beach was nearly empty and the view from my beach-bed to the sea was unbroken. A soft breeze had struck up and I finally smelt the sea – that tangy 'seaweedy' smell that moves down from the nostrils and leaves a taste of salt in your mouth.
I thought about ice-cream and wondered, considering that the Dutch produce such a profusion of quality dairy products, why they hadn't developed the production of ice-cream into an art-form like the Italians.
I remember reading that ice-cream was probably first introduced into Europe through Sicily and Venice by Marco Polo, who had brought it back from China (the recipe I imagine, as the substance would surely have melted).
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