Two digital no-mates get lost.
What’s the best thing about the Gitzenweiler Hof? No, not the Fleischsalat. Close? No. It’s close to Lake Constance and our two favourite haunts in the area, Lindenhofpark and Fischbach. Paddle boarding, sunbathing, picnincs and coffee.
It’s easy to end up entombed in a wall of motorhomes at the Gitzenweiler Hof. Book a spot in the tent field. With a bit of luck, a free pitch backing onto the neighbouring Ponyhof will be up for grabs.
Waking up to the sight of ponys grazing sure beats waking up to the sight of a motorhome’s stinky slinky.
A pitstop on the way to Bavaria. By the time we arrived the Reception was closed, so we parked up at the nearest pitch with power, set up the awning and went for a wander.
There’s an idyllic spot on the Main barely 5 minutes walk from the site.
So that went well. Full of good memories of our trip to the Netherlands, we decided to organise another one 3 weeks later, repeating the coast-to-Amsterdam experience. De Lakens was full, but just up the road was Camping Bakkum. Zeeburg was full, but just down the road was Camping Gaasper.
At Bakkum, our pitch boasted a young oak tree, a hungry mouse family and a flowering plant courtesy of our neighbours who left without it. The site had a kibbeling n chip shop and mini farm.
We hired bikes and cycled up the coast most days. At the end of one idyllic day in a beach basket, I discovered my bike had been stolen because I’d forgotten to lock it. Two-hour backies are not particularly dignified for over-50s, but that was the only option, followed by admitting to the campsite my error and being charged £300 for it. Rats. It was all going so well.
When we checked out, they told us they’d found the bike in a ditch somewhere, so I only had to pay for a £50 lock replacement. Happy days!
We had three nights at Camping Gaasper. It’s a little too far out to cycle into Amsterdam centre, so the metro it was, past looming giant hogweed. We embellished this more ‘urban’ experience by visitng coffee shops, chatting to an English gent with a pitbull while necking lager, and returning to the coffee shop wares when back at camp. More loaded kimchi fries and nieuwe haring of course. And another cheese truckle from the camp shop, precariously managed by a run-ragged crusty, to take back.
Of course, once you’ve been to Amsterdam once, you’ll probably want to go again. So we extended our trip. Farewell De Lakens (really this time) and hello Zeeburg (again).
This time, we hired bikes and cycled into town – the Dutch way. The Night Watch and the obligatory cycle ride through the central arch of Rijksmuseum, and late afternoon niuewe haring sitting by the water.
Another traditional local delicacy? Curry. Home to a large south Indian community, it’s imperative that Saravanaa Bhavan, a much-frequented establishment on our trips through India, should have operations in Amsterdam. It was as if a small cube of Tamil Nadu had fallen out of the sky.
We also took the ferry to NDSM. No IJ-Hallen, but a great location. We’ll be back for the market.
The world reopens after the COVID-19 pandemic. Camping De Lakens nestled in the dunes of the Dutch coast seemed a good enough place to start. Queue sand dunes, sea, chiringuitas & Aperol Spritz. Our new Decathlon air beds were really quite something too.
It was high season, and we were late booking, so a straight run of nights at De Lakens was out. No matter. Camping Zeeburg, just down the road in Amsterdam had space for a few days (I say “road” – it was the 6-lane circular around the city – not for the faint hearted).
The campsite had a gathering of 50s rockers, all with immaculate vintage cars (+ one converted black Routemaster bus) and fine tastes in rock ‘n’ roll.
Our attempts to head into town on the first evening was an epic misunderstanding of the bridge indicated on the map supplied by the campsite. The next day, we got the hang of it. A lot of walking, drinking beer and eating loaded kimchi fries followed.
The next morning, with a van loaded with Henri Willig cheese, we headed back to De Lakens. Some of that cheese was meant as gifts for friends and family but some of that never made it. Cheese, wine and sand dunes at sunset was just too good an offer.
Our first trip (4 days earlier) to the Bleibtreusee had been slightly marred by 3 things. 1) The trip was abruptly cut short by a thunderstorm, 2) the café had stopped serving fries on account of the impending thunderstorm, and 3) one of us had used the parking ticket as an in-pocket toy to the point of disintegration.
Take two, and the weather held. Picnics were picnicked and SUPs were SUPed, at times frantically, to avoid drifting into the path of waterskiers being hurled back and forth at break neck speed by something resembling an out of control ski lift. It’s a fun place for sure.
Refusing to accept the day was over as the light fell, we headed unannounced to neighbouring Campingplatz Heider Bergsee looking for a park for the night. It was full, so the Park4Night app (shameless plug) recommended the Wasserturmweg in Brühl.
Okay, it was just a parking lot, but a very pretty and secluded one. And when the breakcore massive went home to their beds, we had another beer and relaxed in pitch black, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Still getting used to not getting spooked by that bit.
