Maassluis to Rockanje: E2 Day 101

A long day but an enjoyable one with a visit to the old fortress town of Brielle and a winding walk through wooded dunes.

My day's journey began with a trip across the Nieuw Waterweg on a foot passenger ferry. When I arrived the Otter (the ferry's name) was on the opposite bank, a few hundred metres away. The water in the wide canal was moving at a good speed towards the sea. Vessels heading inland made a large foamy, bow wave, whereas those travelling downstream barely parted the water. With its bow pointed upstream the Otter crabbed across the waterway to reach us. A few passengers with bicycles disembarked and I joined two people with bicycles and one with a motor scooter getting on. Then for 95 cents, card only, we made the short crossing in a break between commercial traffic. 

View from ferry.

For the next part of my journey I followed cycle paths between grass verges in a mixed urban, industrial and rural setting, crossing three road bridges. The first bridge was a vertical lift bridge, the middle section able to rise up between two towers to allow large ships through. On the River Tees, a few weeks ago, I saw a bridge designed to work on the same principle but the one today was a modern version. Several groups of cyclists rode by me, some speeding by, head down, leaving me with a view of lycra covered bottoms. Others were touring more slowly in more stately positions, chatting to each other. Once over the last bridge I was on a quieter trail beside the Brielle Meer, a body of water with trees around and a few moored recreational boats, unlike the commercial shipping on the channels I had crossed.

Converging straight lines and vertical lift bridge.

Brielle was an old town surrounded by earth ramparts where significant action took place in the Dutch war of independence against the Spanish in the 16th century. As I walked around the raised banks I spotted a few cannon placed at "bastions". A windmill caught my attention as its intact sails were turning unlike others I had seen. Information boards below were in Dutch but I determined that it was a modern reproduction, there had however been one on the site in centuries past as an old map showed. I suspected that the arms of the windmill were being turned by electric rather than the barely perceptible wind. 

I walked into the centre of Brielle through a long terrace of buildings, many flying the Dutch flag of red, white and blue. After the inevitable coffee and cake I noticed a few soldiers and alarmingly, a sand bagged area in which a soldier manned a mean looking machine gun aimed at the crowd. Fortunately there had been no invasion, it was just a re-enactment of some sort.

Street in Brielle.

Waymarks leaving Brielle were confusing, maybe because the E2 and E9 were crossing in this area (the E9 is a coastal route from Spain to the Baltics). Following the track on my GPS I regained navigation control after some wandering and was led into a wooded area with sycamore, beeches and poplars. I had a brief climb up a watch tower at another fortress site with earth ramparts and cannon. The view from the top added little to my knowledge of the area, the large cranes of a port were easily visible from ground level. 

Extensive wooded sand dunes formed the last part of my walk. Much of it was on sandy paths among deciduous trees, sometimes tall often smaller. Beneath, a variety of flowers were blooming, but only the patches of wild garlic with its white flowers had a distinctive smell. One stretch had a variety of plastic gnomes and animals beside the path, including some pony sized plastic horses. Lakes of different sizes were scattered among the low sandy hillocks, often lined with reeds and sporting a few ducks. One lake had a "Landscape Visitor Centre" beside it. Unfortunately all the information was in Dutch. The lack of any translations on information boards and menus suggests the area I was walking through attracted few foreign visitors. In one place symbols indicated coffee and ice cream lay ahead, sadly the promise of these signs did not materialize.

The dunes. 

My ankles were suffering from walking on the soft sand so I was very pleased to reach the Molecaten campsite before the town of Rockanje. Now I am pitched on the Trekkerveld, a small patched of grass reserved for backpackers between permanent chalets and caravans. Being rather tired I am also appreciating the campsite restaurant, again going for words on the menu I recognise, a burger and chips.