How does one route plan a cycling adventure in the Netherlands? This was my question earlier this year as an invite to a family wedding presented me with the opportunity to head back to the land of tulips and cheese. My route planning challenge began with small green and white signs bearing a number and arrow. With the help of an app, the route number sequence was predetermined and I had only to pay attention to the numbers and follow them in order. These routes take into consideration the curious peddler’s motivation and therefore make an effort to include areas of historical and natural interest. It is therefore not always the most direct route, but it’s sure to be the most engaging. These points, in Dutch, are called fiets knopen, loosely translated as bike buttons or junctions.
I was drawn to the idea of cycling as a means to embark on an active adventure that could be planned and accessed with relative ease. For me, self propelled movement through landscapes instantly slows things down, offering fewer distractions and external expectations. When I cycle (or hike), I don’t wear headphones; I don’t want to lose out on an opportunity to truly engage with my environment. My teacher Lama Geshe La said that meditation can occur in all contexts as long as you are being mindfully aware. So, as I cycle over dykes, down cobbled stone streets, and through verdant fields, it is with acute awareness that I feel a childlike glee surface. Enveloped in birdsong, I recognize the finite nature of this gift and my privilege as witness. It is a meditation in motion.
An opportunity to visit familiar and meaningful places helped to shape my Dutch cycling trip; I sought an opportunity for reflection, to experience nostalgia and make sense of stories gone by. I began at my cousin’s home in Vught, cycling through the beautiful city of s’Hertogenbosch and into the polder. A polder is drained land that was previously covered by the water but is currently protected by dykes (which are walls or channels that serve to mitigate water). Everywhere you pedal you can see water management in action. Approximately half of the land and water area in The Netherlands is located in polders and always below sea level. Three ferries and a torrential downpour later, I arrived at my first stop in Appeltern, a small village along the Maas river.
The following day took me to Wageningen, a place I called home from the ages of 10-13. I made sure to arrive on time for the Wednesday market so I could eat a Vietnamese spring roll, a food memory that was not as mouth watering as I remembered. I wandered around the town center, went by my school that has since moved, and passed my old home. To be honest, there was little nostalgia. That said, I found myself reflecting on the nature of time and the power of the stories we attribute to geographical locations. It made me think about my elderly mother with whom I lived in Wageningen, and our ever transforming daughter-mother relationship that time and necessity have now changed. I missed her in those streets and park paths we once walked along together.
I have been captivated by the theme of belonging for some time now and know that a large part of who I am is deeply rooted to this country. I feel it in the way that daily life plays out, from the way we eat and drink together to bike commuting. It is found in the architecture’s display of colonialism and the myriad of museums reflecting a nation’s deep appreciation for the arts.
Day three took me to Appeldoorn where my father and uncle lived right after World War 2. I found the pension he lived at on Canadalaan (or lane). Their parents left them there to return to Indonesia, a choice that created much sadness throughout my father’s life. For me, the power of this physical location lies in what it represents. It was a pivotal moment in my father’s life, one that was largely defined by abandonment. In his own way, my father abandoned me too, rendering me thus curious as to the trickling down of traumatic events and their effects. The value in standing in front of this house lies in furthering my compassion towards him, in understanding the weight carried by a teen boy who “lost” his parents after an already traumatizing chapter embedded in war. It offered yet another opportunity to let go and move forward.
My final cycling day brought me to Giethoorn, the pastoral Venice of the Netherlands. I came here as a kid with my friend Anouk, my mother and Oma. It was a joyful holiday, one that was playful, light, and easy. I believe that much of my Dutch childhood chapter was very much defined by these adjectives. There was a levity to it that wasn’t compromised by familial angst and tension. It was just my mother and I. Simple.
Giethoorn is stunning with its small canals through which many tourists float. As I walk about, I find myself drawn to the gardens and the manner in which they invite gathering, a Dutch commitment to creating gezelligheid. This word has no direct English translation but is somewhat captured in words such as comfort, companionship and conviviality. As a lover of languages and the origin of words, it is interesting to look at the construction of these three English words. The prefix com and con convey togetherness, with, and relationship to. This is further exemplified with the words connection, community and continuation.
As I cycled through the Netherlands, I felt both the closing and opening of doors. The Dutch landscape, with its intertwining routes and unique beauty, helped me to connect back to self, to clarify the importance of family, authenticity, and gezelligheid. Amidst birdsong, tears, and detours , I found not just a path on the map, but a clearer path to my true self.
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