Haarlem

I admit it: I'm a reluctant traveler. Anxiety is my constant companion - will I get lost in a place I don't speak the language? Will I be able to feed myself (celiac)? Have I packed for all weather? You'd think I was traveling into space, or some place where I couldn't visit a simple pharmacy or restaurant. Still, there it is. It is only my love of bikes and determination to see a place that has normalized them, that has forced me out of my comfort zone in New York. Now that I've come as far as Amsterdam, I have to keep pushing. Haarlem seems like a bikable destination - only 20 kilometers away - I decide to ride there. 

But first to the Centraal Station for fuel for the trip. Stubbe Haring, where I'm told the herring is so good, it's like sushi, with the consistency of butter.

It's true! It's messy, but it will keep me going. Then I make my way out of town.

OK, notice anything? Pavement for bikes and cars varies a lot here. While it can often be smooth...

It can just as often be challenging.

Very challenging.

You'll see this particular pavement around pedestrian plazas, even where the space is not shared. Between that and trolley tracks (you often get both together), as a cyclist you really have to watch it. Not surprisingly, you rarely spot road bikes in the city - who would want to deal with this? There have been times when I regretted not bringing my Brompton - but riding over these cobblestones? No thanks.

What the Dutch have done is not only break the car culture, but reduce bikes to their basic function: a simple form of public transportation. This means - you're not gonna like this - slowing them down. Put these streets together with a rainy climate, and even if you're a delivery cyclist, you can only ride so fast before you run the serious risk of wiping out - I've seen it. Can you imagine New York City bike paths and streets like this? That would change everything! 

Frankly, biking here - safe as it is - is kind of (to use a turn of phrase) pedestrian. It's not as exciting as New York. But it does work. And you don't fear for your life, which from a New Yorker's point of view is outstanding. As I write, we have already doubled the cyclist deaths from last year and the year is far from over.

The road to Haarlem has smooth pavement, so you see some road bikes out here.  

And from time to time, there are some great views

But most of the time it's miles and miles of this:

As for me, it's a little scary for a woman traveling alone. Between that and a one-gear bike with a seat that shows little respect for the Ladyparts, I decide about half way through to make this a 1-way trip, and take the train back.  Shouldn't be hard to find.

I arrive in Haarlem about 2o minutes later than GPS had predicted, which doesn't surprise me given my bike. One of the city gates has been preserved (the rest came down to expand Haarlem)

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It's a beautiful Medieval city of canals...

One glorious remaining windmill,

And shared spaces, where cars know their place...

And are gently reminded to stay the hell out.

Note: these bollards are electrified to go up and down. Why NYC cannot invest in these on the Hudson River Greenway it beyond me.

Everyone rides here, both young and old.

My interest here (other than biking) is to see the Grote Kerk, the main church around which religious life centered in Haarlem. Beautiful, isn't it?

I'm glad you like it. You can find it on Wikipedia. Cause this is what's there when I arrive:

Haarlem preparing for a jazz festival; you can't get into the church. It's not that I don't like jazz, but I could hear that in Harlem in New York...So I decide instead, to visit the Frans Hals Museum. Hals, who lived most of his life in Haarlem, was a leading painter of the Dutch Golden Age (17th Century).

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frans_Hals

The museum itself is exquisite, with paintings by many of his contemporaries, as well as artists he influenced - and paintings of course, by the man himself. It is exclusively by, and about white men, but putting that aside, the Dutch understood something about light that the rest of the world did not. They were the first, and their understanding of it remains as luminous and unique as ever. I am captivated.

But about 40 minutes in, anxiety begins to tug at me about the route back. It's not that I can't find the train station (I passed it on the way in), it's about whether I can find my bike. Um...where is it exactly? I've parked my bike in a couple of places since being here. I start back with quickening steps and look every place I can remember being. Was it here?

Nope. How about here?

Not even close. I consider asking for help. "What did it look like?" my helper is bound to ask. "Well, it was black..."

They're ALL black!!

The question is, is it lost - or stolen? I feel a case of Tourista coming on...(did I mention that I'm an anxious traveler?) What if I can't find it? What if I can't find a bathroom? What if I never get back to my life?

I finally decide I'll just have to leave it. Take a train back the next day; if it's stolen I'll have to pay for it; if it gets confiscated, I'll try to locate it through the proper authorities. I'm never gonna find it this way; I've looked everywhere.

​Just at that moment, I stumble into an area I have no recollection of ever visiting. And there it is (recognizable by the slightly smaller tires). Last time I will EVER park my bike without taking a photo of it.

​Now I'm ready for the trip back.

I begin my ride slowly through the town of Haarlem towards the train station... 

When I spy a bike ahead of me making a curious turn. And that's when I hit pay dirt: the underground bike parking garage, the prodigious kind I've heard every Dutch town has, that's near a train station (you may have seen this one on youtube). Even a town as small as this has one. Here it is. Enjoy. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tRtesGmVAE

My journey to Haarlem is complete (tho I should probably return to the Museum). I find the gate to my train, thanks to this handy bike-sized elevator.

The trip to Amsterdam Centraal Station is about 20 minutes. I wend my way back to my hotel by what has become a familiar route.

​It's Friday night in Amsterdam. The streets are crawling with tourists and reeking with pot.

I'm home.