Listen, the ice cream was just sitting there

I’ve found that I associate my time in places with certain words – perhaps feelings or vibes, but always incredibly vague and very much a reflection of my limited time in each place. In Germany, it was orderly – a cliché, yes, but true nonetheless. Kenya was warm – not just for the weather, but for the reception, and the food, and the everything.

The Netherlands were crisp. Texel especially.^[1] Perhaps it is the combination of small farms woven throughout the forested coast, but the air felt…sharper than elsewhere. The newspapers had a certain snap to them, a cleanness to the fold and feel of them. The people I talked to were succinct but friendly; there was no beating around the bush. Even my AirBnB had something about it – that scent a small rental right on the sea has: salt and a bit of dust, and clean wind on weathered wood.^[2]

My time there felt like a reset. The Netherlands removed me from my typical urgency that is my usual state of being, just by having nothing to do (in the best way). I had hoped to do a seal safari – which is perhaps the only wildlife-based activity that guarantees a sighting – but I, quite literally, missed the boat. Instead, I visited Ecomare, a sanctuary for seals and porpoises, but even there, it invited more wandering and pondering than intensive study. In part, that may have been because I don’t speak Dutch and therefore couldn’t understand the presentation on porpoises.

I spent several days wandering around the island, mooing at cows and admiring miniature horses mixed in with normal-sized horses. Although I was disappointed by the lack of seal safaris available, what broke my heart was the realization that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the Labora Ice Cream.^[3] I was mourning this on my stroll towards Maritiem-en Juttersmuseum Flora^[4] when I saw a cart outside of a little house tucked among some greenery. Since I’m not one to leave a little cart alone, I went up to investigate.

There was a freezer full of the Labora ice cream.

The cart had a list of prices propped up next to a lockbox, but no one was manning the cart. Now, before you wonder just how oblivious I am – yes, I did guess that it was set up to be unmanned, but my brain could not fully comprehend the level of community trust that lets someone leave a bunch of goods out and just assume people will be honorable and pay appropriately for what they take.

So I rang the bell that was tucked behind the box until a man dragged himself out of the house and told me, yes, all I had to do was put money in the box, and then I could take some ice cream.

So, feeling very much like I was in an independent coming-of-age film, I sat in a field on the side of a rural road next to sheep and ate strawberry ice cream off a wooden slat calling itself a spoon and then picked myself up and went to the beachcombers’ museum.

A note: I am aware that I’m a year late in catching up with my travels (after a false re-start in February) – but I have not been completely lax during my hiatus. I have been doing some photojournalism in my hometown (which can be found on my Instagram) and putting together a photo store. I am going to attempt to be more consistent, and hopefully, by the end of this year, I’ll have completely caught up, so be on the lookout for that!

[1] Texel is the largest island in the North Sea, just off the mainland, and is part of the Frisian archipelago that borders the Netherlands, Germany, and Denmark. It has seven main villages within its almost-180 square mile area and a population of about 13,500 people. It is most commonly known as a beach destination, but – as I was told by several waiters – only to people who live nearby. Apparently, very few people make the trek specifically to visit Texel.

[2] How did I find Texel, you might ask? I found Texel because I love The New York Times. I’m not ashamed to admit it. And their travel section? My gospel. Texel was an offshoot of number 30 on NYT’s 52 Places to Go in 2019: The Frisian Islands in the Netherlands. I was already hoping to go to the Netherlands (for the canals – I’m obsessed with canals), so it was like the New York Times knew I would be looking for a tiny, forested island populated by seals that I had to reach through numerous methods of public transportation, including a ferry, several trains, and two buses.

[3] Yeah, you read that right: an ice cream farm. The ice cream is made fresh from the cows on the farm (which doesn’t sound nearly as cool as ice cream plants).

[4] A museum on the island dedicated solely to displaying various objects that have washed up on the shore, including a submarine and a ship. A ship that I did play pirate on, by myself, until several kids came and took precedence.