What happens when you stop rushing Europe? Measuring a holiday in km, not countries
When you move to NZ, what do you miss most about the UK? Turns out, it’s something that’s not even in Britain, writes Anna Sarjeant
I left the UK in 2011 – with a backpack, a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, and a head full of dreams.
A one-year working visa turned into 10: New Zealand citizenship, a house, two Kiwi kids, a rescue cat and, absurdly, an English husband.
Fifteen years later, the question I’m asked often is what I miss about Britain.
It’s taken me a long time, but I finally have an answer.
It’s mainland Europe.
Having had the likes of Paris and Rome within easy reach for 25 years, I was somewhat spoilt:
Me, aged 10, facing yet another summer holiday in France: “Agaaaain?! But Josie’s going to the Caribbean!”
Since moving to the opposite side of the world, I know exactly why Kiwis feel compelled to squeeze as much of Europe into every visit. Getting there alone incurs 18,000km – and similarly large numbers spent on airfares. But rushing Europe is to ruin it. While it may be tempting to tick off several countries in as many days, it’s the nuances of this continent that make it such a rewarding destination.
This was recently (re)confirmed for me on a Belgium and Netherlands river cruise. A seven-day Avalon trip aboard the Impression covering two countries and little else. Round-trip from Amsterdam, venturing through Middelburg, Brussels, Antwerp and Rotterdam – the kilometres vast, the country count low.
That’s the beauty of being at the whim of a ship and a scribble of waterways – when rushing is not an option, slowing down becomes obligatory. This only leaves time. Time to notice the subtle joys that countries such as Belgium and the Netherlands are awash with.
It’s the balmy summer heat that, with an ozone layer still thick, not threadbare, feels like a kiss on the skin, rather than a slow, spiteful singe. It’s daylight lingering as late as 10pm; farmers working their fields and the evening heady with possibility.
In towns and cities, I was reminded of Europe’s signature summer scent: sunbaked stone, hot and sticky or dampened by humidity. I even welcomed the fleeting smell of someone, somewhere smoking strong tobacco. Only in Europe do scorned habits present themselves as seductive.
From the Avalon dining room, we smiled at kids splashing at the river’s edge, while windmills – silent, steadfast – rolled past the window. We’ll always wonder why he lobbed his ear off, but we’ll never question where a young Van Gogh found his inspiration.
And I miss exactly that: Europe at its inspirational best. From the subtlest smells, sights and sounds, to the overt architecture, food, fashion and history, it compels me to find awe in the simplest and most grandiose of things.
On a morning bike ride in Brussels, cycling a vintage red bike as part of our boat excursion, my group and I glide past a patisserie, and I instinctively inhale. I get exactly what I’m after: sweet notes of baked butter with the nutty undertone of sugar. La joie de vivre in a single sniff.
Earlier in the week, on a walking tour through Middelburg, the capital of Zeeland, our group trundled through a cobbled alley and dispersed into Abdijplein, home to the medieval Middelburg Abbey complex. It was delicious: thick with the scent of 12th-century timberwork, a rich, oaky fragrance. I was transported back to childhood holidays spent in French gîtes; bunk beds beneath huge wooden beams. There’s comfort to be found in such a robust aroma.
The tour guide, like all those on our Avalon trip, regaled guests with encyclopaedic knowledge, passionate and bristling with facts that complement not just the sights, but the sensations engulfing us. In Europe, the silent unease of Nazi presence is never too far away, and in Middelburg, our guide points to the floor, at small brass tiles embedded into the pavement. They depict the last known residence of a Jewish victim. They’re called stumbling stones, which sounds oddly jingly for something so sinister.
In Antwerp, our walking tour weaves through Central Rail Station. A building as narcissistic as a palace, with polished marble floors and stone arches merging with Pantheon-style domes. Bathed in Baroque, it’s the perfect example of European cities going OTT for extravagance; bettering thy neighbour with attention-seeking beauty.
Keeping up with the Joneses has always been rife in Europe – something the Nazis were also quick to exploit. So much so, a common theme emerged during our daily guided tours: the Third Reich acquiring myriad cultural treasures. That would be putting it politely. They looted Michelangelo’s Madonna of Bruges, plundered Brussels and ransacked wider Antwerp for its art, galleries and diamonds. Looking up at the station’s grand double staircase, I wonder why they didn’t pillage the historic clock and gilded coat of arms. Fortunately for us, the station’s grandeur remains intact - and cleaner, according to our tour guide, who informs us it was filthy for most of her childhood.
Using the mornings to exert ourselves, afternoons can be spent lolling on the ship’s Skydeck or submerged in the jacuzzi. However, several optional extras include food-focused walking tours – and who would deny their taste buds flavours built over millennia?
In Amsterdam, ramblings between the city’s stepped-gable buildings lead to cheese shops and fishmongers, as well as crooked pubs serving one of Europe’s finest conventions: Coca-Cola in a glass bottle. This is not a tradition to be sniffed at; the Dutch, like most of Western Europe, never compromise on flavour – even if it’s a sugar-laden soft drink.
Am I seriously suggesting Kiwis travel all the way to the Netherlands for a superior glass of Coke?
No.
But also yes.
Because Europe is as much about seeking the simplest pleasures as it is the obvious, be it glassed cola or must-see landmarks in all their ornate excessiveness.
This couldn’t be more true aboard the Avalon Impression, where the slow, scenic route offers an effortless transition from one major must-see to the next, depositing guests in the heart of a new town every day, with time to enjoy low-key moments in between.
For me, these understated joys occurred most evenings, with days ending much the same way they began: curtains ajar, drinking up the views of everyday Europe from my bed. One night, the silhouette of a cyclist bathed in the ink of midnight; the next, flashing blue lights and a silent police drama unfolding.
The following morning, I wake to a literal full-scale replica of Noah’s Ark drifting past the window. It’s Rotterdam’s abandoned Ark van Noach, complete with a life-size giraffe on the bow.
Oh Europe, how I miss you.
Checklist
AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS
GETTING THERE
Fly from Auckland to Amsterdam with one stopover with China Eastern, China Southern, Cathay Pacific, Emirates, Singapore Airlines and Air NZ (some routes are on a codeshare basis).
DETAILS
avalonwaterways.co.nz
The writer travelled courtesy of Avalon Waterways.