Day 1a: Haarlem to Zevenhuizen (80km)

Wind.

The start in Haarlem - only 2375km to go to Santiago!

If there was one word to characterise the first day of my bike trip from Holland to France, it would have to be wind. Constant and unremitting, and for most of the day from directly in the direction I was heading, so maximising its negative impact on my progress.  The night before I'd seen the weather forecast, which was pretty grim: strength 6 winds from the south-south west, some rain possible and low temperatures. Great, I thought, just the thing for my first day. But then I realised that I would be riding in exactly the direction the wind was coming from, and the situation suddenly seemed a whole lot worse. And so it proved to be.

Riding through the region near Keukenhof, famous for its massive fields of colourful Tulips, I realised that there were white caps on the waves in the canal I was riding next to. The seagulls were flying against the wind, but they were going backwards. Ducks and geese were sitting on the ground, their breaks tucked back into their feathers. At times I was almost almost standing still and I couldn't help thinking back to my first day on the Camino last year when I was struggling up the passes over the Pyrenees in the howling wind and rain;  riding into the wind was just like riding up a steep hill. When it started to rain as well as blow a gale in my face, the memory was completed.

I am stopped to take a break, sheltering behind a roadside bin (the only structure for kilometres). I see a woman on a bike coming up the road against the wind. She seems to be making amazingly good progress making me feel like I must have been exaggerating about the wind. And then as she passes I realise she's riding an electric bike! I am secretly jealous while maintaining an outward air of being justified in my suffering because I am riding using only my legs for power.

Still, I am pleased to discover that despite being late in the season, the are still a few fields of spectacular colour for me to ride past.

Slices of brilliant colour as I cycle through the tulip fields

Later, a guy pulls up next to me at the traffic lights on the bike path (this is the Netherlands, they have traffic lights for bicycles); his face is red with the cold and wind, snot is streaming out of his nose. "It's pretty windy" he says with impressive understatement. "I have an electric bike and it's still hard work. And you're doing this for fun?" I smile stoically; I am indeed doing this for fun I remind myself.

I am surprised by how well the Sint Jacobsweg (Camino de Santiago) is known here. Standing at the 'starting line' outside the Sint Jacob Stichting in Haarlem, posing for the obligatory 'start of the Camino' photo, a bike rider comes down the street, "Have a good journey" he says with a wave when passing. Not quite the ' Buen Camino' you hear everywhere along the path in Spain, but nevertheless nice. Standing in line at a post office, the guy behind me notices the scallop shell on my bag (symbol of Saint James, and the Camino) and says: " You're going to Santiago?" Only in Holland (where everyone is a bike rider) would someone assume you were going on a bike ride of thousands of kilometres without apparent surprise. I'm also impressed that he knows about the route, which even in Holland, is not that widely known. And I'm at a post office in a place which is nowhere near the route.

Timely appearance of the sun highlights the windmills

The weather remains grim the whole day, although there's a few glimpses of sunshine occasionally. I'm particularly pleased at one such appearance of the sun, just when I'm taking an obligatory photo of a windmill. Its in an area where my GPS tells me I am at 3m below sea level. The water in the canal I am riding next to is  considerably higher than I am. In their day, these windmills spent their time pumping water out of the polders and into those canals.

I end up to riding much later than I had planned, a disadvantage of having booked my first night's accommodation beforehand. And so I don't have time, or for that matter the energy, to stop and explore the towns I am riding through. But it's such a miserable day anyway and I do of course get to appreciate the amazingly old buildings in towns like Leiden, some dating from 1276. When I finally arrive, I'm greeted like a friend and am soon sitting with a (well-earned) beer in my hand, chatting with the hosts. "We've been thinking about you today, given this wind" they tell me. Something to be said for booking ahead after all.

If it's Holland, there will be windmills (and wind!)

The café (local pub) where I have dinner has a slogan engraved in their front window: "Hier ga je uit om thuis te komen" which translates loosely as "This is where you go out to come home" which I think is just great; it sums up nicely the feeling of the place.