By Emily Bullock.

Every summer for hundreds of years at 10am in Alkmaar the running of the cheese begins, the massive wheels of Edam and Gouda are hand carted through the town. I would advise travellers to arrive for this time, unlike my travel companion and I who missed the big event completely. In our defence this was due to a run-in with a lady and a lamp at our Bed and Breakfast in Amsterdam. I haven’t sufficiently recovered a sense of humour about the event yet, but suffice it to say there was an exchange of words including ‘How much?!’ and ‘Why leave it balanced on a radiator if it’s so precious?’

The peaceful thirty minute train journey from Amsterdam Centraal to Alkmaar lessened my anger; still green fields, scattered windmills and flowing canals. The ticket price of eight Euros also helped lessen the dent in my purse left by the lamp. The town itself was clean, suburban and lined with pastel coloured brick houses with white and green shutters. This prettiness was enough to sustain us on the rather longer than expected twenty minute walk to Camping Alkmaar. Follow the cycle path and you can’t miss it, although there were a few near misses with the bikes themselves. Having cycle paths on the pavement takes some getting used to. But we survived.

The campsite was set back off the road, and the pitches were surrounded by bushes and divided into paddocks. The shower block was clean and bright, and the toilets, although covered by a roof, were al fresco and I have to say the breeze was rather refreshing. As we were staying in the town for a wedding we decided to forego the tent option and opted for a hiking hut instead. At forty Euros for a night, they were great value for money and could sleep up to six. Equipped with a stove, bunk-beds and table and two chairs, the space was limited. But the sun was shining, we had stocked up at the local Co-op on fruit, cheese, bread, and coffee so we were ready for the adventure. And it did come, but not quite in the Famous Five way I had expected.

The rain started within an hour of our arrival. It looked like the world was turned on its head as water jumped up from the ground in an attempt to get back into the clouds. Alkmaar turned black. The sun did appear occasionally but when we ventured outside the wasps were waiting for us. I don’t think swarm was too strong a word to use; they feasted on the sodden wooden benches and made swooping lunges for our pears and coffee mugs. We quickly retreated back to the hut, and looked out longingly at the sunshine, counting the minutes before the rain came back. And it did.

The last weekend in August was the town’s end of summer fair. The medieval walled town was lined with hanging lamps, and echoed with the screams of excited children ramming each other on the bumper cars. Herring stands and waffle vendors pumped the air full of sweet and salty smells. You might be tempted but I would suggest saving yourself for the Frites Stand by the National Beer Museum. The Dutch make delicious chips, and smothered in mayonnaise they are even more irresistible. They also make for a cheaper option, Holland and the Euro were doing well, and the pound was not, when we were there in the summer.

The centre of Alkmaar was cobbled, streets running in a grid system around the canals. Without the grandeur of Amsterdam’s canal dwellings, the town had a dolls house feel to it. The Cheese Market and Waag (tower) were the most ornate in the town and the canal-front buildings beside it were painted and gilded in a Venetian style. The sun even glistened from a gondola for a few sweet moments, and then the rain came again. I’ve visited Skegness on a cold and dank February but Alkmaar in August could rival the punishing wind and slapping rain. The hut didn’t seem so appealing in the cold and the dark so we retreated into an Italian restaurant on Zevenhuizen. The Focaccia was salted and sprinkled with rosemary, and the pizza puttanesca was sharp and juicy. More of a Southern Italian experience, but authentic and reasonably priced. The pizza oven and kitchen were open, and the chefs even stopped to make their own dinner. Always a good sign if restaurant staff tuck into their own creations, I think.

Well, it was still raining when we woke up. But as if it knew when to behave the skies lightened, and the thick white clouds raced over without stopping, just as the wedding began. The service took place in Bergen aan Zee, a twenty minute drive from Alkmaar. The Peace Church had electric blue patterned stained glass windows and stands as a dedication to love and the woman who inspired it; a fitting place for a marriage ceremony. A few metres walk away was the beach, open sand flats and rolling waves. The sand dunes decorated with sprouting clumps of sea grass and waving reeds. The sea and the sky melted into one white capped, tumbling panorama. The water was also surprisingly warm, speckled with swimmers and kite surfers.  It was definitely a place to return to. There were plenty of bike hire places, both around Alkmaar station and at the campsite.  For only twelve Euros for the day I had visions of cycling to Bergen the following morning. Taking in the mountainous sand dunes, the beachside cafes, the pine scented woodland and the artist’s colony… the weather had other ideas.

Trapped in a wooden hut with a wedding hangover, and nothing but a stale baguette and a bruised pear to gnaw on, the next day was looking limited. But it wasn’t anything that a nice hot shower couldn’t fix.  A word of warning, always carry change with you and be prepared to pay for the facilities; fifty cents for the toilet in a lot of cafes, and fifty cents for a shower at the campsite. Someone must have decided this amount was enough to put off mere passing trade but not enough to make a customer pee in the bushes or shower in the rain. Although there was a handy device by which you could switch off the water temporarily to make the five minutes last longer. However, my short-sighted partner failed to read the For No Longer than Two Minutes warning sign, and neither did he hear my verbal warning… apparently.  He banged on my cubicle, a soapy, hairy vision, and without a towel, the stuff of nightmares (except for the most love struck).  I had to donate my last saved minute of precious hot water to him.

My advice to those considering a visit to Alkmaar – yes, definitely go but please check the weather report. If even a drop of rain is forecast book into Amrath Hotel Alkmaar: spacious rooms, heating, television, and endless hot water. Don’t stay in a hut. After all, what’s eighty Euros a night? Nothing but the price of a broken lamp.