Marendy Blog: Day 29 ( Sunday 30th November) A Day Among Holland’s Working Windmills

There are days when travel feels like stepping into a painting, and today was one of them. We left behind the bustle of Amsterdam to explore the countryside and see the iconic working windmills of Holland. The morning greeted us with crisp blue skies, the kind that make canals shimmer and rooftops glow. By late afternoon the weather shifted—softly damp, though never quite breaking into rain—adding a moody touch to the landscape.

Our day began in a small café perched along one of Amsterdam’s many canals. The café was warm and inviting, with wooden tables polished by years of use and windows that framed the water outside like living artwork. We ordered a sweet pastry filled with cream, a decadent start that felt both indulgent and quintessentially Dutch. There’s something about breakfast in Amsterdam: the quiet hum of bicycles passing by, the reflection of bridges in the water, and the sense that the city wakes slowly, savouring its rhythm.

After breakfast, we walked twenty minutes to Amsterdam Central Station, weaving through crowds of commuters, tourists, and the occasional street musician. Our goal was Zaanse Schans, a village famous for its preserved windmills and traditional crafts.

Bus terminal

The bus tickets cost €25 for a return trip. We expected a quick 18‑minute ride, but instead found ourselves on the “milk run”—a bus that stopped at nearly every small town along the way. The journey stretched to 40 minutes, though it offered glimpses of suburban life: tidy brick houses, children cycling, and waterways cutting through flat fields. On the return trip, luck was on our side. With no stops, the bus whisked us back to Amsterdam in just 20 minutes.

Greater Zaanse Schans

Zaanse Schans

Zaanse Schans unfolded like a living museum. The town sits low on the wetlands, its waterways lined with traditional homes painted in deep greens and browns. Wooden bridges arched over canals, and the air carried the faint scent of wood smoke and damp earth.

The highlight, of course, was the windmills. Each one had its own story:

• A sawmill powered entirely by wind, we could imagine its blades creaking as they turned. ( it was closed for repairs)

• A cheese maker offering samples of creamy Gouda and more.

• A clogmaker carving wooden shoes with practiced precision.

But the most fascinating was the pigment mill. Built in 1781, it still grinds stone into powder used for paints. Standing inside, you could feel the weight of centuries—the rhythmic grinding, the smell of stone dust, and the knowledge that artists once and still relied on these pigments to bring colour to canvases.

Paint pigments

The wetlands were alive with birdlife. Ducks waddled confidently along the paths, plump and unapologetically corpulent. They seemed almost theatrical, as if they knew they were part of the scenery. Their size sparked a humorous thought: in another culture, they might have been destined for the dinner table, but here they were free to strut and swim.

Fat and happy Ducks

Across the river, the town expanded into a blend of old and new. Traditional houses stood proudly beside modern homes, and in the distance, a factory chimney rose behind a windmill—a juxtaposition of heritage and industry that defines much of Holland.

Zaanse Schans

Modern vs old

Clogs outside home

Traditional costume

Returning to Amsterdam, we navigated the vast Central Station to locate the Eurostar platform for tomorrow’s trip to Paris. The station is a labyrinth of platforms, shops, and signs, and it took patience to find the right spot.

Cos, still battling a stubborn cold, stopped at a pharmacy to ask for cold and flu tablets. The pharmacist explained that such medications are illegal in the Netherlands due to their chemical ingredients being linked to the production of stronger drugs. The irony wasn’t lost on us: cannabis is freely available here, yet cold and flu tablets are banned. It felt like a paradox, though perhaps a logical one in a country already managing a complex drug culture.

Our walk home became a culinary adventure. First stop: Mannekenpis Verse Vlaamse Friet, a shop proudly voted the Netherlands’ best fries. The fries were thick, golden, and perfectly crisp, served in paper cones with sauces dripping down the sides. Ten minutes later, we ducked into a café for coffee, hot chocolate, and a slice of Dutch apple strudel. The strudel was warm, spiced with cinnamon, and layered with tender apples—a comforting finale to a day filled with history, quirks, and flavours.

Travel days like this remind me why Holland/Netherlands captivates so many visitors. It’s not just the postcard-perfect windmills or the charming canals—it’s the contrasts. The old and the new, the practical and the whimsical, the paradoxes that make you pause and laugh. From pastries by the canal to pigment mills grinding stone since the 18th century, the day was a tapestry of experiences stitched together by curiosity and delight.