Ah, Scheveningen . . . the bracing tang of ozone and chips.
The beach was fairly deserted, and the rows and rows of bicycle racks were empty apart from a couple of mopeds. But it was great cycling along the prom and seeing gulls and waves again.
I can just about pronounce the name, but it still sounds like I’m clearing my throat.
I always feel rather clumsy cycling in Dutch towns, like an elephant in a bicycle ballet. The smooth flow of cyclists is disrupted by my wobbles and habit of stopping in front of, rather than gliding elegantly past, any obstacles.
A reminder on the prom that the seaside has not always been about holidays and pleasure beaches.