The Isle of Texel

One of the Dutch Wadden Isles

Outside the museum in De Waal, three women in traditional Texel costume sit knitting lace. Asked whether a photograph is allowed, they nod and carry on with the needles. No posed smile, no pause in the work, as if we have simply cycled past something that was already happening and carry on the moment we ride off. Most visitors never reach this village or pass through it in ten seconds on their way to somewhere with a name they already knew before arriving.

We stop. The smallest village on Texel has no reason to hurry, and that turns out to be contagious.

Folkore isn’t a museum piece

A small statue further along says little until we read the information board beside it. According to island folklore, sommeltjes, tiny earth-dwelling figures, live on the Sommeltjesberg near De Waal and dance there by moonlight. At night they help the villagers by quietly polishing silverware; by day they do nothing at all, since sunlight turns them to stone.

A fair arrangement, you might say. We get back on the bikes with a slightly different kind of attention to what stands along the road: folklore that isn’t a museum piece here, but something still woven into the village.

Hidden history behind the chruch

Less than a minute on, the Protestant church looks too young for a village church. Only the date, 1953, gives it away: its predecessor burnt down during the Georgian Uprising. On the night of 5 to 6 April 1945, towards the end of the Second World War on the island, Georgian soldiers conscripted into the German army turned against their commanders.

What followed was a guerrilla conflict that continued even after the German surrender on 5 May; it took until 20 May for Canadian troops to end it, in what is counted as the last land battle of the war in Europe. More than a thousand people died: Georgians, Germans and Texel islanders together. The church here, hit on the evening of 7 April, still carries that mark. In a spot where most tourists don’t even get off their bikes.

Turn off the main road

A place like this isn’t stumbled upon by accident. We turned off the main route an hour earlier, just as the ferry ramp was still lowering, and hundreds of other bikes surged as one towards De Koog and Den Burg. Cars, cyclists and walkers had shuffled onto the island at a crawl, as though someone had let them all off a plane at once: everyone upright immediately, nobody actually moving forward. We left that crush behind without a second thought.

In the first kilometres, we came to know Texel mostly by smell. Salt air from the harbour gave way to the scent of wet grass once the foredune was behind us, then to the sharp warmth of sheep dung along the first fields. Between the dunes, marram grass smelt dry and dusty, as if the blades released their own scent simply from rubbing against each other.

Sheeps turn their backs

The wind, meanwhile, wrote its own signature across the landscape: marram pressed into waves against the dune slopes, sand drifting in thin ribbons low over the cycle path, and sheep all standing with their backs turned the same way. They, at least, had made up their minds. Open polder gave way to dune, dune to woodland edge, woodland edge to dyke along the Wadden Sea, and somewhere among those shifts, without quite noticing, De Waal was already ahead of us.

Past the church, we cycle on with that story still in mind, through fields that seem to hold no memory of it, until the road at Oudeschild bends back towards water. This harbour appears on none of our lists, and yet we always come here: our own boat used to lie at this quay more than once. Some harbours give something away the moment you see the jetty. This is one of them.

Little has changed

Children lean over the water with little nets, fishing for crabs. Further along, a voice rings out, delighted: ‘First time in my life I’ve caught a crab! Seventy years old, and now I catch a crab.’ He holds the small creature up as though it were a prize catch. Seventy years for one crab. That deserves celebrating, loudly, without a trace of embarrassment.

What strikes us, lingering a while longer on the quay, is how little seems to have changed. Different jetties, perhaps different boats, but the rhythm here is instantly familiar. As if this harbour, unlike the ferry that morning, has never been in a hurry.

Wind is always there

The lighthouse at De Cocksdorp was still on our list, but Texel turns out to be larger than the map suggests. There comes a point where a choice is unavoidable: tick off one more destination, or spend the time on what’s already crossed your path. We turn the bikes around. The lighthouse will still be there tomorrow.

On the way back along the dunes, the air smells drier than it did that morning. Among the pines hangs a warm scent of resin, mixed with sand. The wind is still there, though less insistent than down by the harbour, as if it too is closing the day more quietly.

Most visitors keep their eyes on the road ahead, racing towards the coast. But the island’s quiet strength lies down the turnings they cycle straight past, entirely unaware of what was left behind.

Please leave this field empty

NOMAS News Flash

Sign me up, I don’t want to miss a thing

Thanks for signing up! Check your inbox – or your spam folder – to confirm your subscription.