Day 31: Gouda to Kamperland | 110km
29 June 2026
Cows mooing and ducks quacking woke me up before my alarm could even think about ringing at 6:45. They’d been at it all night, only falling silent once we’d packed the tent and sat down for breakfast at a nearby picnic table. Farm animals, it turns out, have zero respect for cross-continental cyclists’ precious resting time. The bathroom reeked of cow dung, which wasn’t exactly surprising, given its proximity to a stable, but it did make me feel a little less human and a little more like one of the animals this morning.
The route took us through Rotterdam, a city I’d heard boasts the largest container shipping yard in Europe. The roads in and out were clogged with trucks, and train tracks crisscrossed the landscape, all leading to the docks to haul away cargo. Compared to the other cities we’ve passed through, Rotterdam felt like a big, industrial metropolis, and riding through it wasn’t the most pleasant experience. The 15 km bike path out of the city first through suburbs, then into rural countryside ran alongside the shipping yard, and strong headwinds made every pedal stroke feel like a battle. Progress was slow. Hard-earned. Somewhere along the way, Irene officially hit the 1,000 km milestone, which is nothing short of remarkable. We’ve been cycling through the worst heatwave in recorded history, and before this trip, she’d never biked more than 60 km in a day. I, on the other hand, passed 3,300 km today, meaning I’m about to hit the halfway point of this journey. Looking at the map, it feels like I’ve covered more than half, but then again, I’m not taking the quickest route to southern Spain. I’ll be detouring through the Basque region and along Portugal’s coast, so the distance adds up.
In the afternoon, we stopped at Pannekoekenmolen de Graanhalm in Burgh-Haamstede, a pancake restaurant with a beautiful garden right next to a windmill in classic Dutch fashion. The only other pancake-focused place I’ve been to is IHOP in Philadelphia, but this was on the other end of the spectrum. Inside, an old cook managed eight or ten heavy cast-iron pans, all sizzling with batter mixed by his colleague. One of my favorite parts of this journey so far has been reconnecting with old friends as I pass through their towns. In Burgh-Haamstede, I was thrilled to meet up with an old colleague and her husband, who were vacationing in the area. They recommended the restaurant as the perfect spot for an afternoon catch-up. They were right. Veerle and Duncan guided Irene and me through the menu and insisted we try the traditional Dutch pancake with bacon. I took their advice but couldn’t resist adding a second pancake with Nutella. The calories were very much needed.
Our afternoon catch-up eventually turned into dinner (more pancakes) and a beer. There’s something special about meeting people in their home country, it’s different from wherever you normally see them. It’s nice to let a trusted friend take the lead, show you around, and share stories about the area or local customs. I don’t think AI chatbots can replicate that, no matter how good their recommendations are. At least when a friend suggests something, I never second-guess the choice.
After our extended coffee that turned into dinner, we tackled the final 13 km across the Eastern Scheldt Storm Surge Barrier, Oosterscheldekering, a 9 km long, half-dam structure completed in 1986 to protect the area from flooding. It was built after the devastating North Sea flood of 1953. Riding across this marvel of human ingenuity was spectacular. It felt like a rare success story of humans taming nature’s power. Essentially, the barrier allows tidal water to flow in, but if there’s a risk of rising sea levels, it can be closed off completely to protect the inland area. We set up camp on the other side of the barrier, which also doubles as a bridge across the water, and enjoyed a few snacks as we watched the sunset over the ocean.