A boy in the water.
The waves roared, and winds howled chillingly. We strained our eyes and tried to look more carefully. Were our eyes deceiving us? Shivers went up my spine. A black figure, standing up straight, surrounded by white foamy water, stiff and still.
We ran towards our bikes, sand sinking into our shoes, but all we could think of was getting away from the pitch dark beach, and getting away from this mysterious figure standing there all alone in the water. Who stands all alone with crashing waves at his feet on the beach at night? A boy? A suicidal person? A... the word and thought too spine-shivering to spell out... ghost?
Moments later, two travellers strolled along the dark stretch of beach. We made peace with the waves, and were no longer much bothered by the piercing winds. We made peace with our minds, and were laughing and relieved that our minds, tainted by ghosts and whatever junk is fed through modern entertainment media, was merely paranoid and overly imaginative. Wooden poles stood, braving the waves as the waves ebbed and flowed, riding out the restless winds that seemed to get even fiercer as the night crept forward.
An low overcast sky, air salty from the North Sea. I strolled with my friend into the night, further along the beach. Destination unknown, led by our steady steps and curiosity, accompanied almost comfortingly by an endless stretch dunes that seemed to offset the rage of the sea that now and then tried to suck us in with its foamy palms of waves. The sea sizzled, the rays of a lighthouse far, far away swept across the sky. Sand carried the markings of our footsteps temporarily, before they were swept clean by the winds.
We clambered up the dunes, anxious to find out how far we could go, how far we could look. Grass beneath my feet tickled my skins through my jeans, the sound of stems snapping joined the howling voices in the wind. The night and the unique landscape had made adverturers out of us, and even in the cold and darkness, it was as if we tried to challenge nature. Grass tossed their heads, and dances in waves as gale force winds blew across the island. We stood our ground on top of the dunes with silent admiration. Perhaps the bowed bodies of the grass around us was a gesture of respect. Here we were, on an island we set foot on only hours ago, but already I seemed to feel its rawness and barren beauty take over and free us from mundane thoughts back home.
Corrals of sand felt soothing on my toes. The fresh, natural, salty air filled my lungs. Before us, a stretch of darkened land lay, quiet and mysterious. Here and there, faint glows of light illustrated where settlements were, but they were sparse and far in between. The beams of the lighthouse continued to sweep across the land and sea, while I admired the contrast between the roaring sea and a sleepy land that was separated by a column of mere dune formation.
And so Texel would continue to amaze in many ways, even though my stay there was little over a day. As the biggest of the five Dutch Waddenlands, Texel has a little over ten thousand souls, and sheep, cows, horses and wild birds that combined more than outnumber the islanders. Its size is just a little smaller than Singapore, but unlike the island-state, the surface is not scarred with buildings. Instead, its vast stretch of beach and sand dunes has recently become a National Park, whereas its sprinklings of pine forests, and vast open polders and fields are left relatively undisturbed, and mainly used for agriculture and grazing.
In addition, the island hosts
Ecomare, which is the Center for the Wadden Sea and North Sea, and which provides shelter to injured and lost birds and seals. Looking into the dark eyes of a seal, and seeing that innocent expression on its face, you wonder how anyone could have the heart to club them to death. Seals are often said to be a measure for the health of the environment. With increasing human recreational activity, extensive drilling for gas and oil in the North Sea, and the explosions of bombs and rockets of the Dutch military which uses parts of Texel as a training ground, the seals are defenceless and losing their natural habitats. A small grey stuffed seal I 'adopted' at the souvenir shop will serve as a constant reminder of how cute these creatures are, and of the small donation contributed to saving these and other natives who were there before people came.
We travelled the length of the island along its many cycle paths, coming across colourful wild pheasants, empty nests on barren tree tops, waving to the uninterested sheep that grazed in the fields. Even in wintry weather, Texel-sheep are kept outdoors, and that is perhaps the reason why they are especially treasured by those who sleep under warm duvets stuffed with their wool. Like me.
People told me it was crazy to weekend in the middle of winter on an island that is traditionally only brimming with tourists in the summer sun. But my friend and I are travellers, not tourists, and the more unconventional the journey, and the less crowded the place, the more it seemed to be enticing. And besides, it was cheap(er) off-season, and you get the added bonus of having feeling like you alone have the privilege to enjoy the nature all around. With the exception of the odd gaggle of geese and grazing crowd of sheep, that is.
The cold was indeed at times unbearable, and whenever the weak January sun revealed its face and warmth were precious few moments. Rhythmic cycling movements together with the light humming of the wheels against the paved paths led us from one place of beauty to another place of stunning scenery... through dense woodlands, criss-crossing through dune landscapes that resembled a foreign planet, along the coastline, up to the northern-most tip of the island, where a red lighthouse stood out perched atop a little dune. The bright red was such a stark contrast to the grey skies, light blue hue of the sea, and the ever-moving and shifting grains of soft sand that silently flew at the command of the gusts like a thin, long veil across the beach.
The grains of sand flew as the winds blew, onto destinations unknown.
