One Final Weekend: Beach Rugby in the Netherlands
I can’t believe this is my final entry! It’s probably going to be a pretty short one too, because A. I didn’t make notes for this portion of the trip, B. My memories of this weekend are pretty hazy and C. I’m writing it almost three months after the fact. Anyway, as fun as it was for me, you don’t want to spend THAT long reading about me playing rugby and drinking beer in the Netherlands, do you? It couldn’t possibly be THAT interesting, at least not without more pictures than I have to go with it…
The last stop on my trip was to be a return to the Netherlands. I’d already decided while in Turkey that it was time to go home, but I had some unfinished business to take care of in the Low Countries.
When I’d been there earlier for my friend Eric’s wedding, he’d invited me back in June to come and play with his club in the annual Ameland Beach Rugby Tournament.
My return to the country started early, early in the morning with my arrival at Eindhoven airport. Unlike Schiphol in Amsterdam, there was no train station nearby, but a quick bus ride (with no fear of being overcharged for a change) took me to Eindhoven central station. From there it was a quick train trip/nap to Delft, home of Eric and his wife Diane.
When I arrived it was still WAAAAY early for Diane and Eric to be home from work, so I decided that, despite my load, I’d take the 5km or so walk to their place. On the way there I was overcome by a craving for Stroopwaffels. Thankfully, the Netherlands is pretty much the one place on Earth where the thin, caramel filled waffles are available pretty much anywhere. I stopped in at a grocery store and had one of the unhealthiest breakfasts every in the form of two packages of the things.
Eventually I got to Eric and Diane’s neighbourhood (a pretty new one, with an interesting pattern of street names… All the streets were named after countries and prominent historical figures from the developing world, so you could walk down Bikolaan, then take a right on Nigeriastraat, then another right on Ivorkust.) I spent the late morning and afternoon just sitting out in the sun and reading and enjoying still more stroopwaffels (I suspect I’ll never crave the things again) and wandering about the parks and canals that crisscrossed the neighbourhood.
When Eric got home from work we did the minimal catching up that was necessary and headed upstairs to relax a bit (or a bit more depending on whose perspective you’re taking) before heading out to rugby practice with the Hoek van Holland Hookers.
We were among the first to arrive, though unsurprisingly everyone was very friendly and happy to meet me as they trickled in. One of the things I love most about playing rugby is the great sense of community among its players. One who plays rugby can go almost anywhere in the world, look up the local club and instantly have 20 or more friends.
The practice consisted of a run down to the nearest beach (I’d been really worried about my physical condition, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared) and a long game of touch rugby on the sand. The mix of Dutch and a few foreign players were generally pretty skilled, almost uniformly physically impressive, but were amongst the quietest bunch I’d ever seen on the pitch. And I haven’t had a history of playing with communicative clubs.
It was probably because of my constant talk and penchant for quick play (okay, okay, and maybe a desire to be nice to the new guy and a shortage of experienced players too) that by the end of practice I’d been on the first team for the weekend.
Eric and I drove home and met Diane who’d returned from work in our absence. We had a fun evening playing Carcassone (an obscure boardgame of exactly the type that entertains me) followed by (after Diane went to bed) a game of Trivial Pursuit accompanied by several beers (with old school SR4 rules… In the centre, you had to answer five of six questions on the card to win, if you spilled pie pieces out of your holder you lost them, and if you spilled your drink on the board you had to drink The Brandy.)
The next morning I went into town to pick up my final gifts and souveniers, along with some ingredients for dinner. Between a late rise, my wander around old Delft and cooking, I managed to occupy pretty much the entire day. When Eric arrived home from work we reprised much of the previous evening’s activity, this time sans-Diane, who was away working.
My final morning in Delft was spent working hard on my ‘blog (more or less the last time I’d do so for several months.) By the time I was done Eric had returned (early) from work and we were ready to hit the road.
Since it was still early in the day the traffic was minimal as we headed north past The Hague, then Amsterdam, and finally off into the Dutch countryside. Our ride took us over canals, under tunnels and finally across the dyke that separates the North Sea from the IJsselmeer (interestingly, that ISN’T a typo. The Dutch language has a single vowel written with the combination of characters “ij” and when it begins a sentence or proper noun, both characters are capitalized.) The dyke is over 30km long, and took us more than 20 minutes to cross.
Once on the far side we entered Friesland, a section of the country formerly separated from the remainder of the Netherlands to the point that it has its own distinct language. We were nearing our destination and before long had arrived at the ferry docks that would take us to the island of Ameland and its annual beach rugby tournament. There were already hordes of people getting ready to board the ferry, and it was clear that Eric’s warnings about the long, long waits for ferries later in the day weren’t empty.
As it was, there were just enough people making the trip to make the ride entertaining. We boarded the ferry and headed straight down to the bar to get started on the weekend’s (primary? secondary? I’m not sure how beer drinking compared to rugby, but it’s clear that those activities were the big two, clearly well ahead of sleeping) activity.
The trip took about 30 minutes, after which a shared taxi ride took us to our weekend abode. Several of Eric’s teammates who had arrived the previous day and acted as the advance party. The whole affair was astonishingly well organized, and for many of the teams it was a family affair, with fathers, mothers, children and even family friends showing up. This was due to the friendly nature of the tournament, as well as the fact that so many of the Hookers were related by blood, marriage or often both.
They’d already set up the impressive team area of the campsite, which included several picnic tables, a barbecue, a big tent housing the supplies and even a generator for powering essential items (e.g. the beer fridge.)
We spent the afternoon helping to make space in the fridge for the Grolschs and Heinekens that had been left out in the heat of the afternoon, so sadly far from their ideal, natural condition. Throughout the afternoon more and more of the Hookers appeared, joining in on the quest.
Once most of the team had arrived, it was time to get started on the most impressive dinner.
With dinner behind us we headed down to the party tent and the evening stretched on into oblivion. The party tent had space for 3000 and was pretty much jammed with people Notable recollections include:
-The predictable womens’ team collecting signatures on random body parts.
-Laying out on the beach staring up at the stars with the thumping music from the party tent in the distance.
-Introducing myself to Eric’s South African teammate and asking where in the country he was from. I was stunned when he said he was from Durban and that I had an attractive female friend from there. Apparently I’d told him that the first two times I introduced myself.
Nothing like a late night of drinking and dancing to prepare you for a day of rugby. No, I’m serious!
The Ameland beach rugby tournament is an annual event, and has been running since 2000. Since its inception, it’s grown astonishingly, and the 2005 edition had 116 teams, and 4800 attendees. The game is like regular rugby union, but with a few variations. First, the field is much smaller. It’s perhaps 30m by 15m and is laid out on the sand with plastic tape. Next, the in-goal area is divided into 5 sections. A try scored in the centre one is worth five points, in either of the middle ones, four, and in the corners, three. Finally, there are only seven players on the field, but to make up for this, free and open substitutions are allowed, both at play stoppages, and even “on the fly.”
Along the beach there were more than a dozen fields laid out and everywhere one looked were rugby jerseys, balls being tossed around, and teams warming up. It was far and away the largest tournament I’d ever been to.
The day’s play didn’t get off to a spectacular start. Unsurprising, really given the condition of most of our players. I spent the morning alternately stepping on the field with the Hookers’ first team, where we took a beating, and laying in the sand beside the field where it felt scarcely better. My play in particular was really lacking. I choose to ascribe this to the fact that I hadn’t played in a year, rather than the possibility that I just wasn’t very good.
Meanwhile, the second team was faring much better, perhaps because they were composed mostly of the Hookers’ juniors and were thus much better suited to a day of physical exertion with next to no sleep and Hellish hangovers. While the first team struggled in the open division, they roundly thumped each opponent they faced in the recreational group. Most of us observed that they probably would have roundly thumped us as well, but thankfully that was never put to the test.
Following the rugby, the afternoon proceeded in similar fashion to the previous one, with the exception of long naps in our tents before things really got going at dinner. In fact, in my case it was more than a little nap. I slept away the vast majority of the evening, and while this may have made it rather less fun than the previous one, it left me in infinitely better shape for playing rugby the following morning. Apparently I wasn’t the only one. It seemed as though there we were an entirely different team as we won our first game with little difficulty.
The second game was even better. The hookers ran roughshod over our opponents, and even I managed to put one down in the in goal. Meanwhile, the second team hadn’t lost a step and were clobbering their way through the recreational division and despite their youth it looked as though they might even put in a challenge for the championship.
As it turned out, I never got to find out how things finished. Eric had a flight departing for France that evening, and I wanted to make certain I’d get at least a little sleep before my early morning departure the next day. This being the case, we played our final game (another victory) and all but sprinted back to the camp to pick up our bags which we’d packed earlier.
I’ve since learned that the Hookers’ first team won the consolation championship (in fact they officially finished ninth, but in many more generously minded tournaments the more impressive descriptor would have been used.)
Back at camp we grabbed our packs and (with only a little difficulty) phoned for a taxi to take us to the ferry docks. While we waited we even managed a quick shower to get rid of (at least a bit of) the sand and sweat that are a unique part of Beach Rugby. The taxi got us to the ferry terminal with a few minutes to spare, and forty minutes later we were back on the road home to Delft (or, in my case, the longer road home to Toronto.)
By the time we got back to Delft there wasn’t long for Eric and I to say our goodbyes. Not that it really mattered. As Bill pointed out when we were together earlier he and Eric and I can be separated for months, years at a time, only occasionally e-mailing or phoning one another. Nonetheless once we’re together again it always seems as though nothing has changed. It’s the same with all of my best friends, I suppose, but I’ll still be happy to get back to the Netherlands to visit Eric and again Diane soon.
Tags: Netherlands & Belgium
Llew