Every morning when we are in Bergen we get up early, about a quarter to eight, and put our dogs in the back of the car. We put a few sandwich bags in our pockets and drive to the beach which is about six km away from us. We have Donna, an almost 12 year old, but still very old blonde labrador, Bommel, 3 years old, also a Labrador but Brown, a sturdy doerak and finally Saartje, our latest acquisition, now 1 year old, a playful and smart Jack Russell, who is inseparable from Bommel.
We Park the car at Sissy Boy North and go to the beach. Within the first 50 meters it is already hit and I see Bommel making some turning movements. And yes, the result may be there. With a now handy gesture, I pick up the chops with the sandwich bag and hop, there it goes in one of the waste bins that are fully present and are supplied with new plastic bags every day. The same goes for Donna and Saartje. Dogs are allowed to be loose on the beach before ten in the morning and after seven in the evening. The beach is kept very clean by the municipality. A couple of times a week, a large tractor goes over the beach with a pusher for leveling and behind it a large vibrating sieve to remove all the irregularities.
We walk towards Schoorl to the poles that break the surf at "De Kerf", a natural break in the dune row. There we dive into the sea and love to feel the power of the vibrant surf around us. This is enjoyment in the now. It gives an intense happy and fresh feeling. Bommel loves to swim with me. But I have to watch out for the fetching of his paws. I have already suffered many scratches on my body.
During the walk there and back we almost always meet the same people who, also often with their dog, enjoy the empty beach, the peace and space at this beautiful hour. Over the years they have become acquaintances and we chat with each other. The dogs also know each other well and often see from afar who is coming, Yippie! There you have my great playmate, or getver.. there you have that grump, I'm going to sniff around and pretend I don't see him.
During these meetings, love and suffering are shared, while you often don't even know what someone's name is. That's why we gave some of them a nickname. For example, the Zwieperd, a man with a nice black labrador, he himself recently got two new hips, who always swings a tennis ball in such a plastic container far away so that his dog can go after it. But if Saartje gets the chance, and she often does, then she is faster at the ball and does not give up the ball anymore. Every time you come to her, she makes another sprint and defiantly lies down on her stomach. With a dog bite we finally manage to get the ball back and give it to the Zwieperd. When we see him coming from afar, we put Saartje on the line as a precaution. We have the idea that the Zwieperd actually likes it when we run after Saartje like that.
Then we have a former military man who now runs a pension with his wife in Bergen aan zee. At least I think it's an old military man because he always wears a green jacket with an Army emblem printed on it. He has a stoic Airdale Terrier and also often carries his son's dog, who lives in Amsterdam. A cute black Chinese dog, which is called Bami. He also finds it bizarre. Who calls his dog Bami? We'll give him a bite. Sambal?
There is also Connie. Connie is a little woman of 78 who is very early on the beach when the weather is nice. Impeccably dressed in white, she already waves at us from afar and once she gets to her, she always has a lot to tell us. For Connie you have to take your time, she has profound reflections on the soul of the sea and what keeps her busy. Sometimes I get a copy of a text she found somewhere and then put it under the wiper of our car the next day. Always inspiring.
These are just a few examples of our special beach encounters. The sea connects us.
Boy Van Droffelaar, PhD
