Beach Culture, Dutch Style by John Weich

The trick is to arrive early enough to secure one of the handcrafted canopied beds overlooking the soft surf of the North Sea. I know this because in the summer I try to take my morning coffee – every morning, weather permitting – at Bloemendaal aan Zee in the Netherlands. Securing the bed is no small task considering the number of people loitering, consciously swaying to the dj spinning records, waiting to pounce on any available real estate. Theirs is the only discernable sign of haste for miles around.

Bloemendaal aan Zee is not a beach community that comprises families or even homes, but each spring and summer this nondescript stretch of beach outside of Amsterdam becomes one of Europe’s funkiest slabs of sand.

On a typical day the Bali beds at café Republiek, for example, carry the burden of hundreds of listless sunbathers half clad in the latest kona floral satin sarongs and sipping house rosé from chilled champagne buckets. Even the personnel seemed tuned in to ‘relax mode’ as they languidly sweep grains of sand from between the feet of close-eyed clients. There is a governing Sublime Mood that hovers over the napping souls. It’s why I have decided to cycle here every morning for my coffee. It’s not exactly utopia, but it’s pretty damn close.

For years European beaches could rely on Speedo-ed mid-drifts and a topless clientele to distinguish themselves from their North American counterparts. But anyone familiar with the continent’s vast coastlines knows that the real difference between the two continents is the groovy ad hoc communities like Bloemendaal aan zee that pop up along Europe’s waterside communities between April and October.

Flanked by the North Sea to the west and dunes to the east with a few miles of empty space on either side, Bloemendaal aan Zee is not a place you end up at by accident. In fact, if you don’t know what you’re looking for you probably won’t find it. This is because it is beyond the long arm of Holland’s public transportation network, and to get there by bike you’ve got to traverse a few daunting hills, albeit Dutch hills, and on well-paved cycle paths. For the unsuspecting tourist who stumbles across this stretch of beach during one of its concerts or festivals, Bloemendaal aan Zee will earn a notch in his wuku calendar forevermore.

Just ten years ago Bloemendaal aan Zee was a little known family paradise for the area’s pampered bourgeois, not much more than an isolated playground for bashful picnickers and the rare collector of seashells. It was a peaceful alternative to the overpopulated shores of the best-known beach in Holland, Zandvoort, with which Bloemendaal aan Zee shares its lapping waves.

Change came in 1994 when the city government allotted an (at the time) insignificant piece of beach to a start-up called Woodstock, for all practical purposes a messy improvisation of torn Naugahyde couches and half-broken chairs pulled off the streets at the eleventh hour on trash collecting day. Woodstock has none of chic allure of De Republiek down the beach. If anything, it is Republiek’s antithesis, its Saturday afternoon flea market cousin at best. True to the name, Woodstock is an interesting hodgepodge of beaded curtains and psychedelic paraphernalia. While De Republiek and equally discerning spin-offs like Bloomingdale and Tropen aan zee attract the highbrow crowd, Woodstock is a destination for intrepid travelers or high-spirited, Day-Glo’d Merry Pranksters.

Woodstock also brought with it the music in the form of acoustic concerts organized around bonfires. These somewhat harmless grassroots gigs have since moved on to large dance parties that rival the more popular hot spots in southern Europe. And six times a season Bloemendaal aan Zee plays host to a fully-fledge festival called Beach Bop whose electric music attracts crowds in excess of 20,000. Because the best cafes are owned fully or partially by consortiums of Amsterdam club entrepreneurs (i.e. Republiek) and major party organizers (Bloomingdale) own the best cafes, there is live music almost every night, and lounging all the way till dawn.

When it opened a few years back, Republiek redefined beachside pavilions not only in Holland but the rest of Europe. Though it’s difficult to talk aesthetics when the subject is beach pavilions – the structures themselves are usually no more than the sum total of a few crumbling shipping containers purchased at bargain prices –Republiek upped the ante with architectural pretension and a sleek interior. The café’s Third World pastiche exterior includes primordial bamboo stools and handcrafted canopied beds imported from the Southeast Asian rice fields; a fresh alternative to the plastic garden furniture typical of European beachside cafes. These exquisite beds – complimented by an entire deck of elongated couches, hammocks and cushioned, rosewood chairs – present the ideal perch from which to siphon energy from the elements.

Republiek is still one of the few cafes in the Western World where you are not constantly confronted by glossy advertising kitsch. Gone are the ubiquitous green-tinted Heineken parasols (of which Holland has many) and their Marlboro cowboy silhouette sidekicks. When it opened, Republiek challenged its suppliers to create branding in tune with the café’s rustic environs. In their place are marketing items like subliminally branded Heineken ashtrays and a limited number of alcohol brands – Heineken, Red Bull, Corona, Bacardi – sold in attractive bottles. Less is better, a sort Dogma 3 for the catering industry.

Republiek once had a monopoly on discerning twenty- and thirtysomethings. But success spawned imitators, and in recent years equally discerning venues like Tropen aan zee and Bloomingdale have opened their doors. Bloomingdale is in fact an improved, larger version of Republiek, with an enormous space dedicated to dining and recumbent lounging. Both outdoors and in there are couches and chairs with waterproof cushions, all of which is accented by extravagant flower arrangements, the requisite house dj and a glass wall overlooking the sea. Bloomingdale’s setup is particularly suitable to accommodate beachgoers when the mercury drops below tanning temperature. Few things are more enjoyable than sipping a cocktail to lounge grooves while watching a summer thunderstorm from the comfort of a pouf couch.

Admittedly, Bloemendaal aan zee is longer the alternative hideaway it once was. The Dutch have known about it for years, and judging by the conversations around me the French, English and Germans are quickly catching on. The result is that in the weekends at high tide the beach becomes a crowded sliver of glistening bodies scampering for dry real estate, which is amusing if you’ve got a seat, less so if you don’t. And each year rings in the arrival of one or two more cafes, so that the buffer zone separating it from its evil sister Zandvoort down the coast is slowly shrinking. However, on weekdays and in the morning, when the music is playing but the crowds are not, Bloemendaal aan zee may be the happiest place on earth.