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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

October 21, 2026 – The last post told how I got to the Central Station in Amsterdam by riding seven miles on one bus and two trains. (Not hiking 14 miles up and back like the day before.)

I went there to meet my partners for a 140-mile GR5 hike through Holland and Belgium. But after a long wait inside the station and out, they were nowhere to be seen. So I headed over to Cafe Karpershoek. (Hiking through Stationsplein Square and across the “Westertoegange” (Western access) bridge.) I figured a cold beer would make the wait more enjoyable, plus I could get a Whatsapp update about what to do next. But once inside I saw them, right there in a cozy nook by the front door, waiting patiently for me. (Somehow they’d snuck past?)

We had a late lunch – they just got in from Paris – and caught up on last-minute news. From there we hiked the mile and a half to the apartment on Cruquiuseiland, a man-made island in the East Docklands part of Amsterdam. (Before being built between 1875 and 1925, it was a swampy wetland and “popular smuggling route into Amsterdam.”) For a picture of the apartment building on Google Maps check “Hildo Kropplein 19,” then the directions from Central Station to see the route we followed. (With a whole lot of water around, mostly canals.)

We met the owner and he led us up three flights of stairs to a long, narrow apartment with a nice cozy balcony, with lots of houseplants, looking out onto a tree-leafy side street. One big bedroom, a good-sized TV room with lots of books, and a narrow hallway. Then came the process of who got to sleep where. By the luck of the draw I ended up getting the big bedroom – this time – while Tom got to camp out on the couch-rollout-bed in the TV room and Carol opted to take a mattress pad and sleep in the kitchen. Here’s what I texted back home:

One big bedroom and a TV room looking out onto the balcony, with a foldout couch and sleeping pad underneath. Carol took the pad and will sleep in the kitchen. (Which closed off the fridge – and access to beer – early on.) Tom flipped a coin. I got the big bedroom. Though that means I’ll get the couch or pad later on. and it was actually a bit chilly. 66 degrees.

To explain: During our hikes one of us often has to sleep on a roll-out couch. And during the upcoming GR5 Carol got a room all to herself when we stopped at a hotel, while Tom and I would share a tee-toncey room with twin beds very close together. (Plus I vividly remember taking a pad and sleeping on a hard kitchen floor one night, but that’s a story for later.)

After that we went to a nearby grocery store; mostly breakfast stuff for the mornings of August 20 and 21, plus a six-pack for Tom and I. (Though he limits himself to one beer a night.) Then came dinner at the Eetcafe Oceaan, .7 miles away on Borneokade. Lucky for us the place was designed for locals: “a welcoming space for the local community … where residents could gather, enjoy good food, and feel at home.” (We hate going where all the obnoxious touristy types go.) I had an “Oceaan” salad, but despite the name there was no seafood in it. Then too the place was noted for its “friendly staff and vibrant local beer selection,” so I was happy.

The next morning Tom and Carol slept late. I lay quietly in my private room, checking my phone for news, then my tablet for a bit of PDF book-reading. In time they woke up and we had a late breakfast. I had cereal with fat-free milk – the only kind they drink – and a banana. Quite filling actually. Then we headed up along the Prinsengracht canal toward the Hard Rock Amsterdam, so Carol could get another Hard Rock souvenir. (She collects them.)

At the Hard Rock Cafe I was still full from breakfast, so I only got a fruit cobbler with ice cream, mostly because it was the cheapest item on the menu. (Which I couldn’t finish, although I did finish the beer, which tells me it was past the 12:00 noon hour, a rule I follow since that incident on the Camino de Santiago in 2017.*) Along with the excuse: “Sunday we start hiking and burning off calories.” That Thursday afternoon we took a 75-minute Blue Boat canal cruise, partly on the Singelracht circular waterway. Along the way we passed by the Hortus Botanicus botanical garden. We sat in the stern and I remember a family with three cute blonde little girls to my left. (We were to see a lot of all-blonde blue-eyed families in Holland and Amsterdam.)

Later a husband and cute-brunette wife came out. She sat on the block in front of us, posing seductively as hubby snapped away on his camera. It turned out she was a mother of two more blonde blue-eyed cherubs, and near the end of the photo op I found myself thinking, “Yeah, you still got it.” (Which meant even though she was re-living past glory, I still enjoyed the show.)

All things considered it was a long first touristy day in Amsterdam, which may explain why I fell asleep after dinner, back at the apartment, about 8:00 p.m. I was trying to read Tom’s paperback copy of The Sun Also Rises, but the next thing I knew he was turning out the lights at 11.

Next morning, Friday, August 21, we went to the National Maritime Museum. It was pretty impressive, but the only picture I took was of a poster on “Ships and beer.” About how by the late Middle Ages (1270-1500) Amsterdam had become the main port in the province of Holland. The city’s merchants bought grain, timber, beer – and things for storage: “Stoneware and pitchers were a welcome by-product: they needed something to hold the beer!” (Italics in the original.)

For lunch we went to The Bull, a New York style Steakhouse just next to central train station. I had the kid-sized fish and chips – but still plenty of food – and water. Water because after lunch we headed to the Heineken Experience, noted in A preview of Holland’s GR-5 hike:

This tour gives you access to the old brewery and the first brew room, where the beer was produced before the company grew too big and moved elsewhere. You’ll learn everything about Heineken and end up on the roof terrace where you can enjoy two beers, included in the tour. With your I Amsterdam City Card you get a 25% discount, but tours must be booked with your card in advance.

“We” opted for the cheaper ticket, meaning no roof-top experience. (Said to offer a great view of the city’s skyline.) Also, we were supposed to get two free sample-pints at the end, but we got another free sample midway, “and Tom thought that was it. So he exited the building, not knowing we each could look forward to two more free samples. Carol gave me her token – which I have to this day – but by then it was too late. My verdict: “I hate to rush a good beer.”

One reason for the rush was we had to get to the Van Gogh Museum by 6:30. Tickets are limited to a certain number per hour and half-hour, and that was the only time-slot Tom could get. Still, the place was packed, much more than as shown in the image below. I’ve always been a big Van Gogh fan, as described in my 2015 post On leaving a legacy. And maybe for that reason I didn’t take any photos because I was so overwhelmed by the experience. Also, in August the place closes at 9:00 p.m., and that was definitely not enough time.

With all that it was late before we got home. And early next day we had a train to catch to Hook of Holland on the North Sea. The morning after that we would finally start our 140-mile hike.

Stay tuned…

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The upper photo is courtesy of “national maritime museum amsterdam Images.”

“Incident on the Camino.” See “Hola! Buen Camino!” – Revisited, about me peddling a 10-speed mountain bike and running my ass into a ditch after having a beer before the noon hour.

The lower image is courtesy of “Van Gogh museum Images.”

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 75-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

October 10, 2026 – The last post talked about my first day in Amsterdam. (Before meeting up with my brother and his wife, then hiking 140 miles on Holland’s GR5, through Holland and Belgium.) That first day started last August 17, when I got to Schiphol Airport early in the morning. This post will talk about my first full day, after recuperating from red-eye flight jet lag.

I wanted to meet up with Tom and Carol at the “Centraal” train station on Wednesday the 19th, so on the 18th I planned to hike the seven miles up there just to make sure it was where it was supposed to be. (And maybe check out the nearby oldest pub in Amsterdam?)

Yet another reason: To get in a good practice hike to prepare for the real one.

I wanted to get an early start but slept late, until 10:15; delayed recuperation. The forecast: 66 degrees going up 71 – it was in the 90s when I left Atlanta – and rain chances 20 to 30%. So I wore my rain jacket both for warmth and rain protection. The Ramada by Schiphol offered a big breakfast buffet, but it cost 22 Euros and I usually don’t eat that much money’s worth. I wanted to get going, and figured I could find a cheaper place on the way to the station.

I did, eventually; 3.3 miles and a good 90-minutes’ hike from the hotel. (I did have the foresight to eat the protein bar from Lidl the night before, and some English breakfast tea.*)

At first, heading out Sloterweg the weather was overcast and cool. Then that rain jacket turned out a good idea; a bit later I got sprinkled on. But I reveled in the fact of having good directions on my phone. As I texted my partner back home – hiking up Sloterweg – “Loving the Roamless wifi. And knowing where the hell I’m going!” (She’d hooked me up with it before I left.)

That’s how I found Benji’s Nieuw-West, off Sloterweg at “Maassluisstraat 243.”

Like the Cafe Cachet I’d visited the afternoon before, I had trouble deciphering the menu and trying to find something both edible and “fiscally responsible.” I ended up getting three scrambled eggs on a big slab of brown bread. The cost? Nine Euros, along with a large Café Americano, at 4,8 Euros. (Eight Euros less than the hotel buffet.) This place was also very chic, so I didn’t ask for ketchup for the scrambled eggs; I didn’t want to seem gauche.

Using my Roamless access to Google Maps I could see I was almost halfway there; I’d hiked 5.4 kilometers with 6.8 left to the station. Leaving Benji’s I texted home, “Tomorrow I’ll hike back to the station from the hotel, with full pack, but only there, not there and back. A mere seven miles.” (I’d meet up with Tom and Carol at the station, and from there go to our lodging.) On the way I hiked through Vondelpark, Amsterdam’s largest and most famous park, with a “lush, English-style landscape of winding paths, expansive lawns and scenic ponds.” (Including the Brouwerij ‘t IJ neemt ‘t Blauwe Theehuis; a brewery in a tree-house I somehow missed.)

Crossing over the Singelgracht canal – a mile and a half from the station and half a mile past the tree-house – I saw a Hard Rock Cafe. I texted a photo to Carol; by then they were in Paris, getting ready to take the train to Amsterdam. (She collects Hard Rock souvenirs from all over the world.) From there I hiked another mile and a half and saw that the Central Station really was right where it was supposed to be. (“BTW, the WC in Amsterdam’s Central Station charges. Not sure how much. I’ll use the one at the Cafe.”) As in: I sauntered into and through the vast glass-roofed edifice, checking things out, then headed over to that Cafe Karpershoek I’d heard about.

Established in 1606 it’s said to be the oldest pub in the city; “Coming out of Amsterdam Central Train Station and faced with a hail storm, this bar just across the road was a great place to stop and get a drink.”) I didn’t see a hail storm, but it was indeed a great place to stop after my long hike. It was so good – I felt so good being there – that I didn’t take the usual picture of my beer or lunch. I checked my wrist-(stop)-watch, which said I’d done three hours actual hiking time to get there. My feet were getting a bit sore so figured I’d take a bus back to Niew Sloten. That would take 5.2 miles off the hike back but still leave a nice 47 minute walk to the hotel.

It was a beautiful plan. Unfortunately, once back inside the station I found the bus-ticket office busy, crowded and intimidating. (All in Dutch.) As I texted back home, “Wanted to take a tram back but the waiting room line was all screwed up.” I found I later I could just have used the tap on, tap off system, with my credit card. (No need to buy a ticket in advance.)

So I ended up walking the whole seven miles back to the hotel, the last part in near-darkness down Sloterweg. Once inside I texted home, “Got back to the room with battery dead and needing a 1.5 hour recharge. 14-plus miles. Gonna see if there’s a bus or tram station near here. And get a beer.” I went down to the hotel bar, ordered a nine-Euro Birra Moretti – rather incongruous, I thought – and found out there was a bus-stop eight minutes away. (I’d acquired a taste for Moretti on Italy’s Way of St. Francis in 2022.) Later, at 5:42 a.m. body-clock time, I texted home, “Hitting the sack. Legs achy, incipient blister on my right foot. ‘Tomorrow.’” As in, “I’m to meet Tom and Carol at Amsterdam Centraal,” but not hiking seven miles. (If I could help it.)

The forecast for Wednesday was rain until 11:00, so I definitely wanted to find that bus-stop eight minutes away. And the rain prompted my decision to splurge for the no-ala-carte hotel breakfast at 22 Euros. I got two cups of coffee, plenty of orange juice and a wide variety: including cold cuts, fruit and cereal. Back to the room, with all my worldly goods stashed in the 20-pound backpack, I took one last look around the room I’d grown to love, and headed out.

With my Roamless wifi I’d seen that there was no direct route, so I took a bus – first from that stop eight minutes away – then a train, and then another train. Tom and Carol were scheduled to arrive at 1:56 p.m., but then I got a Whatsapp text. Train delayed, they wouldn’t arrive until 2:20, so I had plenty of time to wander around, then wander around some more. I positioned myself where I thought they’d come out, but either I was wrong or they were sneaky. The sun came out, so I walked outside, looking for a dry spot to sit. “Waiting, waiting, waiting,” as the guy said in Casablanca. (But not quite reflecting a “sense of despair and stagnation.”)

Finally I figured I could wait more comfortably the cafe, so I headed over through Stationsplein Square and past the Lovers Canal Cruise boats. I got through the front door, waved to the waiter who’d served me the day before – and there they were. Tom and Carol, sitting in the sunlit nook shown in the photo below, chatting amiably with two couples at the next table who spoke the first “American” I’d heard in three days. And that was that. The three hiking-amigos were together at last, almost ready to start their 140-mile trek through parts of Holland and Belgium.

(I’d mentioned the Cafe Karpershoek in pre-departure emails, and they took it to heart.)

Next up? Tom figured we could hike the mile and a half to the apartment, then get supplies for Thursday and Friday before Hook of Holland. During those two days we’d do some touristy stuff – like the Van Gogh museum and maybe the Heineken tour – but that’s a story for next time.

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The upper image is courtesy of Vondelpark in Amsterdam. See also the Wikipedia article.

Re: English breakfast tea. I had to use the tea bag it came in, despite long ago discovering that Tea Bags Contain Microplastics. Meaning if I do another trip to Europe next year I need to bring along that IPOW Stainless Steel Tea Infuser that I got some time ago.

Re: The treehouse brewery: “Since its establishment in 1985, it has been impossible to imagine Amsterdam East without the artisanal Brewery ‘t IJ. Located next to the original windmill De Gooyer in Oost, it has now become an icon of the city. This summer ‘t Blauwe Theehuis in Vondelpark will be transformed into a tasting room of the famous beer brewer.” (And somehow I missed it.)

“Tap on, tap off.” See How Amsterdam public transport works. Scroll down to see “The universal rule: tap on, tap off.”

The lower image is courtesy of “cafe karpershoek amsterdam Images.”

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 75-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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October 4, 2026 – As noted last time, I finished a month-long “Camino hike*” on Holland’s GR5 last September 14. That last post had a quick review of the hike, 140 miles from Hook (of) Holland to Maastricht. This one will describe my first day in Amsterdam – but before that I’ll review some lessons learned this year. (As they may apply to a maybe-next-year hike.)

Like what to pack and more importantly what not to pack.

One very important thing: Cut down on pack weight. Experts say that on a Camino hike your pack should weigh no more than 10 percent of your body weight. In my case that would be 15 pounds, although since I usually stay below 145 pounds at home my ideal pack weight would be 14.5. But at least since the 2023 hike on the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail in France, I’ve been lugging around a 20-pound pack. I especially noted the difference on the GR5 this year.

Maybe I’m getting too old to lug a 20-pound pack. Maybe it’s time to listen to the experts.

For starters, I’ve been carrying a big stainless steel water bottle, which – when it’s three-quarters full – weighs two pounds. However, I rarely drink all the water in it, so to cut down weight I just got a 16-ounce aluminum can of Pure Life Purified Water. (A can because I don’t use plastic water bottles; I’m cutting down on plastic exposure, microplastics and such.) When it’s full it weighs one pound, not two, and with more places to stop and refresh next year I could get by with less.

Also, this year I carried along both a tablet and a battery charger, and together they weighed a full pound. The tablet I use mostly for reading books saved on it as PDFs, but even on the flights over and back I rarely did that much reading. As for the battery charger, I used it once. But in Holland many buses and trains had seats with a charging station. (Provided you remember to remember to pack the charger-cord so it’s readily-accessible.)

Then there’s outerwear. On past hikes I’ve packed two sets of Magellan quick-dry long pants and two long-sleeve Magellan shirts with roll-up sleeves. (One beige and one navy blue each.) But I found out I could comfortably get by wearing one set – up to three days in a row – as long as I made sure to wash one of the three sets of socks and quick-dry Adidas Aeroready underwear. Then too, Camino purists say limit your clothes to those two sets. That way you have one set of day-clothes for hiking, and at night – after your shower – you put on the second set.

In the past I’ve packed a third set of clothes – possibly out of vanity? But no more.

Then too, the combination of beige quick-dry pants and navy-blue quick-dry shirt made me look dorky in photos taken along the way. The shirt was fine, but the way-too-big beige Magellan pants ballooned out and made me look fat. (And dorky.) “Vanity, Thy Name Is . . . A Camino hiker trying to impress the folks back home.” In this case, that vanity could ease my burden.

I’ll explore more ways to cut next year’s pack weight in coming posts, but now it’s time to move to my first day in Amsterdam. For starters, I booked a room for two nights at the Ramada by Wyndham Amsterdam Airport Schiphol. (“Sloterweg 299, 1171 VB Badhoevedorp.”) So I had that to look forward to. But before that: I have to mention that I got through Atlanta airport security in five minutes, a new record. And once through, enjoying a pre-flight high-priced airport beer, I got a text from Tom. He got tickets to the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.

So I had that to look forward to as well.

On the red-eye flight I actually got some sleep, for a change. “Back on seat, knees scrunched up against the seat-back in front of me. ‘Til my ass got sore.” The plane touched down at Schiphol at 10:105 a.m., and from there it took 50 minutes to get through Passport Control. And Delta made that 50 minutes much better because of their new restrictions on carry-on baggage.

That fancy 50-liter Decathlon backpack I got in Rome back in 2022 turned out to be just a touch too big (in dimensions) to carry on. Which turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

This time I checked the big fancy backpack, and for the flight over got a small 10-liter Ozark Trail day pack. Once I got through Schiphol security it fit nicely into the bigger pack, and since I checked the bigger one I could pack things I couldn’t on earlier trips to Europe. I could bring things like barber scissors – to help me not look scruffy when I got home after a month – and a small pocket knife that came in handy in Holland. Plus it meant I didn’t have a 20-pound pack to lug around the endless lines going through security. The day pack – aside from being lighter – contained necessities for the first day or two, in case Delta lost my checked bag.

Back to arriving at Schiphol at 10:105 a.m. As usual I took my time getting oriented, and without much trouble found the hotel shuttle to the Ramada Schiphol. (The ride was free on the way in, but six Euros for the return trip – you had to make a reservation – but well worth it.)

Another pleasant surprise: Even though I was hours early for check-in, my room was ready. I settled in, unpacked, got a bit more oriented, then checked Google Maps. With that information I hiked up Sloterweg to “Cafe Cachet,” better known as Cachet Badhoevedorp:

Inspired by the relaxed charm of a French neighbourhood bistro, Cachet celebrates the beauty of the seasons, pure ingredients and the pleasure of good food in good company. The menu reflects the signature of chef Lars Scharp: rooted in classic French techniques and always guided by the quality of the ingredients.

It was almost up to where the street “Akerdijk” magically transformed into “Nieuemeerdijk,” both running along the first of many many canals I would see in weeks to come. Since the menu was in Dutch – no English menu – I ordered the cheapest snack I could make out. “Bad move, trendy and expensive. I had some kind of pate [‘a rich, savory paste made from finely minced or mashed ingredients’], like hummus, with Sardinian bread. Not bad actually; came with a dark red kind of cabbage slaw. 15 Euros, not counting the beer.”

And speaking of beer, the “Cachet” price wasn’t bad, only 4,50 Euros. (Much better than airport prices.) On the way back to the room I stopped at the Lidl grocery store that I saw hiking over, and stocked up a few necessities for the morning. I unpacked them, then went down to the hotel bar for a nine-Euro beer, and that was it for the day. I texted back home, “Got to bed a 4:42 a.m. body-clock time. 10:42 p.m. local.” Some time the next morning I planned to get up and hike the seven miles up to the Amsterdam Centraal station, just to make sure it was where it was supposed to be. (And where I’d meet my hiking partners the next day.) And maybe check out the oldest pub in Amsterdam? A story for next time.

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The upper image is courtesy of “heavy backpack Images.” It came with a quasi-eponymous Page, courtesy of uppercervicalawareness.com. The page included tips, such as: 1) Follow the 10% Rule, 2) Use Both Shoulder Straps—Always, 3) Tighten the Straps, 4) Use Waist and Chest Straps, and 5) Pack Heavy Items Close to Your Body. I did 2, 3, and 4 on the 2026 hike, but Number 5 was a surprise:

Place heavier items like laptops, books, or water bottles closest to your spine. Keeping the weight near your center of gravity reduces the force pulling your posture forward and helps maintain natural spinal alignment.

I’d always been taught to put heavy items at the top of the pack, which caused problems. Over the course of a day the heavy items tend to sink down toward the bottom. (And as always, I liberally define “Camino hike” as not just applying to hikes on the Camino de Santiago. Instead it applies to any hike where at the end of each day “you look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer.”)

Re: A possible 2027 hike. It may be back to warm, sunny and dry Spain; we got rained on a lot in Holland and Belgium. Which leads to one bit of good news: If we do a hike on a real Camino trail in Spain next year, there should be a lot more places to stop and refresh – so I won’t need to carry as much water as in past hikes.

Re: Vanity. See articles like Vanity, Thy Name Is Woman Quote: Exploring Shakespeare’s Most Famous Line. About the quote which is said to be the most misquoted: “Shakespeare’s most debated and often misunderstood lines,” from Hamlet in Act 1, Scene 2. The actual quote is “Frailty, thy name is woman” and was only directed at Hamlet’s mother Gertrude for her weakness in marrying her late husband’s brother. (The link above indicates the line was repeated twice, first with “frailty” and next with “vanity.” Either way, this is one of those rabbit-trail digressions that I love but some of my readers can’t stand. Which is why I put these learning-experiences in the end notes.)

Re: That fancy Decathlon backpack: “For the first three Camino hikes I had a cheap low-hanging pack from a local ‘Yuppie Goodwill.’ But Tom and Carol got tired of seeing the pack hanging so low – and it was uncomfortable – so when we got back to Rome in 2022, they sprung for a better one. A Forclaz Men’s MT100 Easyfit 50 L (50 Liter) backpack from one of many Decathlon sporting-goods store in Rome.” (From March 2024’s On preparing for a Camino hike.)

The lower image is courtesy of Amsterdam Centraal station – Wikipedia. Caption: “First station roof (1889), designed by L.J. Eijmer.”

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September 26, 2026 – My last three posts – starting with Preview of Holland’s GR5 – talked about what I thought might happen on the hike I just finished. (On September 14.) The next few posts will talk about what actually happened on the hike; what I actually went through.

To start off, I flew from Atlanta to Amsterdam on August 16 and arrived the morning of the 17th. On Wednesday, August 19, I met up with my brother Tom and his wife Carol. We took the train to Hook van Holland on Saturday the 22d and started hiking the next day. All told we spent 24 days on the trail, 21 hiking with three days off, spaced out. (We dipped down into Belgium for 14 days and emerged back in Holland the last day of the hike, September 14th in Maastricht.)

I’ll have more detail in later posts, but I’ll start this one with some general observations and end it with a vignette-example of one adventure we experienced. (An “Ordeal and Triumph?”)

For starters, I prefer point-to-point hiking. (“Git thar fustest.”) That’s based on what I learned in 8th-grade math; that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line?

That’s also based on the genes I inherited from my father. He served in the Army Air Corps in World War Two as a navigator. His told the pilot where to go, literally. He decided the direction of the flight, often on long hauls over huge expanses of water like the Pacific Ocean. In doing so he earned the nickname “Pinpoint,” mostly because he accurately calculated that straight-line short distance to the plane’s final destination. (Often a tiny smidge of an atoll surrounded by nothing but blue; “alone, alone, all all alone, alone on a wide, wide sea.”)

But trying to follow the GR5 wasn’t like that. (The “GR” stands for grande randonnée in French. The “5” Trail runs from Hook of Holland on the North Sea all the way down to Nice on the Mediterranean. 1,420 miles, of which we hiked 140 or so.) And at least on the part we hiked it “wandered to and fro.” It meandered; it often had us follow a winding, turning path. Too often it seemed to move aimlessly and idly, without any apparent fixed direction. (Or any sense of the right direction.) And too often this happened at the end of a long day when all I wanted to do was reach the lodging, ditch the 20-pound pack and get to that first icy-cold beer.

A prime example: Our final day’s hike from Lanaken in Belgium to just across the border back into Holland. Google Maps said should have been nice and short, maybe six miles. But once we crossed over the border and got to the outskirts of Maastricht, the GR5 swung way northeast, away from where we would end up. So on this last afternoon – like so many other days on the trail I found myself asking – “Why the heck are we moving away from the lodging?”

Which brings up another note: For the first time ever on one of these Camino hikes – which I define as: “at the end of each day you look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer” – I had all-day access to the internet. Before I left my travel partner (to England in May 2025 and Ireland in May 2026) hooked me up with Roamless Global eSIM. And it worked, for a very reasonable price. For the first time ever I didn’t have to rely on someone else. (Thus at the end of most days in all previous hikes I’d find myself wondering, “Where the hell is this place?”)

For the first time ever I could see where the night’s lodging was. The downside – and more to the point – I could tell exactly when and where we were heading away from that final destination. That in itself led to some aggravating moments, but on balance I’d rather know than not.

I’ll have more in future posts, but now for that vignette of one adventure we experienced.

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After five days hiking we got to our place in Herkingen on Thursday, August 27. Then came the first of our three days off: A Friday without having to hike eight hours while lugging a 20-pound pack. Plus we got to sleep in the same bed for two nights in a row. Then on Saturday, August 29, we left Herkingen and headed for Tholen. The problem? It was 20 miles to Tholen, way beyond our capacity. So we came up with a combined operation of sorts. (In the military sense such an operation is “conducted by forces of two or more allied nations acting together for the accomplishment of a common strategy,” a concept I’ll explore in future posts.) 

We planned to start off by taking a bus from Herkingen to Dirksland and then on to Oude-Tonge. (The name means “old headland.”) That would leave a do-able 9.2 mile hike to Sint Philipsland. Once we got there we could take another bus to the apartment reserved in Tholen. It was a beautiful plan, but I’m getting ahead of myself. (Except to note that past “best laid plans o’ mice and men” that’s come up so often in past Camino hikes.)

The day started off well, except that once we got to Oude-Tonge via bus we found out that most cafes or restaurants didn’t open until noon. We finally found the Hotel Restaurant Lely, and carbed up for the hike ahead. I got a coffee and apple pie with whipped cream, then we hit the trail. Heading out of Oude-Tonge the day was sunny and beautiful. In due course we started hiking on a long causeway, the N59, with lots of sparkling blue water on both sides. In time we turned south on another long causeway, the N257. (I took a picture for Facebook fans and had a pop quiz: “Can you count how many newfangled windmills are in this picture?”)

It sounds easy in a sentence or two, but what I remember was hour after hour of walking. (“And we kept walking, and kept walking. And noted the darkening clouds.”) Which happened a lot on the GR5 we saw; lots of days with clouds darkening the sky. Meanwhile, by mid-afternoon it had been a long stretch since that apple pie and coffee in Oude-Tonge. (Which also happened a lot on our hike; no place to stop and refresh.) Finally – via my Roamless access to Google Maps – we found a place called “Donny op de Dam.” It was a one-man, not-in-a-hurry place that specialized in barbecue. I got what turned out to be a huge barbecue chicken sandwich. I planned to save half for dinner, but it was so good I scarfed it down. And we still had a ways to go.

We hit the trail again, and then at 2:20 the rains hit. Not a drenching rain, but it was persistent enough to soak us good. Things looked bleak. Finally we reached the Rijksweg and turned into the way to Sint Phillipsland. I thought to myself, “Relief in the form of a bus to Tholen is only moments away.” Except that when we got there, we learned that the place was way more isolated than any other place we’d been in those seven prior Camino hikes, (Starting back in 2017.) In brief: “No busses until Monday morning, no taxi service, no Uber, NOTHING!”

The only place open was the Spar market in town. We dropped our packs in an out-of-the-way corner with an indoor picnic table and pondered our dilemma. As the others settled in I asked the lady manager if they sold beer. She said yes, but that I couldn’t drink it there. “We’re not a cafe.” It was late Saturday afternoon and there was no way to transport to Tholen until Monday morning – unless we hiked the remaining nine miles, most of it in the dark.

We were in dire straits, almost ready to panic.

I got out my phone and texted my partner back home. (Which I did a lot on the hike, sometimes while hiking on the trail itself; making notes for future reference, including writing out this post.”) Of that late Saturday afternoon I wrote, “Sint Philipsland is a podunk town. No busses until Monday morning, no real taxis or Uber. We’re screwed.” I got a frappuccino and a donut, then returned to the table. Our conversation turned to our plight, not wanting to keep hiking another nine miles to Tholen at 4:00 in the afternoon, already all soggy and wet.

I forget exactly what happened next, but somehow the lady manager deduced our situation – maybe because I asked about the beer? – and managed to find a customer who spoke English. (“As if by magic a nice young dark-haired mommy appeared who spoke English.”) She wore faded blue jeans and at one point had to go after her eight-year-old daughter. (She was struggling out the front door, carry a huge case of beer, presumably to the lady’s car.) Once she got that settled the dark-haired beauty patiently tried to find ways to help us get to Tholen. (I sat to her right as she talked with Tom and Carol sitting across from us.)

Eventually I asked if she knew anyone who could give us a ride to Tholen – we were pretty desperate at that point in the late afternoon. She pondered that a few minutes and finally said to give her five minutes to go talk to her son at home, then she could give us a ride. She went out the door and drove off, which led to a lot of wondering-what-to-do-if-she-didn’t-come-back five or six minutes. But she did come back, with her dad in the front seat, and gave us a ride directly to our lodging in Tholen, with our swollen soggy feet and all.

Once we got to the front door of our lodging, Tom gave the lady a 50-Euro note. She protested, saying that was way too much, but actually he was glad to get rid of that big bill. He’d been trying to break it for days. (That’s one downside of getting a lot of Euros from a bank or ATM. Most places in Europe won’t break such a large bill, so near the end of the trip when I needed cash I just got 40 Euros. There was a hefty eight-Euro fee but I felt it was worth it.)

But I digress, as I am wont to do. It remains only to say, “I hope that dark-haired saintly beauty has or finds her perfect soul mate, and peoples the earth with her progeny. The world would be ever so much nicer with more people like her.” And to add, “That’s one reason we keep doing these long-distance hikes in a strange country. Finding a surprise in how nice some people can be. Tomorrow we hike to Bergen op Zoom. Who knows what other surprises await?

And that’s how we got to Tholen, in just one of the many adventures we had on the GR5.

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The upper image is courtesy of “cafe karpershoek amsterdam” Images. See also Café Karpershoek | Historic Amsterdam Bar | RB Horeca. The oldest pub in the city “was built directly at the harbour of Amsterdam in 1606 and used to be an inn for sailors and tradesmen.”

The quote “alone on a wide, wide sea” refers to the poem “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Re: “9.2 mile hike.” That was Tom’s calculation. Google said different.

The full link: Smashburgers & BBQ Foodtruck in Bruinisse | Donny op de Dam.

Re: “Best laid plans.” See Best Laid Plans – Origin & Meaning – GRAMMARIST, noting the Robert Burns poem with the line, “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.” The rest of the thought, “An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, / For promised joy.” The expression conveys “that one should not expect things to always turn out as planned.” See also my December 2023 post My second day in Paris (etc.) and two others under “best laid plans” in the search engine above right.

The lower photo is courtesy of “sint phillipsland belgium” Images, with a page that added: “The current village of Sint Philipsland was rebuilt in the 17th century after the village’s predecessor disappeared into the waves due to a storm surge. Consequently, it is the youngest settlement in the municipality of Tholen.”

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August 14, 2026 – This is the last of three preview posts on my upcoming 140-mile hike on the GR-5 in Holland. As noted before, we’ll start at the Hook of Holland and end up in Maastricht, also in Holland. But in between we’ll spend 14 of the 23-day total going through Belgium. (With three days off to rest our feet, two of them in Belgium.) Or as my draft notes said:

Left off at Herselt, from there to Testelt and Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off. (Hey, I’m 75 and my brother is 81.) From there we hike to Huesden Zolder, Stokrooie, Vlaandern, Zutendaal, and finally Lanaken, our last day in Belgium.

To continue the narrative: From Herselt we hike 9.4 miles to Testelt. It’s in a rural area of Flanders, an area that many people know Flanders from the World War One poem by Canadian physicain Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae: “In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly scarce heard amid the guns below.” We may get a chance to pay our respects to the honored dead from that particular deady conflict in history – and if so I’ll report on that back home.

But back to Testelt. It’s known mainly for agricultural activities, including crop farming and livestock. It’s near the Albert Canal, “a significant waterway for industrial transport,” but the “quiet, pastoral setting contrasts with its proximity to larger urban centers like Antwerp.” The Demer river flows through town, “creating a scenic valley that has shaped the village’s agricultural landscape for centuries.” And there’s a Bierkroeg Den Hulst, a “cosy Belgian pub” that we may want to visit. (Bierkroeg translates to stein, beer mug or tankard.)

Next day we hike 9.2 miles to Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off.

The site Diest – Discovering Belgium has some suggestions, like Stuckens in Zoutstraat 5, famous for it’s pastries and sweets. (Not to worry; we’ll be burning calories.) See also Diest – Wikipedia, which notes the Grote Markt (Grand Square), to wit: A central square “surrounded by picturesque houses from the 16th to 18th Century.” From there we hike 12 miles to Heusden-Zolder, “nestled in the picturesque province of Limburg… Steeped in history and surrounded by beautiful natural landscapes, this hidden gem offers a delightful mix of cultural attractions and outdoor adventures.” (Those attractions include the iconic Circuit Zolder, a world-renowned racetrack, the site of numerous international events including Formula One races.)

Next day we hike eight miles to Stokrooie, also situated along the Albert Canal, “which bisects the village and significantly altered its landscape.” The sub-municipality “maintains a rural character while benefiting from its integration into the larger urban area of Hasselt.”

Then comes a 9.9 mile hike to Vlaandern, but when I Googled “Vlaandern belgium,” I got led to various sites including Flanders – Wikipedia, but no more information than that. I’ll have to report on that town, city or whatever it is, based on personal observation. (“Something to look forward to.”) Next we head 10.3 miles to Zutendaal, and we may hike through Zutendaal Forest, said to be a sprawling woodland area offering numerous walking paths, “making it an excellent place to unwind, stretch your legs, and enjoy the tranquility of the Flemish landscape.”

It’s also a perfect setting for a morning jog or perhaps some meditation amidst the sounds of nature. Visiting the forest provides an excellent opportunity for quiet reflection after a busy day of meetings, all while enjoying the fresh air and scenic views.

Next we hike 10.5 miles to Lanaken, our last day in Belgium. Located on the Belgian–Dutch border, it’s said to border Maastricht “directly” – note the quotes – and in the 2006 census, some 20 percent of the inhabitants turned out to be Dutch. Thus a number of neighborhoods in Lanaken are “characterized by these immigrants’ numerous villas and exclusive landhouses.” (So we may learn some valuable lessons on how Belgians treat such an influx of immigrants.)

Which brings up our last day hiking. Google says it’s a mere 3.5 miles from Lanaken to the town center of Maastricht, back in Holland, but our spreadsheet says our hike that day will be 8.1 miles. (From our lodging in Lanaken to the one in Maastricht.) Either way, that city – our final hiking destination – is known “for its lively squares, narrow streets, and historic buildings.” It features “1,677 national heritage buildings (rijksmonumenten), more than any Dutch city outside Amsterdam.” (The site 15 Best Things to Do in Maastricht offers some good suggestions.)

Also, while most of Maastricht’s city limits border Belgium’s Flemish region, “a small part to the south also has a border with Wallonia.” (The “Walloon” region that accounts for 55% of Belgium’s territory but only 31% of its population.) And both countries are part of “Europe’s Schengen Area and, thus, are open without border controls.” Definitely good to know.

And speaking of pubs, there’s one that offers “amazing views of Maastricht,” the Bold Rooftopbar, “on top of Sphinxcour.” (Apparently a covered tile passage showing the history of Maastricht.) “Whether you go during the day or at sunset, the view is stunning.” Or the site 09 Best Bars In Maastricht offers some other pub-hopping options – to celebrate the end of a successful hike – which brings us back to my first two days in Amsterdam.

Aside from the Heineken Experience – noted in the first of these three preview posts – there’s also the Café Karpershoek. This place is Amsterdam’s oldest formally recognized pub, dating back to 1606 as shown “through licensing records.” Here the “sand-covered floor follows a centuries-old method used to absorb spills.” And it’s a traditional Brown Café, so called because of the dark wood wall paneling, along with warm lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. “Many developed their appearance over many generations, which is why they feel aged and familiar.”

The thing is, the Café Karpershoek is an eight-minute walk from the Amsterdam Centraal station, which is where I’ll meet up with my hiking partners three days before we start the hike. And that “Centraal” station is where I’ll end up after we part ways in Maastricht. (I’ll head back to Amsterdam; they’ll take a train to Paris and fly home from there.)

So, once I get back to Amsterdam’s central station from Maastricht, I’ll probably stop at the Cafe before heading over to my last two nights lodging by Schiphol airport. (Kind of an Alpha and Omega thing.) And hopefully meditate on the end of memorable 140-mile hike through Holland and Belgium; a hike that ended in “Beautiful Downtown Maastricht, “with its lively squares, historic buildings – and at least one very beautiful bridge. “Looking forward to it!”

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The upper image is courtesy of In Flanders Fields – Wikipedia. Caption: “Illustrated page by Ernest Clegg. Note that the first line ends with ‘grow.'”

Re: Deadly wars. See Why wars are easy to start and hard to end.

Re: Sphinxcour. See Sphinxpassage | Maastricht: “The Sphinxpassage is a 120-metre-long covered tile passage between the Eiffel Building and Pathé. Almost 30,000 tiles bring Maastricht’s Sphinx past to life in words, images and objects.”

Re: The Cafe Karpershoek. See Amsterdam’s Oldest Pubs: Guide to Classic Brown Cafés.

The link “Beautiful Downtown” refers to the phrase “Beautiful Downtown Burbank” first used on the TV show, “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In,” which premiered in 1968. The full link name is “Beautiful Downtown Burbank” – wesclark.com. Gary Owens played the announcer who coined the phrase, which “soon caught on and put Burbank on the map with television viewers all across the country.” (What can I say. I’m 75 years old and still remember such things from literally a century ago. Things like “it’s not fried, it’s Shake ‘n’ Bake, and Ah hay-uped.” Two syllables.)

The lower image is courtesy of “Maastricht Images.” With a page, “Welcome to the Netherlands A small country that’s big on culture and nature.”

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August 8, 2026 – The last post previewed my upcoming hike on the GR-5 in Holland. It started at Hook of Holland, and that post ended with our first day off in Herkingen. If things go like we’ve planned, we’ll have hiked some 51 miles in five days. (From “Hook” south and west to Herkingen.) After that first day off – sleeping two nights in the same bed – we’ll head the 13.3 miles south and east to Tholen. That is, it’s 13.3 miles according to our spreadsheet calculation, but Google Maps says its over 18 miles. (My brother just informed me that “the GR-5 wanders all over the place, rarely along Google’s shortest route.” Which I figured, writing this post, but I’m hoping for this hike down to Tholen the Google estimate is definitely the longer route.)

Either way, this day’s hike could present some challenges:

The municipality [ – of Tholen which takes its name from the town with the same name – ] consists of two peninsulas, formerly islands, the larger one on the south also called Tholen, the smaller one on the north called Sint Philipsland. The two are separated by the former strait, now bay, of Krabbenkreek. The municipality is bordered on the east by the Eendracht, once a Scheldt branch but now part of the Scheldt-Rhine Canal, crossed by three road bridges, by the Oosterschelde estuary to the south, the straits of Keeten–Mastgat to the west and the Krammer strait to the north.

In other words the place is surrounded by water, but a look at the Google Map route from Herkingen to Tholen shows some of the challenges a lot better. From Herkingen we may hike along the coast of South Holland Island with a wide body of water on our right. Then we may cross that wide body of water, via the N59 bridge until we reach the N257 and turn south(ish) and do a bunch of what looks like island-hopping.

Back on relative solid ground (according to Google) you reach Slikken van De Heen, “a beautiful nature reserve where land and sea meet. At low tide, mudflats and sandbanks emerge … a mosaic of creeks, grasslands and rugged nature.” And we may get to hear geese and ducks, plus “sometimes feel the salty wind blowing across the area from the Oosterschelde.”

But then there’s the site, GR®5 Segment 1.5: Herkingen – Nieuw Vossemeer, about that route from Herkingen to Tholen. It says the distance from Herkingen to Tholen is 15.3 miles, but shows Nieuw-Vossemeer as 6.3 miles short of Thoren. In other words, it’s in between the two ends of that one day’s hike. On the other hand, Google shows the walking distance from Herkingen to Nieuw-Vossemeer as 13.3 miles, so “something definitely doesn’t add up!”

The route leads hikers from Herkingen across the Grevelingendam onto the island of Tholen… Along the way, the path passes the Philips Dam and offers expansive views over the Krammer and Volkerak waters… In both Herkingen and Nieuw-Vossemeer, small-scale supermarkets and restaurants are available for necessary supplies.

That last is something to keep in mind, but assuming we do end up in Tholen – after however many miles – the next day we hike on to Bergen op Zoom. And by the way, for purposes of simplicity from here on I’ll refer to the Google Maps route. When I get home I’ll report back on the way we actually hiked. (Which is why I call these preview posts my pre-hike “recon.”)

Anyway, leaving town we’ll cross the Tholen bridge that connects North Holland and Zeeland. “This white arch bridge, which is part of the N286, crosses the Scheldt–Rhine Canal. South of the bridge you can find Tholen’s harbor. A marina with a historic shipyard sits near the old town center.” Bergen – our day’s destination – is in the province of North Brabant, with lots of hills formed by sandy soil pushing up against the marine clay, and locals “called those hills the Brabantse Wal, literally meaning ‘ramparts of Brabant.'” As for the town name, “Zoom refers to the border of these ramparts and bergen in Dutch means mountains or hills.”

That last is not something I’d look forward to, hiking over more mountains or hills. (After earlier hikes on the Chilkoot Trail, Pyrenees Mountains, the Way of St. Francis, and the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail over and through the rugged Cévennes Mountains in France?)

Google Maps says it’s 5.3 miles from Thoren to Bergen op Zoom, while our spreadsheet says it’s 9.1 miles. Which brings up one thing to note: In many if not most earlier Camino hikes – where, “at the end of each day you look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and cold beer” – we’ve had a guidebook available. But not so much, apparently, for just this first part of the GR-5. There are some guidebooks but they focus more on the more picturesque and challenging parts; the GR-5 going through France and especially over the Alps. (“Not this year!”)

And one more thing: Writing up this post I discovered two links – included in the Notes – that give a better idea of how the GR-5 in Holland and Belgium “wanders all over the place.”

Back to the hike. From Bergen op Zoom we hike 12.7 miles to Kalmthout, just inside Belgium. And for once the Google Map estimate isn’t that far off: The shortest estimate is 13.2 compared to our 12.7 miles. And Google seems to show that we’ll pass through the Kalmthoutse Heide, as in: “Discover the almost sacred silence of Grenspark Kalmthoutse Heide. This hike takes you past sand dunes, fens, grazing sheep and stunning panoramic views.”

Moving on through Belgium, we’ll hike 10.6 miles from Kalmthout to Brecht, a “charming town” in the Flanders region. Famous for picturesque streets, historic buildings and “cozy cafes serving delicious Belgian waffles.” For nature lovers, “lush forests and scenic countryside, making it an ideal destination for hiking, cycling, and exploring the great outdoors.” To get there we’ll head east to Wuustwezel, then southeast. (Per Google Maps, which says it’s 9.3 miles.)

From Brecht we hike the 8.6 miles to Zoersel, and our second day off. (Google Maps says it’s about seven miles, but our spreadsheet says it’s more like 8.6 miles.) Highlights include the Zoersel Town Hall, Saint Martin’s Church and the Park of Zoersel:

…nestled in the picturesque region of Flanders, Belgium, [the Park] is a tranquil oasis that offers visitors a serene environment to unwind and connect with nature. Located in the charming municipality of Zoersel, this park is renowned for its lush greenery, meandering pathways, and diverse wildlife. It serves as a perfect spot for both locals and tourists seeking respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Which sounds perfect for that second day off from hiking. But see also Surcele Oaked Pub – the name refers to the oldest name of Zoersel and literally means acidic (sur) soils (cele) – and also De Sjoks, Zoersel, known for it “great beer selection.” I may have to visit both places on the two-night-one-full-day, to compare and contrast.

From there we hike to Herentals and Herselt, where this post ends, with one preview post left to get to Maastricht. Google Maps says it’s 10.7 miles to Herentals from Zoersel, while our spreadsheet says it’s another 13.3 mile hike. Interestingly, the 10.7-mile Google route passes through a small village spelled “Einhoven,” remarkably similar to Eindhoven, Netherlands, of the Second World War’s Operation Market Garden fame. The Eindhoven in Netherlands is 37 miles east of Zoersel, but that’s the city I got when I tried to Google the “Einhoven” in Belgium. Which is something else I’ll have to report back on when I get home. along with the discrepancies between our spreadsheet and the Google Maps estimate of miles hiked in a day.

And Herselt offerss “expansive forests and rolling hills … a picturesque rural landscape:”

Herselt is situated in the Campine (Kempen) region of northeastern Belgium, characterized by predominantly flat terrain typical of this sandy plateau. The landscape features gentle slopes and low elevations, averaging around 16 meters above sea level, with local variations that facilitate surface runoff during heavy rainfall. This flat Campine topography, formed by sandy deposits from glacial and fluvial processes, influences local drainage patterns and limits relief to subtle undulations

Not to mention the statue below, “Wandeling dorpskern Herselt,” which may illustrate just how we three travelers will feeling limping into town after another 13.3 mile hike.

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The upper image is courtesy of “Herkingen,” Images. It came with a page “Herkingen, eine Ortschaft am Grevelingenmeer,” which can be translated into English. (And incidentally, in Dutch the “Hoek” in Hoek of Holland can mean either “corner” or “cape.”) As for Herkingen itself:

Thanks to its beautiful location on the Grevelingenmeer, Herkingen is a popular holiday destination for water sports enthusiasts on Goeree-Overflakkee. Here you will find water, beach and the vast Dutch landscape that will make you forget the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The modern marina and good restaurants are other reasons for a relaxing holiday in Herkingen. Herkingen offers pure pleasure.

And about those earlier Camino hikes – and the Chilkoot Trail, where at the end of each day we definitely did not have a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer: Use the search engine above right for links to past posts.

The site GR®5 the Netherlands, South Holland, Netherlands – Map, Guide shows the actual route, with different lodging sites different from ours. The site GR 5 Belgium: North Sea to Alps Hiking Guide gives some good information on this part of the hike.

Actually there is a GR5 walking guidebook – trek from Hoek van Holland, or “The GR5 Trail – Benelux and Lorraine,” but it’s 19 Euros and covers more than double what we need. (327 miles to our 140.) See also The GR5 in the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Lorraine, etc.

A note. After our second day off in Zorsel, we hike on to Herentals, Herselt, Testelt and Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off. (Hey, I’m 75 and my brother is 81.) From there we hike to Huesden Zolder, Stokrooie, Vlaandern, Zutendaal, and finally Lanaken, our last day in Belgium. And since this post ends with Herselt, the next post will begin with the hike from there to Testelt. (And yes, lots of funny names.)

The full link: Zoersel Travel Guide: Top 10 Must-Visit Tourist Places.

The lower image is courtesy of “Herselt belgium Images.” See also “Wandeling dorpskern Herselt | Wandelroute | WandelWeb, which seems to show a hill 40 meters high at the start of that day’s hike?

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August 1, 2026 – I’m taking a break from doing posts about my two-week driving trip last May in Ireland. This post will preview an adventure that’s coming up later this month.

My brother, his wife and I will be hiking 140 miles on the GR-5. It starts at the Hook of Holland in the Netherlands and crosses Belgium and Luxembourg before moving into France. (The “GR” stands for a series of long-distance walking trails throughout Europe; the translations in various languages generally mean “‘long trail’ or more literally ‘great route.'”) The whole GR-5 runs over 700 miles and ends up in Nice, France, on the Mediterranean coast, but we’re only going as far as Maastricht. (And to get there we’ll hike through Belgium for not quite two weeks.)

For starters: I’ll fly over and spend four days in Amsterdam. Two of those days I’ll be on my own, then I’ll meet up with my brother and his wife. (Flying into Paris and taking the train over from there.) After those two family days we’ll take the train to “Hoek van Holland,” spend the night there and start the hike the next day. (BTW: For what to do those four days see The Ultimate 3-Day Amsterdam Itinerary (By A Local). One idea? Beers & Barrels on Rembrandtplein.)

Another idea? The Heineken Experience, close to the Albert Cuypmarket:

This tour gives you access to the old brewery and the first brew room, where the beer was produced before the company grew too big and moved elsewhere. You’ll learn everything about Heineken and end up on the roof terrace where you can enjoy two beers, included in the tour. With your I Amsterdam City Card you get a 25% discount, but tours must be booked with your card in advance.

By the way, according to the 3-Day itinerary site, a “72-hour I Amsterdam City Card costs €100 ($110) and fits perfectly with this three-day itinerary. It saves you money in the end. It includes public transport within the city, free entry to a lot of museums, a free canal cruise and a free one-day bicycle rental.” Plus you get a 25% discount to the Heineken Experience. (The City Card site says you can get a three day card for much less, though without the discounts?)

But enough about that; on to the hike itself. From Hook of Holland we’ll pass through Rozenburg, Brielle, Hellevoetsluis, Goedereed and Herkingen. There we’ll stay two nights – and enjoy a day off. After that first day off, we pass through Tholen, Bergen op Zoom, then on to Kalmthout in Belgium. Passing through Belgium, we’ll go through Brecht and Zorsel; there for two nights and a second day off. From there we hike to Herentals, Herselt, Testelt and Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off. (Hey, I’m 75 and my brother is 81.) From there we hike to Huesden Zolder, Stokrooie, Vlaandern, Zutendaal, and finally Lanaken, our last day in Belgium.

On our last day hiking we’ll get back into Holland and end up at Maastricht. After two days there – recuperating – we’ll part ways. My hiking partners will take the train to Paris and then fly home. I’ll take the train up to Arnhem and stay for one night, then head back to Amsterdam. I’ll spend one night there, then fly home to Atlanta. And now for some specifics.

The first 93 miles in Holland – down to the Belgian border near Bergen op Zoom – start off with a diverse landscape of expansive dunes and maritime forests along the Zeeland islands.

The first day’s hike ends in Rozenburg, after 13 miles. (One of our longest days?) It’s on Rozenburg Island, “formed centuries ago from several sand bars in the mouth of the river Maas.” (Aka the Meuse.) Our spreadsheet says it’s 13 miles, but Google Maps says it 13 kilometers or 8.3 miles. Either way it’s mostly flat along the river, plus there’s a ferry. (Says Google.)

I’ll report back on that when I get home, but here’s a note from experience. The Google-Map way usually follows highways, as I found out hiking the Canterbury Trail last year. (See Clackett Lane to Dunton Green: “That Google Map way led to series of near-death experiences, in the form of cars zipping by at high speeds with little or no room on the side of the road.”)

And all this for a total of 23 days on the trail; 20 hiking and three days off in between.

Now back to the specifics. After Rozenburg we’ll hike 6.5 miles to Brielle, a historic seaport “on the north side of the island of Voorne-Putten, at the mouth of the New Maas.” And again, our spreadsheet differs from the Google Maps, which says 4.8 miles. (One possible reason: Google tracks its maps from one center of a town to the center of another, while our spreadsheet is based on “lodging to lodging.”) Also, Brielle is on the far outskirts of Rotterdam.

From Brielle we hike to Hellevoetsluis, “with the sea, beach and dunes close by.” It features “2,000 mooring places, spread over five harbours. With such a broad expanse of water as the Haringvliet and the North Sea close by, it is popular with water sports lovers.” And yet again there’s a discrepancy in mileage, but we’ll end up north of town, close to where the N57 bridge crosses the Haringvliet. That’s a large inlet of the North Sea and “an important estuary of the Rhine-Meuse delta.” (Our spreadsheet says that day’s hike is 13.6 miles.)

From Hellevoetsluis it’s 6.2 miles to Goedereede. In the Middle Ages it was an important trading town with ramparts, and the name means “safe harbor” or safe anchorage. And to get there we’re apparently going to have to walk across that N57 bridge? (For quite a ways it looks like.) And for once Google Maps is close to our estimate.

That’s also true of the next day’s hike, to Herkingen, where for the first time we head south, instead of north or west. (Actually south-southeast.) Herkingen itself is a village in the Dutch province of South Holland, “on the south coast of the island Goeree-Overflakkee, in the municipality of Goeree-Overflakkee.” (And Goeree-Overflakkee is a delta island, the largest island by land area in the Netherlands after the man-made Flevopolder.”)

In Herkingen we stay two nights – and enjoy our first day off from hiking. One note: The town “currently hosts several of the largest modern windmills in the country.” Something to look forward to, exploring, along with “several pubs and cafés that provide a cozy atmosphere and local cuisine.” Next up, on to Tholen, Bergen op Zoom, and then Kalmthout in Belgium.

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The upper image is courtesy of the Ultimate 3-Day Amsterdam Itinerary.

The link GR®5 the Netherlands notes: “The GR®5 in the Netherlands covers approximately 93 miles (155km) from Hook of Holland to the Belgian border near Bergen op Zoom. This route traverses a diverse landscape of expansive dunes, maritime forests, and the impressive Delta Works along the Zeeland islands.” The link GR5: NL section – Into the hike adds:

This is the first section of GR5, beginning in Hoek van Holland, a town next to the North sea, and ending in Bergen op Zoom. As Caroll Dorgan describes in his guidebook, the altitude change is negligible, but if you think it’s a boring hike, well, think again. I was amazed by the beauty of the coastal Netherlands, the friendliness of people I’ve met and the variety of fauna on the trail. This was also my first multi-day hike alone, earning a special place in my heart. 

The lower image is courtesy of Herkingen – Wikipedia. Another note: The place “offers several pubs and cafés that provide a cozy atmosphere and local cuisine.”

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July 28, 2026 – The last post explored our May ’26 driving trip in Ireland from Dunboy Castle – on May 12, “much of it along Bantry Bay” – over to Killarney. (In County Kerry, southwest Ireland.) On that long day, and the days before that, we kept checking the weather forecast for Portmagee on May 13. There in Killarney, late on May 12, we finally got the bad news: The winds next day would be way too choppy. (“Sustained winds over 28 mph, gusts above 41 mph.”)

That is, way too choppy for me to take the tiny-boat-ride I’d reserved, seven miles out from Portmagee into the stormy Atlantic. There – if the winds had been under 20 miles per hour – I could have climbed gingerly down from the boat onto the tiny dock at Skellig Michael. Once ashore I would then have tried to climb the rugged path up to the top; “not a place for people with mobility difficulties, or kids; ‘It’s just too easy to fall off the path.’” That was the bad news.

The good news? We didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to make the 10:00 a.m. boat. (Though actually I had to be at the dock at something like 9:30.) But we did go down to Portmagee, later in the day, and there we visited The Skellig Experience Visitor Centre. (Where we learned that the rugged island is where they filmed some scenes in Star Wars VII. As Wikipedia noted: “On July 28, 2014, filming took place over three days at Skellig Michael.”)

Because we didn’t have to make the 10:00 a.m. boat we took our time heading down. On the way we stopped at the Cahergall stone ring fort (“cashel” in Irish), 40 miles west-southwest of Killarney and 11 miles shy of Portmagee. The ring fort was built around 600 AD and is said to be one of the best examples of an early medieval stone fort on the Ring of Kerry. You can see lots of good picture at Visiting Cahergall and Leacanabuaile- Irish Stone Ringforts, but here’s one man’s take: “The fort was so much bigger than I anticipated, its dry stone wall approximately 6 metres high and 3 metres thick. I felt so tiny when I stood beside it!” Other thoughts:

Another interesting feature of the fort was the flights of steps and terraces all around the inner face of the wall. I wasn’t expecting to be able to climb up and walk the circumference of the fort… The 360-degree view from the top of Cahergall stone fort was wonderful! I could see Ballycarbery Castle and the harbor off in the distance, farmhouses with sheep roaming the fields, and the surrounding green and brown hills.

In plain words, exploring the fort was not for the faint of heart, nor those with bum knees, so I explored the place – wearing 10 pounds of ankle weights to bun off some beer calories – while my partner waited back near the gate. (It was a very steep and rocky climb up to the fort.)

I took my time coming back down, after getting a good workout clambering about those walls; the path itself was made of jagged more-or-less flat-but-slippery rocks. Once back down, “at the gate to the stone fort, a local guy approached us and made conversation, then asked if we wanted to hold the lamb. Of course we did!” That’s what my partner wrote, about how we got the memory of a cute photo of her holding the fuzzy, well-behaved and adorable lamb as I stand to the left, leaning in. And in that photo I’m wearing multiple layers, much of what I’d packed.

Leaving the stone fort we took the Castlequin road to a body of water west of where the River Ferta widens (considerably), then crossed the bridge to Cahersiveen, still nine miles short of Portmagee. There we stopped for brunch at Bari Café Kerry. We split a quiche, very substantial actually, that included some kind of rhubarb compote; very tasty.

And I had a large steaming-hot cup of coffee.

Then came The Skellig Experience, in Portmagee. It featured “the magic and mystery of these famous rocks to you through graphics, film presentation, models, exhibition items, reconstruction and the sound of sea birds and lighthouse keeper ship to shore communication.” Over 1400 years ago – on this End of the World – “Skellig Michael became home to a small group of men seeking religious solitude and isolation on one of the most extraordinary locations on earth.”

It was a great place, fascinating exhibits, but not the real thing. (Thus the “wait’ll next year!”)

After the Skelling Experience we drove to the Cliffs of Kerry, or the Kerry Cliffs, which “stand over 1000 ft above the wild Atlantic and were formed in a desert environment 400 million years ago. Out to the west stand the amazing Skellig Rocks,” including Skellig Michael.

The Kerry Cliffs link included lots of dramatic pictures, then added this observation:

Allow a minimum of 1 hour for a visit to the Kerry Cliffs; many visitors spend a few hours relaxing and bird watching for many hours and even return the next day or another day during their vacation. It is recommended to stay overnight in the local village of Portmagee (Ireland’s top tourist town 2012) to make the most of your visit; to enjoy the local culture and traditional Irish music.

Which is another good reason for that “wait’ll next year,” or some time after that. In other words, we now have two good reasons to go back to Ireland at least one more time. For me to take the boat out to Skelling Michael (and climb to the top), and also to spend a night in Portmagee. There – among other things – we could spend a good hour or more enjoying the Cliffs of Kerry. But on that gusty May 13, 2026, the place was cold.

I walked out to the sheer cliffs that plummet a thousand feet down to the rocky shore below, where wind-tossed Atlantic waves crash and tumble. Out near the edge of one cliff I took a video-selfie. It showed the gusting wind whipping the hood of my rain jacket all about my face and neck; the rain jacket I wore for extra warmth, topped by a doo-rag to cover my ears and keep the wind from howling down my collar. (Did I mention that it was cold, mostly because of the wind?) It felt invigorating, for a time anyway, but it was also cold – and gusty.

On the way back to Killarney we stopped again in Caherciveen (different spelling) at Craineens Bar, “5:00 Ireland time, on the way back from the VERY windy Cliffs of Kerry the other side of Portmagee. Tonight, a pub dinner with traditional Irish music?” And so it happened.

Or as my partner wrote, “To top off the day, traditional Irish music at this place” – O’Connor’s Traditional Irish Pub – “on High Street in Killarney. Introduced ourselves as from Georgia, they played ‘The Devil went down to Georgia.'” Which is being interpreted: When we got there the place was packed, and the only seats were right up front, where the two troubadours shown below sat, their backs to the window out onto High Street. The fiddle player, not two feet away, saw my “LA” hat and asked if I was from California. I said “No, I’m from Georgia.”

From there we played a guessing game; I guessed that the one song they knew about Georgia was “Georgia on my mind,” by Ray Charles. “Wrong!” They knew The Devil went down to Georgia, and proceeded to play that. But I had a bit better luck later, when the duo knew and played The Mountains of Mourne, “a whimsical look at the styles, attitudes and fashions of late nineteenth-century London as seen from the point of view of an emigrant laborer from a village near the Mourne Mountains.” And that’s one of the two main reasons I wanted to come to Ireland: To climb Skellig Michael and also to see “where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.” (From the Don McLean version that always gets me right there at the end.)

The thing is, I remembered the Strand from Don’s version because I was there last year:

You remember young Denny McClaren, of course
But he’s over here working with the rest of the force
I saw him one day as he stood on The Strand
And he stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand…

Last year I was in London, on August 7, waiting for my brother to fly over and from there we’d start hiking the Canterbury Trail. I wrote of that day that – on my own – and after “hiking down The Strand I headed over to the Thames Path, then west to Waterloo Bridge. Once across the river I took the 77 bus from Waterloo Station down to Nine Elms. Heading home I stopped at The Nott for a pint and nodded to a now-familiar local or two.”

Again, that was last year, but while I stood on The Strand I didn’t stop any traffic, with or without a wave of my hand. (It was more like I was trying to remember that when crossing a street in London, you have to remember that the car or bus that may run your ass over won’t be coming from the left, it’ll be coming from the right.) But back to the Mountains of Mourne, and listening to the two troubadours below singing it, and remembering that it’s such a haunting song that seeing “where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea” has been on my Bucket List a long, long time. The last two lines tell of the narrator, standing on the Strand with Denny McLaren (as I remember it), and both longing for home: “But for all his great powers, he’s wishful like me, to be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.”

Like I said, those last two lines always get me right there at the end, as they speak of a longing for a time that wasn’t so hectic and troubling, a simpler time when life seemed so much better. And that’s why seeing the Mountains of Mourne was one of the two things I wanted to experience on this trip to Ireland. That “hiking to the top of Skellig Michael” turned out be a bust, but seeing where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea is a story for a later post.

In the meantime we enjoyed the authentic Irish music, in a traditional Irish pub, with a pint of authentic Guinness to go with it, all of which made for a cherished-memory Irish evening.

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The upper image is courtesy of Visiting Cahergall and Leacanabuaile- Irish Stone Ringforts.

Re: “Wait’ll next year!” As always, that depends on circumstances, many beyond one’s control. But “we” would definitely like to go back to Ireland at least one more time. But one caveat: To try harder to get that compact car we originally wanted, not the large SUV that kept scraping the many stone walls that lined the narrow roads.

About that stop at Craineens Bar, in Caherciveen, at “5:00 Ireland time.” As I recall I had a celebratory pint there, cold weather be darned. I figured I’d earned it. “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere…”

See Mountains of Mourne, and also My Mourne Mountains Guide: Walks, History + More.

Re: Me on the Strand in London. See In London – August 7 and 8, 2025.

My partner informs me that she took the lower photo.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

July 20, 2026 – The last post got our May ’26 driving trip in Ireland from Cork to the Drombeg stone circle, 41 miles south and hard by the coast. From there it was a bit over two miles to Glandore Inn for lunch, a place that Brian (from Cork) suggested. And about learning how to “adapt, improvise and overcome” is essential to a successful travel-trip, especially renting a car in Ireland. (With it’s “drive on the left side, not the right” and those narrow, twisting roads too often lined by thick stone walls six inches from the side of your rental car.)

Glandore is said to be “one of the most beautiful and most scenic villages in West Cork, positioned on rising ground overlooking Glandore Bay.” And the Glandore Inn provides “commanding views across the bay and the islands of Adam and Eve guarding the entrance to Glandore Bay and the harbour.” (As for those Adam and Eve rocks in the bay, the sailing directions are “to avoid Adam and hug Eve.”) For lunch we shared a “great veggie soup of the day with dark bread while sitting outside viewing the bay.” And as we were to learn, sunny days were rare that May.

From there – on Tuesday, May 12 – we drove 60 miles to Dunboy Castle, much of it along Bantry Bay in southwest Ireland. Built in the 16th century, it’s opposite Bere Island to the east. (Also called Bear Island, though officially it’s An tOileán Mór, or “the big island.”) The castle served as stronghold of the O’Sullivan family, “a prominent Gaelic clan.” (And my partner’s paternal grandmother was a direct descendant.) Strategically located on a rocky outcrop on Beara Peninsula overlooking the sea, it was destroyed in 1652 “during the Cromwellian conquest of Ireland.” (Memorialized by the plaque at left.)

That is, in the summer of 1602 it was the scene of the noted Siege of Dunboy: 

Elizabeth I had sent a 5000-strong army under the command of Sir George Carew to suppress the insurgents. Even with its small garrison of 143 men, Dunboy Castle was thought to be impregnable but following a fierce artillery bombardment the walls were smashed and after some desperate hand-to-hand fighting amid the rubble the defenders were finally overcome. The 58 survivors of the two-week siege were executed in the nearby market square.

Today it’s in ruins – “reflecting the turbulent past of Ireland” – but still a popular tourist attraction offering scenic views. I don’t remember seeing any other tourists that day, possibly because the footing was shaky, especially for my partner, still nursing a tender knee. Still, the sunny afternoon was perfect, delightfully cool but not cold, and we got lots of good pictures.

In the meantime, we kept watching the weather forecasts. The next morning, May 13, I was scheduled to catch the early boat in Portmagee, and from there I’d ride the choppy waters in a small boat, seven miles out into the Atlantic, to Skellig Michael, “a rocky island off the coast of County Kerry, Ireland, with a Gaelic monastery and a World Heritage Site.” Once there, I could climb to the top of the peak in a hike that can only be described as “arduous:”

First off, “600 steps to climb, most of them jagged slabs of rock.” This guy proceeded “at a snail’s pace, keeping my eye on every step.” And places to stop and rest were few and far between: “At times there was literally nowhere to stop but the steps themselves, as you’d pitch over the side of a cliff.” It’s not a place for people with mobility difficulties, or kids; “It’s just too easy to fall off the path.” (There is a helicopter pad on the island, “just in case.”) You bring your own food and plenty of water. And there are no toilets on the island, so take care of that on the boat ride out?

(That’s from last April 14’s A preview of Ireland – 2026.) The big problem? Getting there.

The dock on the island is very small, as is the boat taking you out there. And being seven miles out, the swells of the Atlantic can toss such a small boat like a cork, so the general rule is “no go if the wind goes above 20 miles an hour.” The forecast that next day? Winds averaging 28 miles an hour, and gusting even higher. But we had to wait for the official word from the tour company to find out for sure. (And get the 100-plus-dollars-or-pounds refund.)

The other problem? If the trip was on we’d have to leave our lodging at 8:00 in the morning, meaning we’d have to get up way earlier than that. (And hope for no bad traffic.) And speaking of lodging, it was 60 miles from Dunboy Castle to “Haven Suites Killarney Self Catering.”

In Killarney’s center, these self-catering apartments feature a welcome pack on arrival and scenic mountain and cathedral views. With free private parking and free WiFi, they are just 1.2 mi from the Lakes of Killarney. Each lounge area in Haven Suites – Killarney Self Catering apartments features a balcony and a TV/DVD player. A fully equipped kitchen is offered in every apartment, including an oven and microwave, a fridge, toaster and kitchen utensils.

So we kept checking the forecast, and meanwhile, driving toward Killarney “there was a minor incident.” I was driving, on the left side of the road. The landscape was sunny but sere, as in dried up or withered, with small rolling hills the color of wheat grass. It was all very enchanting, in a haunting Irish way, then came the incident. The road to the left was lined with a shallow gulley, and in my reverie my mind wandered just a bit. The wheels went off the road, just a bit, but enough to rattle me considerably, trying to get the car back under control.

(“A lesson for all you young kids out there!”)

From there my partner graciously took over the driving duties and we got to Killarney without further ado. We stopped briefly at Tesco in town, then found the apartment “great.” But we were tired from the day’s exertions, so I went out, walking, to a nearby pub for takeout fish & chip. (With a pint while waiting to settle my nerves.) And when I got back to the apartment and checked my email, there it was. The cruise out to Skellig Michael was officially cancelled. That meant we could sleep in a bit and wake up refreshed, ready for further adventures.

In the meantime, and about that trip out to Skellig Michael – “Wait till next year!”

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The upper image is courtesy of Dunboy Castle – Wikipedia, along with the plaque photo below it. Caption: “Plaque on castle wall. Translation from Irish: ‘In memory of the heroes who fell in Dunboy on behalf of country and faith in June 1602. May their souls rest in peace.'”

See wait till next year — Baseball Dictionary – Baseball Almanac: “The plaintive mantra of fans whose team has once again fallen short of expectations; a baseball euphemism for a season gone awry.” Also Wait Till Next Year by Doris Kearns Goodwin | Goodreads, and Wait ‘Til Next Year: The Fan Bases That Never Catch a Break: “For fans of certain MLB teams … tested through generations of near-misses, epic collapses, and perpetual rebuilding. Here are the 13 MLB fan bases that have endured the most emotional roller-coasters, empty Octobers, and ‘wait till next year’ mantras.”

The lower image is courtesy of Skellig Michael – Wikipedia. Caption: “Path to Christ’s Saddle.”

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

July 16, 2026 – The last post ended by describing our 60-mile drive from the Rock of Cashel – in County Tipperary – down to Cork. (“In good time and a lot less stress,” thanks to the wide four-lane M8 highway.) Only to arrive at what turned out to be a “very crappy hotel in Cork.”

Let’s just say it was on Leitrim Street, north of the River Lee, and leave it at that. The townhouse with rooms upstairs had a new and strange way to put the entry code in the box by the door, and only after a friendly passerby helped out could we figure how to get in. (No instructions from the landlord and the method was definitely “new under the sun, Qoheleth.”)

Once inside we had to climb steep and narrow stairs up to the “first floor” – really the second floor as they call it in Europe – and those stairs were covered with two thick layers of carpet. That made the footing even trickier for my partner with the bum knee. The room itself was nothing to write home about, as the saying goes, so to escape that and also burn off some beer calories I put on leg weights and hiked around town a bit. Up to Hardwick Street then down St. Patrick’s Hill to the river, then via Camden Place to where it turns into Pope Quay and back.

Then came the metaphoric triumph after the crappy-place ordeal.

My partner had not long ago retired from a high-tech job that had offices and people spread all over the world, and she managed to keep in touch with many of them overseas, especially London and Ireland. Two of them lived near Cork, and one of them, Brian, picked us up at 6:45 and drove us the three minutes across the river to Luigi Malone’s, where we met up with Ash. The verdict? “Great meal, terrific company.” But we were just getting started.

From Luigi’s we walked the two minutes to Jim Cashmans, the pub shown at the top of the page. (Offering “a delightful blend of traditional Irish charm and vibrant nightlife energy. This pub is known for its cozy yet fashionable ambiance, making it a perfect spot to catch up with friends.”) Also, “Jim Cashmans promises an affordable and memorable night out.” And Jim delivered.

But first, a note about my name-confusion. In writing up this post I kept looking for the “Murphy’s Pub” in Cork, based on the big “Murphy’s” sign outside. I found out there’s a Murphy’s Rock Bar, Ballincollie Rd, but that’s over two miles north of Luigi Malone’s. Then a Murphy’s Chip Bar, 76 Gerald Griffin St, but that was a 13-minute walk northwest, not the two minutes we actually walked from Luigi’s. Finally a Noel Murphy’s Pub, 1 Pearse Square, Ballyphehane, but that was a 34-minute walk south of Luigi’s. All very confusing and very frustrating.

But then my partner took a closer look at the picture I took, and saw down below the name “Cashmans” in smaller reddish print that blended into the brickwork, and also the street sign “Academy” which made things easier. (A lesson for all you young kids out there: “Read the fine print.”) The big name “Murphy’s” actually referred to the Irish stout brewed at Murphy’s Brewery in Cork. (Now “owned and distributed by the Dutch brewer Heineken N.V.”)

And for the benefit of beer connoisseurs – and also stout and Irish ale aficionados:

It is brewed to be less heavy and less bitter than its chief competitor Guinness. Its flavour is evocative of caramel and malt, and is described as “a distant relative of chocolate milk.” The resemblance to milk extends beyond flavour to texture: Murphy’s is free from any hint of carbonation, and is delivered “black as strong cappuccino” with an inch of foam – the head – on top. The water of the River Lee in Cork allegedly gave Murphy’s its quality.

If I recall correctly I may have had a second Murphy’s Irish stout at Cashmans – and my verdict was “not bad, actually.” But that memory was overshadowed by another one that made this a most memorable night on the town. And led to the note that came later: “Pub had very enthusiastic soccer fans screaming for their team.” Very enthusiastic. Here’s what happened.

It didn’t take long to figure out the local-fave was the Tottenham Hotspurs. They led 1-0 with a mere minute left to go. But then – at the last minute – the enemy team scored and tied the game. That led to a loud and reverberating “F’ing bollocks” from an intense local fan sitting two tables closer to the TV. (Though without the single quotation mark indicating three letters left out.) And that was the first time I’d ever heard such a loud and creative “expression of disapprobation.” Which leads to why I travel. To enjoy the local color, away from all those bland, boring touristy types – and sometimes learn a new expression that shows just how creative the English language can be. (And led me to some etymology research; see the Notes.)

After that highlight of the night – and much chuckling into a Murphy’s Irish Stout – Brian drove us back to our place-for-the-night on Leitrim. Ash got out and walked us to the door; by coincidence she both lived nearby and was familiar with the townhouse apartments. “Does it still have those steep narrow stairs covered with two layers of thick carpet?” (Yes, it did.)

Tuesday morning, May 12, we tried to wash some clothes on the first floor combination laundry and kitchen, but darned if we could get the washer to work. (Again, no guidance from the management.) I drove out of Cork and we ended up stopping for breakfast at the Amberley Store and Bakery, Glen Road, ten minutes south of downtown Cork, near the airport, via the N27. (Thankfully, one of the rare wide-enough roads in Ireland.) From there we drove southwest the 41 miles to see the Drombeg stone circle, right by the coast. From there it was a bit over two miles to Glandore Inn for lunch, a place Brian suggested. All of which is a story for next time – except the not-able-to-do-laundry part. But that’s travel: “Adapt, Improvise, Overcome.”

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The upper image is courtesy of “jim cashmans pub cork ireland” Images.

Bollocks – Wikipedia says the word of Middle English origin meaning testicles “is often used in British English and Irish English in a multitude of negative ways.” It’s often used as an expletive indicating “contempt for a certain subject or opinion. Conversely, the word also appears in positive phrases such as ‘the dog’s bollocks’ or more simply ‘the bollocks,’ which will refer to something which is admired or well-respected.” (I didn’t know about that last “respected” part.)

The link  “Adapt, Improvise, Overcome” indicates that the phrase was born out of necessity during World War II, “when traditional military tactics often failed against unpredictable enemies.” It later became a “cultural mantra” for resilience, problem-solving, and adaptability; a “timeless framework for overcoming adversity,”

The lower image is courtesy of Drombeg stone circle – Wikipedia. Also, at Glandore “We got cream of veg soup and good brown bread,” again, a story for next time.

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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