Beachclub Indigo

It's past noon and it's oppressively hot as we arrive at the northern beaches. This morning, I took Billie Stormzy to get his hair cut, which he did not enjoy at all. This is a hairdresser that specialises in kids, close to our house. The place is nicely done, with cars and motorcycles that the kids can sit on, and toys, but Billie Stormzy wanted to sit on my lap and mostly cried while the hairdresser expertly and quickly cut his hair. It's still quite long, which suits him well, but there is now a bit more of a model to it. After that we returned home and I had a hard time convincing him that we should go and have lunch at the beach. Finally, I manage to get him on the bike, although he is still quite grumpy when we arrive at the parking lot at the end of the Scheveningen Boulevard.

I never quite know where to enter the beach when I want to visit certain beach clubs at the northern beaches. Sometimes, it’s quite simple: if you want to go to, say, Buiten or Down Under, you cycle all the way up to the end of the large parking lot located north of the Scheveningen Boulevard. And if you want to go to Patagonia or Manta, you enter the beach at the very beginning of that parking lot. Anything. Then there is another entrance, a little further, where you can park your bike if you want to walk to Oasae, Culpepper or Barbarossa. Anything else is not so clear. In my mind, there is a third entrance (in reality there isn’t) which means I always end up at the final entrance and have to walk quite a distance back from there. The same thing happens today. It’s hot, so I decide to just stop at the first beach club, Down Under, since we haven’t visited that one yet anyway. However, there is no place in the shade at Down Under’s terraces and with the very bright sun beating down on us, that doesn’t seem like a good idea. As we walk to the south from Down Under, we discover that all beach clubs either have the same problem – no place in the shade left – or are closed for private gatherings. It's good business for the beach clubs, as the beautiful weather is drawing a lot of people to the seaside.

Finally, at Beach Club Indigo, I spot one final place in the shade. In fact, here it’s the reverse from the previous beach clubs: while at the other places we passed, everybody wanted to sit in the shade, here everybody wants to sit in the sun. The key, I assume, is in the crowd that this place caters for. Most of the beach clubs we passed so far are more geared towards families: they all have a small playground and other things that attract little ones. Indigo, instead, is one of a string of beach clubs around here that cater to a younger, party-minded crowd. Here, you come to show off what they call a beach body: well-toned, muscular men and women are lounging, showing off and checking out. There is no playground, a good way to make clear that young families are better off elsewhere.

Reggae music is playing as we settle in that one spot still offering shade. A large part of Indigo’s terrace consists of holes in the ground with a table in it, lined by couches. Ours is next to a ramp leading down to a regular terrace with tables and chairs on it, but that part of the facilities is off limits because a private party will take place there a little later. Although Indigo doesn’t primarily gear to people with small children, there is a kids’ menu and I ask Billie Stormzy if he wants a pancake. He nods enthusiastically. For myself, I take an Indigo burger. As usual, Billie Stormzy wants an orange juice and I take beer. “With a straw!” Billie Stormzy shouts, but the waitress has left already.

Luckily, when the drinks are brought, we discover that the orange juice is served in a small bottle with a straw in it, to Billie Stormzy’s delight. First, he helps me pour my beer. Then, he alternately drinks his orange juice and blows bubbles through the straw, then for one reason or the other takes out the straw and drinks straight from the bottle. This wasn’t a good idea – part of the bottle’s content ends up on his trousers. This, he doesn’t like and he wants to take off his trousers immediately. Since his underpants have a cool print of bicycles on it, he now fits in nicely with the brightly clad patrons of Indigo.

Indigo itself is as cheerful as the people on its terraces. Its terraces are lined with strings of small, brightly coloured flags, and the dark green couches are covered in pink, bright green and orange pillows. Everybody seems to be in a good mood, from the active waitresses who energetically pace around the terraces, to the muscled guy in shorts sweeping the sand from the pathway in front of Indigo. Billie Stormzy has shifted his attention from his own drink to mine, pouring the final drops from my beer bottle into my glass. Then, he starts climbing out of our whole to the ramp, walking around until he reaches the back of our couch, then climbing on it to jump down to where I sit. The game is that each time he walks behind me, I have to pretend I do not know where he is. He repeats this cycle tirelessly, until his pancakes are brought.

Interestingly, the waitress asked me whether I wanted fries with my burger and whether I wanted fruit with the pancakes. I responded ‘no’ to both questions – just a burger would suffice as lunch, and Billie Stormzy won’t eat the fruit anyway – but the pancakes come with raspberries and blueberries, while there is a handsome amount of fries placed next to my burger. It doesn’t matter. Billie Stormzy quickly eats most of his pancakes, the turns his attention to my fries. After feeding Billie Stormzy his pancakes, I negotiate eating the large burger and having Billie Stormzy on my lap at the same time. I manage mostly, apart from a few drops of sauce ending up on my pants. Both the pancakes and the burger are really nice: tasty and clearly made with good quality ingredients.

Billie Stormzy eats a few of my fries, then starts walking around and jumping on the couch again. The man next to us, who was sitting and chatting with a friend, but is now standing by his table on his own, smiles at him and says: "Had a nice pancake?" 
"Yes," Billie Stormzy replies.
"Nice, a pancake is always nice," the man nods. Billie stormzy is off again, climbing the stairs to jump on our couch. The man starts waving and I see that the friend that was with him before is now approaching with more people. They greet each other and the group joins the man. They sit down and order cocktails. 

After dinner, I have a mint tea, which I drink while Billie Stormzy plays with some toys: a small red bird which he got from my mother, and a Moomin doll I got for him from Finland, from where I have just returned. It’s funny to see him play with it: I bought almost the exact same doll for his sister when I went for a conference in the same city in 2016. There are moments when Billie Stormzy looks remarkably like his sister, and with the doll, this is an almost perfect flashback to six years ago when she had the same age.

Madonna’s “Human Nature” plays on the soundsystem – a strange diversion from the reggae that was playing until now – and Billie Stormzy looks up and tells me this is his favourite song. “Really,” I say, somewhat surprised. I wouldn’t know he ever heard the song before, although I might once have played it in the car – on long drives we each take turns in deciding which cd we will play. Billie Stormzy and his sister will invariably opt for something by Kinderen voor Kinderen, a famous, long running project in which children sing remarkably good original songs, or the soundtrack to one of the Frozen films. My partner mostly listens to the radio and I take the opportunity to go through my music collection. But no, Billie Stormzy shakes his head – this is not his favourite song after all. “That’s Battabat!” he says, meaning the song “Bad Habits” by Ed Sheeran. He’s got a point: that is a very good song.

It's time to leave. We pay and pack up for now, returning home.

 Also on Breakfast at the Beach: Jump back in time to when I visited this place with Rihanna Gaga in 2017.