Xiringuito

"Which lighthouse is that?" The question is posed by Billie Stormzy's cousin - my niece - as we cycle along the Scheveningen Boulevard. It's early Sunday morning and my niece is sleeping over this weekend, because she was attending Billy Stormzy's big sister's birthday party yesterday. That's right: my daughter - whom faithful readers of this blog will better remember by the name that is as glamorous as she is herself, Rihanna Gaga - will turn seven this week. Time flies, they grow up so fast, etc.

Rihanna Gaga and her cousin have always gotten along very well, which is nice because it means they always have someone to play with during family events. They also stay over at their mutual grandmother together every once in a while, something they both really enjoy. But this is the first time my niece is staying over at our place, something we've been planning to do for a long time. And now she's coming along for that little tradition that Rihanna Gaga and I established six years ago: a breakfast at the beach.

My cousin was really excited to go to the beach, an excitement that somewhat eluded Rihanna Gaga - after all, for children growing up in Scheveningen the sea is nothing special (and indeed, everywhere Rihanna Gaga has lived in her life apart from Scheveningen - Dubai, Tunis - was never further than a 15 minutes walk from the sea either). And now, the sight of a lighthouse is also something really exciting for her niece. Rihanna Gaga explains that it is the lighthouse of Scheveningen, while her niece talks about some cartoon with a lighthouse in it she once saw.

By the time we arrive at our destination, the girls are chatting about divorced parents - something both are lucky enough to not have any firsthand experience with. They somewhat differ in their opinion about whether divorce is a good or bad thing. Rihanna Gaga wouldn't want her parents to separate, but her niece says it's not too bad because if your parents aren't living together anymore you get a telephone - even if you're not quite old yet!

Our destination is Xiringuito, a strikingly olive green beach club that's the first of a cluster of beach clubs and surf schools at the southern end of the Scheveningen boulevard. As we enter Xiringuito's terrace, I spot a little transparent plastic bag with what clearly is a few grams of marijuana in it. Probably dropped by one of the many German tourists who are currently flooding Scheveningen (this coming and going of people from everywhere around our place makes me slightly nervous as there is still a pandemic going on in the world). I decide to warn the waiter, who tells me he'll get rid of it. "I'll throw it in the trash," he tells me emphatically. I don't care whether he does that, sells it or smokes it - I just don't think it's a good idea to have it lying around where children can find it.

We sit down in a shady spot. The weather is nice and sunny, so sunny indeed that it's probably better to keep Billie Stormzy in the shade a bit. I put him next to me on a comfy couch, the girls lounge on another couch. The waiter bring some bad news: the cook has not arrived, so he can't serve food. But then he brings the menu and tells us he can serve food. I double check: would the set breakfast and some pancakes pose a problem? He assures me that it's fine, the cook has arrived after all.

The girls play with some of the toys that Rihanna Gaga got at her birthday party yesterday - one of them a fake telephone with a loud, obnoxious pop song as a ringtone. They've spotted Xiringuito's playground and ask if they can go there. I tell them that's fine, and as her niece dashes away, Rihanna Gaga tells her no, no! She has to check google maps! After which she leads her cousin all around the terrace, supposedly following a route on google maps to a nearby playground that her phone has told her exists.

Billie Stormzy follows the girls with his eyes, then starts bouncing up and down the couch. He plays with my keys for a while, then gazes at some seagulls on the terrace. The waiter brings my tea and the pear juice that the girls ordered. As the girls return, my niece tells me she was woken up by the seaguls this morning, because they were making such strange sounds. It's true: you don't expect the sounds a seagul can make until you start living at the coast. Their repertoire ranges from what mostly sounds like cackling laughter to forlorn wailing, and a whole collection of bizarre noises in between. Then, the girls are off again. Suddenly, Billie Stormzy starts smiling broadly, as they reappear, bouncing on the playground's trampoline.

Billie Stormzy is getting a bit bored. I'm wary of the wooden terrace floor: it looks like he could easily get wood splinters in his hands if he would start crawling around here, so I move to a table on the beach itself, close to where the girls play. That's better: Billie Stormzy immediately starts crawling around, although now I have to keep an eye on whether he doesn't pick things off the low tables here.

Meanwhile, I myself have grown increasingly impatient. It's been more than forty minutes since I ordered breakfast, and there is no sign of it arriving anytime soon. The girls are baking sandcakes - they have asked when their pancakes would arrive several times, and now seem to have switched to fake food instead - and Billie Stormzy has gone off to the playground on his own, crawling around and looking with interest at some of the other kids. We were among the first guests when we arrived, but it's getting busier now. One striking group of guests is a gathering of rugby players who, after dropping their bags off at the terrace, start a game of rugby; not exactly Covid-19-proof, but that's something hardly anyone seems to be giving second thoughts these days.

Food finally arrives and the girls eat their pancakes with gusto. I quite enjoy the breakfast too - there's the usual slices of bread, ham, cheese, a tiny glass of orange juice, a croissant and sliced avocado. The avocado I share with Billy Stormzy, the croissant is shared between the girls. But I do wonder whether this is really worth €12,50. I check the menu and I realise there's scrambled eggs missing. I find the waiter and ask him what happened to the eggs and he tells me they ran out of them and the new ones hadn't arrived yet. A bit later, he does bring a small bowl with some grainy egg in it that somehow doesn't taste so nice (I actually didn't know you could get a scrambled egg wrong). After breakfast, the girls go and dip their toes in the sea.

When they return, we lounge a bit until my partner joins us, bringing sunscreen for the kids and a towel with her. I pay and we go all together to the sea to get our feet wet.