As we descend the stairs, I see a man in front of Het Puntje chopping wood, and as we enter the beach club, a fire is burning, spreading a pleasant warmth through the warm, cozy place. Het Puntje has a random feel to it: furniture is mostly old, wooden and looks like it was gathered by someone with good taste from a variety of second hand stores. On the ceiling, of surf boards hang, ready to be taken to the waves. It's surprisingly busy for a rainy weekday morning, with all kinds of people. A young woman is working on her laptop, some people are sitting and reading by the fire, others are chatting in small groups around some of the table. After a while, a woman dressed in a bathing towel enters, clearly returning from a swim in the sea.
We sit down at a table next to two large caskets with toys. Billie Stormzy is quite interested in them, but mostly in taking them out, then putting them back again, or transferring toys from one casket to the other. He does play a little with some of the large plastic cars in them, but soon climbs on my lap to fiddle with my phone. The waiter is busy stoking fires in several of the stoves inside and outside the beach club, and it takes a while before he comes to our table. When he does, I order an omelette (€9), and a tea. The tea arrives as a cup of hot water at a special part of the bar that contains all kinds of teas and herbs, as well as paper bags in which you can put whatever you pick. I decide to pick sage, since my throat is hurting a bit. For two weeks now already, I've had a bit of a cold. That's actually a bit of an embarassing condition: with the corona pandemic still ongoing, you don't really want to be coughing and sneezing too much.
Not that you'd know there is still a pandemic going on from people's behaviour: here, as in many other places, I notice people have returned to greeting each other with kisses and hugs. During the hight of the pandemic, it had been gloomily predicted that things would never be the same again - the disappearance of any physical contact when greeting being mentioned as one example - but that seems now to have been a bit of an overreaction.
Another thing I notice, is that there is no attempt, from the side of Het Puntje, to scan the QR code that everyone now has to have with them when visiting restaurants, cafes, hotels, or theatre, dance or music performances, to prove they're either vaccinated, recently tested negative, or have recovered from a Corona infection. Most people carry that code using a special app on their phone, but I have mine printed on paper. The introduction of this rule has caused - as many other measures have in the past - quite some consternation. There is a small, but vocal minority in the Netherlands who refuses to get vaccinated. Anything may inspire them to do so, from religious convictions, to being convinced the entire pandemic is a hoax spread by power-hungry politicians, or to believing that it's better to trust your immune system than to get vaccinated (tell that to the millions who died of Covid19). Often, they're reasons for not getting vaccinated is any combination of these. And even though you can also get your QR-code by simply getting tested negative, there is now a storm of protests by people who claim this amounts to 'medical apartheid', discrimination, or what not.
Even though I am not necessarily in favour of this check - the effectiveness of this measure is not evidence-based, and it does seem unnecessarily disruptive and troublesome for those running cafes and restaurants - I have no patience with arguments like this, which are often brought with much drama and hysterics. Nobody is being discriminated against: everybody can get vaccinated or tested. The fact that you are free to choose whether you want to get vaccinated or not, does not mean your choices should be without consequences. Since the measure was introduced, four days ago, there have been cases of restaurants or cafes announcing on social media they won't check their patrons, followed by highly mediatised closing downs of those places by the authorities. For a few days in a row now, a restaurant in Utrecht has been the focal point of protests after it was closed down for refusing to implement checking QR-codes. Hundreds of people are holding vigils around the place, and aggressively harassing neighbouring restaurants for actually implementing the measurements - a weird collection of hooligans, hippies, and far-right conspiracy buffs. It is, in any case, interesting to note that I have been to restaurants three times since then, and not a single time my code was checked. I guess the line between resistance, pragmatics, and simply not caring at all is a thin one here - but given the fact that the restaurant in Utrecht has already collected more than €200.000 in support, one feels that there is also a bit of a business model behind becoming the focus of attention like this.
Anyway, what irritates me most in this whole thing, is the refusal of people to just do their bit, to contribute to get us all out of this mess as quickly as possible. I have been fully vaccinated for a while now, with the pfizer vaccin. I know that's a privilege that comes with living in a rich country and having been raised as a critical thinker through upbringing and education, which allows me to see through misleading anti-vax-propaganda. So, nothing to be proud of. After my first jab, I had no side effects apart from a stiff arm. The second time I was a bit tired for a few days. Nothing serious.
That said, I also think that the other side of the line is not without its theatrics and hysterics either. At the beginning of the academic year, a small but vocal minority among university staff resisted the loosening of measurements in higher education. At my own faculty, meetings were disrupted by colleagues demanding agressively that the university introduced obligatory vaccination and mandatory facemasks at all times in the building (obligatory vaccination would be against Dutch law; and facemasks were only mandatory when moving around); one colleague posted a message to students saying they did not agree with university guidelines; another spend so much time during their first class pontificating about the risks of the current guidelines that a student left with a panic attack; one academic in Amsterdam, a literary scholar, dramatically announced his resignation, saying the university policy was 'murderous'. Here, as well, my main response has been irritation - none of these colleagues had any expertise that put them in a position to doubt experts from national organisations that said it was safe to re-open like this. Or at least, that when making up the balance between remaining super vigilant about the spread of the virus on the one side, and other interests, such as students' need to return to campus on the other, it was now reasonable to also take the latter into account. There has not been any outbreak or significant rise in infections since then, but I have not seen anybody admit that maybe they have been overreacting a bit. But then again: maybe I am downplaying things too much and will have to admit so myself in a few more months. Things have become extremely unreliable these days.
Billie Stormzy has confiscated the biscuit that came with my tea and is now demanding more. I tell him there will be egg instead, with which he seems happy. Until then, he's happy sitting on my lap, fiddling with his toy duck and sheep and chewing on his dummy. When the omelette is brought, it looks impressive: a slice of bread covered in a mountain of omelette, pickled mushrooms, fried cherry tomatoes, and salad on the side. It tastes equally good. The salad has venkel in it, but no dressing, giving it a distinctive, but fresh taste. The mushrooms and cherry tomatoes taste delicious, as do the eggs and bread - it all has a very organic, wholesome feel to it, which is also something Het Puntje prides itself on. Around us, people are quietly chatting about yoga retreats, the woman who was swimming a while earlier is drying her gear in front of one of the stoves, and two men at the table next to us start chatting to Billie Stormzy, about how nice it must be to spend the morning with his father like that. The little one looks kindly at them, but doesn't really respond. He's eaten some egg and large chunks of bread, but has now put his dummy in his mouth again and is just chilling on my lap. He looks funny in his yellow rain trousers - he refused to put them off, just like for the entire morning he's been refusing to take off the sleeved sleeping bag that he normally sleeps in, stepping around the house in it comically.
Having finished what really is one of the best breakfasts I've had so far at a Scheveningen beach club, it's time to go: I have about 45 minutes left to cycle home, read books with Billie Stormzy, give him a bottle and then put him to bed, before I have to pick up his big sister from school - it's wednesday and she finishes at 12:30. As usual, Billie Stormzy insists on paying - well, on holding my card in front of the card reader, so that the bill is paid. The rain has stopped, but a strong wind is blowing as we climb the stairs leading into the dunes.
Also on Breakfast at the Beach: Step back in time to when I visited this place with Rihanna Gaga in 2017
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