We arrived sur le continent  on 24th May. It is now 1st June and it has rained every day that we’ve been here. I was very lucky in the Netherlands in that it didn’t rain where Antonio and I were looking for dragonflies but it did rain at Jelly’s Hoeve in Havelte. Much of the rain there was overnight.

Today in Troyes, it looked as though we were going to get our first dry day but not so; it began mizzling shortly after we returned from exploring the town. At least it had the decency to wait until we returned from town rather than wetting us while we were in town.

There is an Aldi literally just outside our aire de camping car. We shopped there when we arrived but it is seriously limited.  This morning, to get the remaining shopping that we needed, we decided to wander the extra kilometre or thereabouts to a Lidl further into town. It was much larger and much better. We returned with our rucksacks packed with goodies.

Following that, we wandered back into town, passing Lidl and continuing into the old town of Troyes.

Troyes is not short of large churches. We saw one and wondered if it was the cathedral only to see, not so far away, a huge edifice that WAS clearly the cathedral. In we went. There were some interesting lighting arrangements lending themselves, I thought, to worthwhile snaps. These are just on the phone camera so don’t expect anything that great.

Troyes is an old town with a host of timbered, colourful buildings, many of which are now at rakish angles. Capturing them in the confined space, even with the wide angle of a crappy phone camera, is a challenge. Here’s an attempt.

We found a quiet bar (apart from the fact that the TV inside was showing a program featuring Jeremy Clarkson) and I ordered a couple of Leffe beers to refresh our weary feet.

Then we decided to return to Frodo for a lunch of bread and rilletes rinsed down with a couple of glasses of wine, of course.

Then it decided to rain – again.

We’d spent a comfortable night in Frodo off-grid in the parking area provided by the Belgian Brasserie des Fagnes.

We got ourselves ready in a leisurely manner as the rain came down yet again. It has actually rained at least once on every day we’ve been here. The rain abated and I got Frodo off the levelling ramps, which was all I had to retrieve from outside before hitting the road at 09:30 heading for France. Yeah! We are only a few kilometres inside Belgium.

Incidentally, I had levelled Frodo a little too well on the ramps because the overnight rain caused an irritating drip, drip, drip, on Frodo’s rear mouldings – he needs to be slightly nose down so the rain runs forwards.

On the motorway we passed the sign I was looking forward to saying “France”. The free autoroute continues to Reims, from which we planned to head through Chalons-en-Chanpagne and onto Troyes, where we planned to stay two nights to investigate the town.

Now, the main route between Reims and Troyes is a péage autoroute. We have an electronic toll tag to make paying the tolls easier but there are management fees associated with it: a yearly fee of £10 plus a £6 charge for every month that you use it in. Today being 31st May, it seemed a bit silly to get lumbered with another monthly charge for the sake of two junctions on a péage autoroute when there was a perfectly decent N-road running parallel. We took the N-road.[Cheapskate!] Actually, you get to see a bit more of France, that way.

There was a “Route Barrée” sign in one of the towns we needed to pass through so we got an even more interesting diversion through some country lanes and villages before picking up the main track again.

And [lose another 100 points] so, after 250kms, to Troyes. We have stayed here once many, many years ago, That was on a campsite with a caravan but we can’t remember where it was. This time Francine had found what used to be the camping municipal site within a 20-minute walk into town. It is no longer a camping municipal; it has transformed into an aire de camping car with automated payment and entrance control – tell the machine what you want (1 night, 2 nights), how many people, add water if you want (electricity is included), waggle your contactless card and get a ticket with a QR code to open the barrier and dispense water.

It’s the way things seem to be going; automated aires for camping cars. The other way things are going is that we are losing some campsites suitable for all to motor home sites, probably because there are so many people swanning around in very expensive fashion accessories. There’s clearly no shortage of money for a serious chunk of the community.

We used a similar aire de camping car last year. That one was no more than a tarmac parking area with plug in points for electricity and water. This conversion in Troyes has been exceptionally well thought out and done. All the tracks around the site and all the pitches are made of lattice concrete slabs which stop 3500kgs vans sinking in but allow grass to grow through.

Excellent (except for the losing general campsites aspect).

Our overnight stop at Bunnik would best be described as adequate, once we found a pitch that was not waterlogged. It’s not the sort of place I’d want to spend any more time so Darwin knows what the seasonals did there, and there were quite a few of them.

We readied ourselves and set sail at 09:30, heading for Couvin, preparing to do battle with the ring roads of Antwerp and Brussel. We expected these to be a nightmare and we were not disappointed. Antwerp in particular was a bear. As in Germany in 2019, the Belgians had seen fit to put roadworks at the motorway junctions adding to the chaos.

Eventually, after much grinding of teeth, we passed Antwerp and headed for Brussels, which was slightly less chaotic … slightly.

With Brussels happily disappearing in the rear view mirror, Francine spotted that we passed within a kilometre or so of the Waterloo 1815 memorial. Well, why not? It would be rude not to.

We dived off the autoroute and followed signs to the parking. The car length spaces were fine for Frodo ‘cos I could put his rear overhang over the flat grass behind the spaces. We disembarked and went in search of the memorial, which largely seemed to be a huge earth mound topped with a lion.

Clambering up the mound looked like fun so we went in search of the entrance. The entrance, it transpired, was through the museum which seemed to be charging a whopping €43 each for entrance. You have got to be bloody kidding! We won, for Chrissakes, we should get in free. The mound is another of those things best viewed from a slight distance so we skipped it. I must look the battle up on the Internet.

[We have since discovered that the €43 rate is either for a yearly ticket or a multiple attractions icket. We could have gained entry for €17 each which would have been a whole lot more reasonable. Quite why €43 seemed to be the headline rate remains a mystery.]

‘T was time to make a choice of where to stop for the night. This is where Couvin comes in. A short distance from it is the Brasserie des Fagnes. We are just still inside the Belgian border and, with the Belgians being the world’s finest brewers in this writer’s opinion, this should have something interesting to offer. Best of all, the brasserie has an extensive car park and allows camper vans to stay overnight free. Naturally, they hope you will spend money in their brasserie and grill. Well, why on earth not?

We arrived, parked up and went over the road for an initial sampler. This is a 33cl glass of their Triple at 8% and very toothsome it was, too. I started with their Blonde at 7.5% which wasn’t too shabby either. As we were paying, I booked a table for the evening, just in case. (There’s Andouillete on the menu.)

Having relaxed in Frodo for the late afternoon, we returned to the brasserie for our evening booking. This place is doing something very right ‘cos it was quite busy. Our table was distressing close to the childrens’ play area and we ended up surrounded by families with rugrats. Word to the wise: request a table near the front of the restaurant. I had my andouillette while Francine tucked into a rare entrecote steak. All very good, except for the rugrats.

“Time for bed”, said Zebedee.

I’m quite sure it wasn’t what Mark Knopfler had in mind when he penned his early Dire Straits song but there are so-called Dutch Waterlines and we were heading down to one of ‘em. The Dutch Waterlines are a 200kms long system of forts, dikes, sluices, pumping stations, canals and inundation polders designed to temporarily flood land, effectively cutting Holland [the westernmost province of the Netherlands] off as an island making life difficult for offensive infantry; wading through water should slow them up a tad. This was not anything that we’d ever heard of. (This is a plan of the forts around Utrecht.)

Having been visited in Havelte yesterday by Francine’s former colleague, today we were leaving Havelte and beginning our journey back towards France by heading southwest down to the Waterline at Bunnik. Our journey was just 125kms, less than the length of the defence system. Bunnik was chosen as a suitable meeting point, with something of interest, to meet one of Francine’s photographic buddies. Francine had prebooked us into a campsite just a couple of kilometres away from out meeting point at Fort Vechten [Fort bij Vechten in Dutch], one of the most southern of the forts along the line.

Our journey was blissfully uneventful but, following the normal pattern, a little on the wet side occasionally. We arrived to find ample parking – we managed to find a double length parking space for Frodo – and a little on the wet side briefly became a lot on the wet side. In due course, Francine’s friend showed up and we prepared for our assault on the fort.

As with many such tourist attractions, the fort would be better seen from a distance, preferably from the air. That would require one of those dreadfully irritating drone things, though. NO! We wandered across a bridge spanning the moat where a very dapper man, dressed in a bright pink suit with metal-capped boots in the national Dutch colour of bright orange, was having his light reading taken obviously in preparation for recording. To complete the cool look, even on an overcast day he was also wearing sunglasses/shades/Hollywoods [pick your name of choice].

We wandered around the interior of the fort past what appeared to be a crazy croquet course [I kid you not] in search of a bite of lunch. The only food outlet was inside the museum beyond the entrance fee.

We could see part of the moat surrounding the fort but really only from a distance, save the part spanned by the bridge. The most interesting thing that we could look down on was a sort of diorama cast of concrete showing the system of forts, water courses and sluices. Since we’d had a hefty downpour the model was appropriately largely filled with water.

On our way out we again bumped into Billy the Pink and his adoring support team, complete with umbrella to keep the suit dry when needed. Bye Billy.

We bad farewell to Francine’s buddy and headed for our overnight campsite. The overnight campsite was also largely filled with water, though this was less than appropriate. We managed to find a motor home slot that avoided the need for waders and got Frodo settled. The campsite could best be described as adequate.

One of Francine’s former colleagues is a Dutch guy living in Hilversum. We have visited him and his wife a couple of times at their house. This time, they planned to make the 90-minute trip up to Havelte so we could have lunch together once again.

Enter: the fly in the ointment. All the restaurants in Havelte seem to be closed on Tuesdays (and often Mondays, come to that).

So, our resourceful Dutch friends consulted the good ol’ Internet and found a restaurant that appealed to them in a village called Ruinen, a mere 11kms away. They duly arrived to pick us up and off we gently sped in a hybrid Toyota Rav4 – very roomy, plenty of legroom.

Ruinen’s notable feature seems to be that it still has a grassy village “square”. Most of these have been paved over for parking, we were told.

The weather was kind and it was pleasant enough to sit at a table outside. The fare at the restaurant was largely based on flatbreads with various toppings. Nothing exceptional, perhaps, though Francine was very pleased with her salmon version. The beer was good, though, and I wasn’t driving.

We made a small diversion into Havelte itself on the way back to Jelly’s Hoeve, to stop at the coffee shop in town. This was yet another establishment whose card reader didn’t accept our prepaid cash card so I resorted to the real thing.

Back came Antonio at 10:00 to collect me to go in search of the last of the five European White-faced Darters. I get a bit disoriented about the direction we are driving in from Jelly’s Hoeve but, after half an hour or so, we dove off the road and parked beside a track entering a forest.

After a short walk we came across a woodland pool complete with the obligatory cotton grass. It was not long before Antonio was spotting our target, the Small Whiteface/White-faced darter (Leucorrhinis dubia) flitting about, although initially they did not seem particularly keen on having their photographs taken. Some did begin settling but on the path and I do so dislike ground shots. Still, if that’s what they do, at least it’s realistic behaviour.

While we were waiting for better posed opportunities with the males, clever old Antonio spotted a female beautifully posed on some vegetation back from the path. Then a male or two started posing much more favourably on leaves, which look so much nicer. The set; excellent!

During an overcast interlude when darter activity closed down, I did find a small collection of Small Red Damselflies (Ceriagrion tenellum) lurking about in some tall grass stems. Since I don’t get these on my home turf they are always interesting to see and a quite delightful little damselfly, though they can be tricky to photograph given that they tend to keep low in the habitat.

Antonio had another duty in the afternoon so the morning was it but he had met his target, showing me all five Whiteface species in three days.

Thank you and bravo!

In the afternoon I was keen to investigate a flush that Francine had found in the middle of Havelte. She reported seeing “a Bluetail” there but had had no camera. Flushes are classic Scarce Blue-tailed Damselfly/Small Bluetail (Ischnura pumilio) territory and I was just a little curious. We hopped on our fietsen and went and found it.

There are actually three small pools along the southern edge of a triangle of grass. I saw nothing but a Broad-bodied Chaser on pools one and two but eventually, I did see what was obviously a Blue-tailed Damselfly settle on a blade of grass on the opposite side of pool three. I focused on it and sure enough we had ourselves a Scarce Blue-tailed Damselfly (ischnura pumilio). Watching a while, I counted getting on for half a dozen. There was actually a “regular” Blue-tailed Damselfly (Ischnura elegans) which would have been a bit depressing had I seen that first.

I’ve seen Scarce Blue-tailed Damselflies in the UK only twice before so this was something of a thrill, sad puppy that I am.

As I mentioned previously, the Netherlands is home to all five species of White-faced Darters that occur in Europe. My first target of the Irish Damselfly (Coenagrion lunulatum) having been met, Antonio had set himself another goal: show me all five Whiteface species.

So, I’m sure that the Small Faces went on tour but this looked like turning into the Whitefaces tour, hence my title.

Before arriving here, I’d seen three of the species before. Just one occurs in the UK and I’d seen two more in France, though I could do with improved pictures of both those. On Friday with Antonio I’d seen my fourth so I really had just one outstanding … plus the improved pictures of two if I could get them. Given Antonio’s knowledge and spotting skills, I was quietly confident, assuming the weather would play fair. Antonio turned up at 10:00 to collect me and off we set.

We ended up at a water body which was a rather odd mix of recreational water, with a sandy beach area at one end, and a much quieter area with emergent vegetation and woodland at the other end. Being a pleasant Sunday, the beachy area was being used by a family or two. We made our way to the wildlife end.

It wasn’t long before Antonio was spotting my outstanding Whiteface species, the Dark Whiteface/Eastern White-faced Darter (Leucorrhinia albifrons). Now, IMHO, it’s the turn of the scientific name to be a bit silly – albifrons = white frons but all the Whiteface have a white frons, that’s the entire point. Picky as that may be, I was delighted to have it. These characters have the most delightful light flashes of wing veining outboard of their pterostigmas; they really are charming.

I had but one photograph in my collection of the Yellow-spotted Whiteface/Large White-faced Darter (Leucorrhinia pectoralis), snagged at the well known Pinail Trail in central France. This was one the two I was keen to improve upon. Happily, at the same location, several were flitting around and occasionally settling. They were slightly less than cooperative when it came to showing their white face, but I grabbed what I could.

We visited a second location but that proved less than scintillating, then we moved on to the Weerribben reserve, which I had visited with Antonio two years ago. Here was his last target, the Lilypad Whiteface/Dainty White-faced Darter (Leucorrhinia caudalis). This, I had seen at La Brenne in France several years ago but the subjects were a little distant and I was keen to improve on the images. Weerribben and Antonio produced and here is an attempt. They are wonderfully twitchy little critters and, as the name implies, love perching on lily pads.

Antonio had given me four of the five Whitefaces in a couple of days. Tomorrow, weather permitting, he would try to complete the European set with the one species that we get in the UK.

We have augmented Frodo with a pair of e-bikes [shock, horror]. On Sunday we would meet Antonio again but today we were on our own. Just as well ‘cos we needed some more shopping. With Frodo comfortable pitched, out came our e-bikes for their first serious task, a shopping trip. Francine’s bike has some very clever panniers from Decathlon that zip together to form a rucksack – neat. I just have my regular shopping rucksack. We set off in reasonable weather.

We suffer from a lack of language in the Netherlands. Most of our travels are in countries where we have at least some rudimentary ability to communicate; we have decent French with a smattering of Spanish and German thrown in. Here, we are reliant on the Dutch speaking English which, happily, most of them do better than the majority of the British.

That doesn’t help with signage, though. We’d been seeing numerous signs along the way saying “Fietspad”. Hmmm, that looks and sounds a bit like footpath, we thought in our ignorance. Wrong! Fiets (pl. fietsen) is Dutch for bicycle; these were bike tracks.

Incidentally, an announcement on the ferry at disembarkation reminded the many cyclists aboard that it is illegal in the Netherlands to cycle on the road unless absolutely necessary; you must use the cycle tracks which are, of course, legion.

Fietsen are also legion in the Netherlands and most of them seemed to be parked outside the AH supermarket. Nonetheless we found a vacant bike stand to lock our e-steeds to. In we popped to decipher more Dutch food packaging. Helpfully, much of the labels come complete with pictures so you can workout that Kip is chicken, for example.

Deciphering and purchasing complete we exited AH to a downpour. “Bother”, said Pooh, irritatedly. A fellow Dutch cyclist beside us remarked, “that’s a shame”; how understated.

We took shelter until the opened heavens saw fit to close once again, then unlocked and hopped on our fietsen to return to Jelly’s Hoeve with our purchases.

Francine had spotted a couple of water bodies in Havelte so, after lunch, we hopped back on our fietsen and went to investigate.

The first was very close to the AH supermarket. It turned out to be a rather small pond surrounded by a triangle of roads and houses. As well as some local youth, there were a few dragonflies, about five species, but the most intriguing thing was a very large floating structure, buoyed up on about 16 oil drums, built largely of what we former boy scouts might call pioneering poles. The structure was tall, say 3 metres, square and about a quarter the size of the pond. We just couldn’t figure out what it might be for. Neither could Antonio, when I showed him. Answers on a post card to …

We were lucky enough to be one of the early ones to disembark in the Hook of Holland, so we got through immigration very swiftly and were on the road by about 08:30 heading for Havelte, where we were booked in to an adults only campsite (brilliant, we need more of these) called Jelly’s Hoeve. We have stayed there before but not camping; on that first occasion we were in one of their very comfortable rental apartments. Hoeve is Dutch for farm and Jelly, apparently, was the last farm horse. Delightful.

Our journey from the Hook to Havelte was 200kms and the journey went very smoothly. We were entering Havelte at about 12:00. There was one curiosity: a motorway service area where they charged to use the loo. Bizarre.

On Sunday we would meet our local guide but until then we were on our own. Just as well ‘cos we had an empty fridge and needed to do some serious shopping. In the centre of Havelte there is an AH [Albert Heijn] supermarket to begin stocking the fridge. There is also a long term parking area which could accommodate a motor home. We couldn’t check in to Jelly’s until 13:00 and had time before so headed straight for Havelte and the short walk from the parking area to AH.

At the checkout we were reminded of another Dutch oddity, at least in this rural area. The shop here doesn’t take credit cards, it’s cash or a regular bank card (debit card). OK, cash it would be. We have most of our euros on a prepaid Caxton card which will be fine in France but sometimes not here. Happily we have enough cash for a while. It’s odd, in Australia it was cash that was difficult to use, now it’s credit cards, even prepaid ones. How complicated life gets.

Whilst at the shop, Antonio messaged me to say that he had unexpected free time in the afternoon and would I like to go out looking today. At the time, the weather looked quite favourable; you bet I would.

And so [lose 100 points] to the main reason for my visit to the Netherlands. I have seen every dragonfly and damselfly on the UK-list bar one, the accursed so-called Irish Damselfly (Coenagrion lunulatum). The British name is complete rubbish and based on the fact that, in the British Isles, it occurs only in Ireland. A more sensible English language name is the Crescent Bluet in reference to the crescent moon shape on abdominal segment 2.

I have jumped through hoops to try and find it without going to Ireland. I was told of a lake in the Auvergne that supposedly supported a population and went there in early July 2018 but failed to find it. I made a repeat visit in early July 2023 with the same result. We are here now, earlier in the year, because Antonio knows where there is a population in the Netherlands. (According to his information, I think I was too late in the year for their early flight season in the Auvergne.)

So, Antonio, helpful chap that he is, picked me up after we had Frodo settled and off we sped with high hopes. The weather had begun to look decidedly iffy chez Frodo but after our 30-minute drive things were looking a bit more hopeful. Antonio is a great spotter and, of course, knew where to look.

The habitat, a marshy area with cotton grass and mixed vegetation, was beside a classic Dutch cobbled road. Antonio drew a blank on the first side of the road but switching to the other side, he soon called me and my camera over. At long bloody last, I had my sights on a splendid male Coenagrion lunulatum. Even better, he shortly afterwards found a female, which can be a bit cryptic and are tricky to spot. I had the set. I couldn’t thank Antonio enough.

There are five European species of Whitefaced Darters. Britain has just one of them but I had seen three, altogether, though my pictures of two could do with improvement. As a bonus, males of one of my missing Whitefaces, The Northerm Whiteface (Leucorrhinia rubicunda), began settling on wooden boards beside the road. How happy was I?

What it is to have friends.

We’re booked on a 23:00 Stena Line ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland to meet up with a Dutch dragonfly buddy; let’s call him Antonio. We made this trip two years ago in August to meet Antonio for the first time when he guided me to some other Netherland resident dragonflies that I hadn’t yet seen. So we knew something of what to expect.

On that first occasion, Harwich ferry port had recently opened a new duty free shop which we were encouraged to try out. Who was I to complain? I was stunned at the low prices. My experience of the cross channel ferries is that the duty free saved you a little but not a great deal. Here, however, There were litres of my favourite Absolut Swedish vodka for a jaw-dropping £10. Alongside it were litres of a Finnish vodka, Koskenkorva, completely unknown to me, for $9. Well, it just had to be done, we bought one of each.

Being a new shop, I was expecting those prices to have been a sort of introductory offer but was keen to try the shop again. Well, not a bit of it: this time the Koskenkorva, still available, was £8 and there was another Finnish vodka called Finlandia for £9 a litre. OK, we’ll go for those two, just for a taste comparison. (Normal Absolut, i.e. unflavoured, did not appear to be available this time.)

What was available this time really made me look twice. I’m used to BiB [Bag-in-Box] wine, either 3-litre or 5-litre, but here was a 3-litre BiB of French vodka, if you please, for a ludicrous £15. Jeez! It’s an interesting offering ‘cos I think you’d need three people or more in the vehicle to make it a legal import. Sense prevailed and I avoided it.

We equipped ourselves with 4×3-litre BiBs of wine, too, just to keep us going.

Boarding went smoothly and we were soon clambering up 7 flights of stairs from deck 3 to deck 10, where our cabin was. I must say that the Stena line ferry on this route is easily the most impressive that I’ve been on – spotless, neat and tidy, with apparently happy, friendly staff. The only fault I can find is that there were no glasses or cups in the cabin for us to sample our new purchases. Nor did there seem to be a self-service restaurant where we might borrow any glasses.

While searching in vain for glasses, I was amazed to see the same vodkas on sale in the shipboard duty free for very similar prices.

Bother! We’ll just have to sip it from the bottle.