Millingen to Wijk

Holland is like Camberwick Green scaled up to life size with some added progressive ideas like universal cycling, unisex toilets, liberal values, dikes (these are for flood control, not sure why I mention them here), and backwards talking, already mentioned. Something else: the streets are made of small purple bricks. And one more thing: the cakes and pastries are even tastier than the German ones. Something I'm learning on this trip is that British cakes are mostly rubbish.

The Rhine disintegrates in the Netherlands, becoming a series of distributaries and forming what my German guidebook says is the largest river delta in the world, although I imagine the Nile Delta which after all can be seen from space is a bit bigger. The cycle route follows one of these distributaries, the Neder Rijn, for a while, heading north-west towards Arnhem. In nearby Osterbeek I saw a sign for a war cemetary and went off to look for it. Here the 1,750 graves are ranged in immaculate lines with flowers growing around each one. It's a peaceful place, there's nothing there that either glorifies the bravery of the soldiers or laments their loss - the place says what it needs to. There's a large board with well crafted English and Dutch text explaining Operation Market Garden, in which all those buried in the cemetary were involved. In a bid to end the war by Christmas 1944, Montgomery came up with a plan to cross the Rhine at Arnhem and 'sweep' down to Germany's industrial heartland in the Rhine valley. The main instrument of this would be an airdrop of 35,000 men, who would seize the city's bridge and hold it for three days until reinforcements could arrive. In the event, the allies overstretched themselves; they couldn't lift that many people quickly enough, the reinforcements couldn't get through, and the small force that did manage to take the bridge had to hold it for nine days before they were ordered to retreat. At first, I thought, Bloody Generals spending life as extravagantly as they spend their money. Then I thought that war has its failed ideas, just like everything else, and for all I know, Operation Market Garden was as well laid a plan as any other. Must a General's every plan be a success for him not to seem a callous fool from some future vantage-point? Even so, the text on the board at the cemetary was clearly critical of the plan, pointing to mistakes that should not have been made, but were made and had the ring of hubris about them. Hubris: most of us got some but the hubris in most of us is unlikely to lead to thousands of deaths. A General's hubris might, though, and perhaps Montgomery's did. One of the problems of war is that to make the right decisions, the war leaders have to be as humble and humane as a Gandhi, and as ruthless as a Roman Ceasar. It's an impossible contradiction, which is why a just war is also an impossible contradiction and why, once the tide of war is on the flood, the Geneva conventions are no stronger a defence of human rights than sandcastles, although we're better off with them than without - as a marker and for the reckoning when there is one. Looking over the rows of graves at Osterbeek, I felt only the waste of life that it represented - the sudden emptiness that it made in the lives of the families, lovers, friends and neighbours of the men now buried here. But then I felt moved by something else - the care given to looking after the cemetary because some people somewhere think it matters that there should be no weeds around the headstones, that the grass should be close-cropped, and that people like me should visit and encounter the place as it is and saying what it has to say. There's a statue of Montgomery outside the Ministry of Defence in London. I wouldn't mind - lots of people have statues made of them - but the pose he is cast in is too ruthlessly self-assured. We'd rather remember our Generals with their chins up, perhaps, but I'd like to see a statue of a General with head bowed - it seems the only attitude that really fits remembrance of a war. One other thing: where are the German dead of Market Garden buried?

From Osterbeek, the cycle route passes through dense woods on a tiny path four feet wide, it's surprisingly hilly for Holland. (These woods would have been full of soldiers 65 years ago.) It was a beautiful, sunny day for riding along the dikes next to so many rivers and canals. There's water everywhere, it seems. Soon I reached Wageningen and stopped off to look for Zeezicht, a special place I used to know when I had a friend who lived there. I looked rather silly, I think, in my 'Go Green, Go Bike' bright yellow t-shirt, with salt on my face and badly in need of a haircut, asking people on the street for directions to this place, but it had to be done. I managed to track it down but it had closed. Zeezicht was a low-cost, gourmet organic vegetarian restaurant run by students (my friend was one) as a cooperative. It had no official status as a restaurant - the students argued that they were hosting people in their home (and they could do this because their bedrooms ran around the outside of the eating area). The authorities didn't seem to mind too much. When I was there for a few days in 1996 the restaurant was always full. Everyone sat on long tables, which mixed everyone up and made companions (literally those you break bread with) of the customers. At the start of the meal, which was chosen by the cooks and the same for everyone, the cooks would come out into the eating area, welcome everyone and describe the meal, course by course. They'd also talk briefly about the aims of Zeezicht as part of the organic/real food/environmental movement. Everyone then tucked into the food and conversation and both were really good - it was a lively place. I once asked Nicole how the place came into existence. She took out a large photo album and showed me. Four gay men had the idea and bought the building - a disused wood workshop, I think it was - for almost nothing. Working alone and apparently under the radar of the authorities, they started digging trenches outside for connecting the building to the water, electrics, sewage and so on. Eventually they'd converted the place into a restaurant. I think that was in 1972. They moved on and left their story behind. In 1996 I was new to these kinds of social movements and I remember finding this story inspirational and very moving. It suggested that it was possible to create something beautiful, for and about people, and as witness to the truth that not every enterprise has to be framed in terms of monetary profit and loss, and that it was possible to do this just by deciding to do it. The four men moved on - I'd like to meet them one day - but students took over and carried on in the same spirit, each to be replaced by others as they left college. Everyone had to do their share of the prep - they had me trimming green beans, washing up and so on while I was staying. I was sad to see it had closed. When something changes like that, it means that the story that was made there could never be made again - it is closed off in history and becomes more special for it. The photo shows the alleyway that led to Zeezicht - the restaurant was on the first floor of the building at the back, now empty. You can see some heart graffitti on the alley wall - I'd like to think the students put it there, it's Zeezicht all over.

In the shop over the road, I asked about the place. They not only remembered it but told me it was still going, just around the corner, with the same live-in student staff arrangement. A sign in the window said we could get a wholefood, home-cooked veggie meal for six euros. I peered in the window and a chap called Vic came out to say hello. From what he described, it sounded like Zeezicht was just the same - same attitude to food, same politics. He didn't know a Nicole - some stories can only happen once.

It was turning into a lovely evening as I left Wageningen and I rode on along the dike to a place called Wijk, which is not easy to say but scores well in Scrabble. This is a beautiful town, as so many Dutch towns and villages are. They seem to be built and maintained as places to live in, rather than just places to shop in. This means, for example, that the central areas are based on places to meet, often on benches under trees, and there's room for kids to play safely. Where there are shops, these are usually independent except in the cities where there are more chain shops. These independent shops are beautifully maintained, as if the people who work there take some pride in their work. I stopped at a cafe-restaurant in Wijk for something hot to eat on the terrace. The lad who served me grudgingly tolerated my lack of Dutch until he found out that I wasn't German: 'Ah, you're not German, then.' then he completely forgave my linguistic lacuna and we had a good chat. I wondered whether some Dutch people don't like Germans and if not, why. Anyway, the reason I mention him is that he looked just like Prince Harry. In fact, he looked so like him, I'm still not sure he wasn't.