Canal Bridges and Thatched Homes
Trying to shake off the last of the jet lag, we layered on most of our cold-weather gear, faced the chilly morning, and pedaled out in search of breakfast. After a quick stop at a Backwerk and a return to the room to add even more cold gear, we headed out of Zwolle toward Giethoorn.
The ride took us through quiet farmland dotted with canals, sheep, cows, and plenty of spring lambs. Birdlife was everywhere—storks nesting on poles, geese with goslings, ducks in formation, cranes in the distance, and other wetland inhabitants.
The village Giethoorn—charmingly known as “Tiny Venice”—was both picturesque and overrun. Canals, thatched-roof cottages, little bridges leading to each house, and a dense flow of tourists renting boats and posing for selfies.
At various times today, sections of the polder were closed for construction. And when you’re out in the wetlands where 80% of the wildlife lives, alternate routes are few and far between—especially when you have to cross water. But over the years we’ve become accustomed to: detour, reroute, squint at Komoot, and mutter something about “it looks like this connects.” Like the great frontiersman Daniel Boone said, “I have never been lost, but I was bewildered once for three days.”We rode back to Zwolle along fantastic bike paths. We went through a few neighborhoods that had canals where there were not hordes of tourists, and the people were out talking to each other and working in their gardens.
By the end of the day, the cold gear was stuffed in panniers, the sun was out, and it felt good to get out and stretch the legs. A good ride. A good day.
Planned Route
Actual Route
A Bell Unrung, A Water Uncrossed
Somewhere outside Zwolle, tucked into a quiet bend in the Overijsselse Vecht, lies the Haersterveer—one of the Netherlands’ last surviving hand-drawn cable ferries. I’d spotted a photo of it on Komoot, posted by another cyclist. No caption, no explanation—just this small boat and a stretch of quiet water. It looked peaceful, unusual, and oddly timeless.
Naturally, I was all in.
The idea: roll up to the riverbank, ring the bell, and a volunteer ferryman appears. He pulls you slowly across the water using a rope threaded through heavy wooden grips—like hammer handles—creating the quiet rhythm of ferry against water, a hush broken only by the creak of the line and the occasional ripple.
It’s not fast. It’s not flashy.
It’s just timeless.
Or… it would’ve been—if it had been running.
Instead, we arrived to find no bell, no boat on this side, no ferryman.
Just a sandy shore, a weathered wooden bell stand, and still water reflecting the first blush of spring.
Across the river, the ferry sat quietly moored—patient, unmoved, and very much not coming.
It felt like we’d stumbled upon the River Styx, minus the drama, but with all the symbolism. And sadly, we had no coin to pay Charon anyway. Even if he had shown up.
In reality, the Haersterveer operates only from May 1 to October 1, from 10am to 7pm daily, run entirely by local volunteers. Out of season, your only option is a very mortal reroute via junctions 67 and/or 47 to 69 in Haerst.
Next time, I’ll arrive in season.
And make sure I have coin.
Hard to beat a roof that grows nearby and lasts 30 years
Giethoorn and Surrounding Villages
After lunch, we wound through the quieter edges of Giethoorn, spotting homes for sale and imagining what it must be like to live there full-time under a daily tide of tourists. It’s beautiful, no question, but you’d need patience and blackout curtains.
Henry Willig’s
