Gabi Kirellos takes us on a journey to an under-the-radar dutch tradition, that tourists don’t know about.

During the last weekend of March, I travelled to the largest tulip garden in the world, that is Keukenhof, in the Netherlands (located about 40 minutes southwest of Amsterdam).

I didn’t go particularly to see the beautiful and jaw-dropping view of the tulip fields, first, because by that time they wouldn’t have fully bloomed yet.

March isn’t the best time to head there if you want to witness the full spectacle of nature’s creation, and second, because I’ve already seen these same tulip fields in full bloom many years ago.

I do intend to go again for another reason that I will definitely tell you about in a later story, and it’s going to be worth it.

However, my recent visit was motivated by my intention to attend a very special event that transports you to 19th-century Holland.

It’s called the Holland Heritage Weekend, and here I am, putting this visit into words because I loved the experience so much that I didn’t want to leave.

So follow me on this fun and exceptional journey where I highlight some of the most memorable moments that I witnessed during this beautiful and one-of-a-kind experience.

A Traditional Welcome That Set the Tone for My Keukenhof Visit

When I first entered through the main entrance of Keukenhof, the main gate where all visitors arrive before stepping into the gardens.

I was immediately greeted by two young Dutch ladies dressed in traditional Volendammer costume, one of the most iconic regional outfits in the Netherlands.

Their attire featured richly layered dresses, embroidered fabrics, fur-trimmed shawls, and the classic lace headpieces that reflect 19th-century Dutch heritage.

With beautiful, genuine smiles, they welcomed me and guided me through what was happening that day, what I shouldn’t miss, and where I should head first. One of the kind girls even offered me a printed map to help me navigate through the gardens, the different pavilions, and all the main highlights spread across the park.

Wandering through the endless rows of tulips in Keukenhof, even though I had been here before, you simply can’t help but pause and take it all in due to the sheer beauty and precision of it all, colors stretching in every direction, perfectly arranged yet somehow still feeling natural, effortless, almost unreal.

I slowly made my way toward the iconic windmill of the park, officially known as the Keukenhof windmill, a historic polder mill built in 1892 and later moved here, where it now stands as one of the most photographed spots in the gardens.

It sits slightly toward the edge of the park, and if you climb it, you get a full panoramic view over both the gardens and the surrounding tulip fields, which honestly makes it one of the best viewpoints in the entire area.

Men in White, Orange Wheels, and Old Dutch Rhythm

But on my way there, I suddenly found myself stopping right in front of a group of seasoned Dutch men, the kind of presence that carries tradition and pride.

They were dressed entirely in traditional white outfits: clean white shirts, trousers, suspenders, red neckerchiefs, and straw hats, looking like they had stepped straight out of another century.

They were pulling a long wooden sled-like cart filled with bright orange cheese wheels, clearly representing the famous Dutch cheese culture, especially the kind you’d associate with markets like Edam or Alkmaar.

When I asked one of them what they were doing, he kindly explained to me that they were reenacting a traditional Dutch cheese market scene.

The Dutch Cheese

The way they moved, the way they carried and handled the cheese, even the structure of the wooden cart, it all reflected how cheese was historically transported and traded in the Netherlands.

Traditionally, cheese carriers would work in teams, using sleds or barrows to transport heavy wheels across market squares, presenting them to buyers, weighing them, and negotiating prices in a very ritualised and almost theatrical way.

And here, they were doing exactly that, recreating the same movements, the same rhythm, the same pride in the craft. It wasn’t just for show. It felt alive.

People had gathered around them, smiling, watching closely, taking photos, asking questions…you could feel the excitement in the air.

At one point, one of the men came closer and started showing me the details of the cheese wheel itself, the smooth wax coating, the stamped markings, the weight of it.

He explained how these cheeses are aged, how they’re identified, and what makes each one unique. Then, with a smile, he handed one to me.

It felt solid, dense, heavier than you expect. He did mention, though, that these ones were not for sale. They were part of the demonstration.

However, if you do want to try or buy Dutch cheese, there are several spots within and around the park, including souvenir shops and nearby vendors, where you can find authentic Dutch cheeses to take home. And honestly, after that moment, it’s hard not to want one.

And then, just as quickly as it had all come together, the men packed up and began making their way around the park, continuing their demonstration elsewhere. And that’s when I walked into what I can only describe as a vibrant, almost cinematic scene.

The Giant Clog Everyone Wanted In

Right around the windmill area, everything felt full of life: families gathered, friends laughing, people sitting, chatting, soaking in the sun, and taking it all in.

And right there, placed almost like a centerpiece, was a giant wooden clog, an oversized version of the traditional Dutch klomp. It usually represents a long-standing symbol of Dutch culture, historically worn by farmers and workers for protection and practicality.

But here, it had taken on a more playful role. People were climbing into it, sitting inside, laughing, posing, snapping photos. It had become this shared little moment of fun that everyone wanted to be part of.

Dutch Street Organ

Then, just at the base of the windmill, slightly to the right before the entrance, something else caught my attention, a beautifully detailed traditional Dutch street organ.

It stood there almost like a piece of art on wheels, richly decorated with hand-painted panels, carved figures, and intricate designs.

This type of organ, known in the Netherlands as a draaiorgel, is a mechanical musical instrument that plays music through a system of perforated books or rolls.

As the mechanism turns, it pushes air through pipes, creating that unmistakable, lively, almost nostalgic sound you often associate with old European streets.

Historically, these organs would move through towns and markets, bringing music to public spaces, turning ordinary streets into something festive.

Standing there, with the windmill behind me, the sound of the organ playing, people laughing, taking photos, children running around, it all came together in a way that felt incredibly simple, yet somehow unforgettable.

The Man by the Fire and a Tradition Shaped by Smoke

Also around the windmill, just a few steps in front of the entrance and slightly to the right of the klomp, there was a very attractive, tall Dutch blonde fella with thick, slightly wavy hair, sun-lightened, a bit messy in the best way, standing behind a set of large metal barrels turned into traditional smokers.

He was completely focused on the fire. At the base of the barrel, there was a small opening where he was feeding in wood chips and adjusting the embers, controlling the heat by hand rather than with any modern setup. Every now and then, he’d crouch slightly, check the burn, then stand back up and glance at the top, where the smoking process was happening.

Above the heat, rows of fish, long eels and fillets, were skewered and slowly cooking in the smoke. This is a traditional Dutch method of smoking eel (gerookte paling) and other fish, where the goal isn’t just to cook it, but to let it absorb that steady, low heat and dense smoke over time. The wood chips create a controlled smolder rather than a flame, and that’s what gives the fish its deep color and flavor.

This method goes back centuries in the Netherlands, especially in fishing communities where preserving fish was essential before refrigeration even existed.

Smoking allowed fishermen to extend the life of their catch while also enhancing its taste, turning something practical into something cultural. Places like Volendam, Urk, and the Zuiderzee region became known for it, and to this day, smoked eel is considered one of the country’s most traditional delicacies.

A Crown I didn’t expect to wear

After that, I moved away from the windmill and drifted back into the other parts of the garden until I reached one of the more open areas, where I saw a handful of graceful and seasoned Dutch women.

They were the kind who carry years of tradition with quiet confidence, dressed in traditional regional attire, long layered skirts, aprons, fitted bodices, lace collars, and classic headpieces, each detail reflecting styles that go back generations.

They were working with daffodils, bright yellow and freshly picked, carefully threading them together into garlands and crowns.

They were actively helping and teaching visitors who were interested, guiding them step by step to craft their own.

People gathered around the tables, trying it themselves, laughing, figuring it out as they went. It felt simple, but it carried meaning.

These kinds of floral crafts are tied to old spring traditions in the Netherlands, where flowers, especially early bloomers like daffodils, symbolize renewal, the end of winter, and the return of life. Making and wearing them was a way of marking that shift, something communal, something shared.

One of the ladies looked at me, smiled, and without hesitation placed a daffodil garland around my neck. Then she picked up another one and moved toward my head, insisting I needed the full look.

She told me I’d look like a king. I laughed and told her, “We don’t do kings.” However, she still placed it on my head anyway, adjusting it slightly like she had done this a hundred times before. We ended up laughing and snapping a few photos together.

When Men in Black Rolled Through Keukenhof on Wheels From Another Century

Suddenly, I saw a group of men in black coats and younger guys dressed in traditional Dutch-style outfits: flat caps, loose shirts, neckerchiefs, cycling on what looked like old-fashioned, oversized bicycles. Not your typical bikes. These were high-wheel bicycles, often referred to as “penny-farthings,” where the front wheel is much larger than the back.

They were passing through the gardens in a line, heading straight toward the windmill, and naturally, I, along with a good number of visitors, followed them, trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

Back in the late 19th century, before modern chain-driven bicycles were invented, this was actually how people rode. The large front wheel wasn’t just for looks. It allowed riders to cover more distance with each pedal rotation, making travel more efficient at the time. The Netherlands, being one of the most bicycle-oriented countries in the world, naturally embraces this part of its early cycling history, and during events like the Holland Heritage Weekend, these bikes are brought back to life as part of that story.

Around the windmill, with the sound of the traditional Dutch street organ playing in the background, they gathered and started circling the area on these vintage-style bicycles, putting on a proper show, where they revived the old Dutch traditions of historic cycling culture and early bicycle designs.

These bikes sit high, the balance is completely different, and getting on them alone is already a challenge. But they were riding them smoothly, turning, circling, controlling them like it was second nature. Of course, once they stopped, everyone wanted to try. So naturally, I did too.

Now here’s the problem…getting on that thing is not as easy as it looks. It’s high. Really high. And my height? Not exactly helping the situation. I tried, struggled a bit, laughed it off, but thankfully, I had Mr. black-coat himself step in to help me get positioned properly. Did I manage to ride it? Not a chance. Not even a second.

The Netherlands Sets the Standard for Culture, People, and Everyday Living

I can go on and on about the charming and iconic activities that take place during these special Holland Heritage Days at the magical Keukenhof, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Honestly, I strongly recommend that you plan your visit around these days, typically held over a dedicated weekend during the season, often around late March or early April each year (with dates varying slightly, so always worth checking ahead). It’s one of those rare events that genuinely transports you into 19th-century Holland and gives you a real, living glimpse of Dutch culture and heritage.

You will also love the people, and I mean that in a very real, very specific way. Whether during this event or just anywhere in the country, there’s something about the Dutch that stands out immediately. They are open, direct, and effortlessly kind in a way that feels genuine, not forced. They welcome you without overdoing it, help you without making a scene out of it, and somehow make you feel comfortable almost instantly.

Final Thoughts

There’s a quiet confidence in their culture. It shows in how they preserve their traditions without turning them into something artificial, how they take pride in the small details, and how they carry themselves: grounded, respectful, and real. And beyond that, there’s a warmth. A lightness. People smile, joke, engage, and you feel it everywhere, whether you’re asking for directions, joining a conversation, or just standing in the middle of a crowd watching something unfold.

There’s a reason the Netherlands consistently ranks among the happiest countries in the world, often placing at the top of the World Happiness Report. You don’t need to read the data to understand it. You feel it the moment you’re there.