Filtered out along with the traffic and the noise, urban graffiti tends to speak only to those who are already naturally receptive to the medium.  But here in the rice fields of the Delta, there’s no traffic nor noise, and so passing by the only building on the only road through here, the messages daubed across its brick walls are impossible to ignore.

A few miles out of the last village and halfway up the valley side, a lone pub stands next to a bleak reservoir. Here, the line of street lights comes to an abrupt end, and the road continues snaking upwards and into the horizon without them.

In leisure terms, the premise of all the West Friesland Islands is a simple one: hire yourself a bike, ride along a cycle path, look at the birds, go home.