In the center of Renesse, standing alone in a vast square, is St. James’s Church. Every other building in town forms a broad ring around it. The church is the anchor—at least in architectural terms.

That ring is split into two halves: On one side: tourist trinkets—straw hats, seashell decorations, colorful beach mats, and wooden signs with jokes about beer. On the other side: residential houses, their inhabitants likely keeping a watchful eye on the commotion across the way. Beyond them stretches an endless sprawl of holiday parks, campsites, and weekend cottages, scattered across the landscape. The beach lies just outside the town—wide, sandy, and popular when the weather cooperates.

Renesse is said to come alive at night: bars, clubs, long nights, party-hungry vacationers. I was here on a quiet afternoon—it’s hard to imagine. Perhaps Renesse is simply a town with two faces: calm by day, a magnet for revelers by night.