Clogs and cheese. That’s what I was searching for. And canals taken from a Van Gogh painting, all poetic and mysterious, leading the eye in a merry dance.

Consoling myself I visit three different cheese stores, demolishing their selection of free samples, then returning in a hat and demolishing some more- Stephen Bailey

Add some windmills, a field of tulips, a dash of orange, and in my head the Netherlands was one giant stereotype frozen in time. It all sounded so adorable, an irresistible cliché just a short plane ride away.

But did it still exist? Was it too ambitious to expect an authentic experience of the past in such a developed country? Or had those iconic images been replaced by red-light districts and more comfortable footwear? How much of the old Netherlands could a tourist find?

I start in The Hague, home of Queen Beatrix and a few ex-dictators on trial for war crimes. Sometimes I turn corners and stand before a stunning relic, but the Baroque architecture is lost in the city’s modernity, sandwiched between 21st-century commercialism and flashy new buildings.

Occasionally a piece of the city takes my breath away – the church spire that climbs unopposed, the statue carved five centuries ago.

But these are small remnants, hidden down alleys or underneath high-rise buildings, lost in a city that seems to lack an identity. The buildings illustrate crude chasing of fashion, each crying out to be noticed but seemingly past their sell-by date.

There is 1970s concrete, the bright whiteness of the 1990s, and symmetrical shapes built exclusively from coloured glass.

Nobody wears clogs, but the modern fashion appears equally uncomfortable. Girls wobble on bright heels with designer labels, and men struggle in their red or green shrunken jeans.

What was I expecting though? The Hague is part of the country’s modern heartbeat, the seat of the government that has maintained the Netherlands’ international prominence.

Would a politician wear clogs? Do they serve cheeseboards during War Crimes Tribunals? Perhaps not. If I am to find tradition I need to get away from the city.

Imagine going on holiday to Mozzarella? Or Feta? That just sounds weird. But a similar name stares at me from the map: Edam.

According to a local historian, Edam was the world’s most popular cheese between the 14th and 18th centuries. I’m expecting crude displays of wealth but Edam has a quaint, unassuming feel that takes me back in time. Two narrow canals pass through the centre of town, filled with lillypads, wooden boats and centuries-old houses that open directly onto the water.

I’m stood on a narrow footbridge, admiring the simplicity of its white and black paint, when the cheese comes charging past me. It’s the cheese-bearers, old men carrying thick wooden trays of cheese balls, swinging the produce through town.

From behind they look like astronauts crossed with boy scouts, sporting all-in-one white costumes finished with red neckerchiefs. The cheese has come to the market to be weighed and sampled. Others arrive with blue neckerchiefs, concocting a strange bargaining ritual that starts and finishes in excessive clapping.

But when the ceremony ends I’m deflated. Rushing into the square with my cheese slice at the ready, I’m hoping to negotiate a sale, tapping my fingertips against the humongous balls to attract the attention of cheese-bearers.

But my tapping produces a hollow sound. This isn’t cheese – these are slabs of orange fakes; empty giant frisbees that are going in the canal if I don’t get answers.

“They used to inspect the cheese like this, but not since 1922,” I’m told. “Twenty-four years ago they brought the cheese market back for tourists.” Consoling myself I visit three different cheese stores, demolishing their selection of free samples, then returning in a hat and demolishing some more.

Perhaps I was too ambitious. A cheese market? When cheese can be bought on the internet?

Following the canals south I arrive at Volendam, another old town. Lining the harbour, black and white wooden houses give Volendam a distinctive feel. Resting in the water are two enlarged replicas of a Lego pirate ship.

But the place has gone tourist-crazy. Edam has a weekly summer market for tourists. Volendam is a theme park. Signs pop out into the streets, consuming the atmosphere with competition. Am I in the Netherlands?

One shop lets customers indulge in the ancient Dutch tradition of dipping your feet into a pool of crazy fish that nibble at the dead skin, with an inflated photo of New York and Venice as a backdrop. Every souvenir shop is packed with tacky ‘I heart Amsterdam’ souvenirs.

One last chance. I take a boat across the water to Marken, an island that was only connected to the mainland in 1949. It’s unhurried, and I follow the signpost: ‘Giant Wooden Shoe Factory’.

Clogs and cheese says the entrance, and while I’m resigned to the clog factory being a tourist gimmick, there is something fascinating about watching a block of wood morph into footwear.

I discover that “the point on the end of the clog was for fishermen to hook out their nets” and my new clog knowledge is strangelytherapeutic. The old Netherlands may not exist, but searching for it has been fun. I pose with my feet inside the metre-long clogs, with my arms around the massive fake cheese, and with my body beside the replica windmill.

Then I see it. One woman walking to the mailbox wearing clogs and a complex outfit with colourful trim. They’re clothes I’ve never seen before and I follow her to the old church where two more women wait inside in identical costumes. This isn’t fake.

“There are only 10 of us left,” chuckles one of the women. “We can’t stop dying!” The combined age of these women must be touching 300, but sat in the church, wooden ships hanging from the ceiling, a gloomy light failing to dampen their resplendence, I’ve found what I was searching for.

A hundred years ago Edam’s cheese market had a real purpose. Fifty years ago a visitor to Marken would struggle to see 10 people not dressed in these traditional outfits. But these three women show that tucked into a tiny corner of the Netherlands, a tourist is still able to get an authentic glimpse of the past.

Getting there

Fly to Amsterdam with Air Malta or Transavia or fly to Eindhoven with Ryanair.