TODAY IS MARKET DAY - SATURDAY 4 JULY -DORDRECHT

One of us had seen three market days come and go last year in Dordrecht, while the other had sat bewildered while he did, waiting patiently, immobile in the nest like some sort of oversized baby bird, for his return with whatever morsels he might decide might best lighten the air on board. 

If we could have avoided walking up the “ramp of terror” at the end of the pontoon, we might have, but there was no avoiding it and that, as it turns out, was for the best.   It seems that when one is not over-tired, in pain, with an immobile limb and the other not aching from hauling all those kilos backwards up a ramp on a wheelchair with flat tyres, trying as best he could to avoid the screwed-on anti slip steps doing their best to jar the occupant from her seat, that the ramp holds no fear at all.

Neither did the walk downtown.   Even the stop for a curious scratch around in the almost invisible depression that was the root cause of our disruption caused no pain. 

The market crowds seemed smaller than last year, the chips and kibbeling were just as good, just as fresh and just as delightfully greasy.   

Curiously, while one of us harbours fond memories of hobbling the half kilometre or so “home” in the mizzle in order to get the prizes back in some semblance of edible condition, the other remembers little, which may (or may not) explain the relish with which she devoured such dubiously unhealthy product at the time.  

BABYLON BY WATERBUS - FRIDAY 3 JULY -ROTTERDAM

Still in a somewhat confused state, we would describe it as “akin to Jetlag” if we didn’t think Mr Perkins would get a big head about it, when Chris and Annie told us they’d planned a day trip to Rotterdam on the waterbus, we leapt at the chance to accompany them, if for no other reason than it would postpone the confronting of our Dordrecht demons!

Expecting to see Rotterdam in a day is a bit like visiting Australia for a week and expecting to see the lot.   

Therefore we set out without any great expectations, and happened quite accidentally on the Port Museum where we were expertly guided over the  maritime history of what was once the world’s largest port, leaving it with sufficient gaps in our curiosity to ensure that we would have to return for a much longer stay at some future time.

As a result of a bit of wartime nastiness, there are more monuments to where other places once were than actual ancient monuments, which allows a certain freedom of planning and experimentation in land use not possible in cities bound by their history.  We walked for hours through seventy years of modern and post-modern building evolution, resting to watch urban surfers as we often did on the rocks at Kirra, ironically perhaps at the time the damaged city was having its labour pains.

We had quite a lot to think about on the ferry ride home, but to be fair we were all a bit too tired to care!

DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS - THURSDAY 2 JULY -WILLEMSTAD to DORDRECHT

We can’t be sure whether the tiny knot of apprehension was because we had a busy waterway to traverse, because we had developed just the teeniest distrust for Mr Perkins, because the forecast said “sensible people might consider staying one more day”, or whether it was just that we were returning to the scene of last year’s somewhat life-changing mishap.   

Whatever the case, we were both experiencing it.   The weather did promise improvement, but by the time that happened the tide and wind would be against us, so we called our friend Rob, the harbour master in Dordrecht just to make sure that if the conditions were terrible when we arrived, that help to berth would be at hand.

With his assurance and our magical electronic device to give us at least some warning of ships approaching beyond our visual range, we gave Mr P the final veto.

He confirmed with gusto that he was relishing the prospect of the day ahead. What could be better he seemed to be asking, than a day spent being overrun by ships travelling at twice our speed and appearing from nowhere as the squalls moved around us?

We made it of course, remarkably uneventfully, with those tummy-knots still in place even after safely securing ourselves on the second go, with the considerable assistance of Chris and Anne and a few other onlookers.

Surprisingly, it may take a day or two for the reality of us being here to sink in.   We are back where we left off, just a few weeks shy of twelve months from when our travels were so rudely and unexpectedly interrupted.

WILL WE GO, OR WILL WE STAY - WEDNESDAY 1 JULY -THOLEN to WILLEMSTAD

We like Willemstad.  Who wouldn’t?

The wind was up a bit when we arrived, but mercifully had taken a short break at exactly the time we needed to navigate the narrow confines of the harbour, yet neither of us felt particularly relaxed even after we were safely secured.

We think we might be a little apprehensive about returning to the scene of the crime, or perhaps it’s just that we’ve been a bit discombobulated by the fact that we are so suddenly, almost accidentally here, weeks ahead of schedule.  

We can’t decide to stay one night or two.  Should we try to relax for another day, or just bite the bullet and face whatever unknown demons await as soon as we can?  Is the forecast really that bad, or are we just hoping it will force us to decide.

Whatever the case we’ll wait for tomorrow to make that decision, it’s another lovely day, and we have another lovely windmill to photograph!

HIDE AND SEEK - TUESDAY 30 JUNE -THOLEN

When last we were here, not quite a year ago one of us saw nothing of her surrounds, the other was perhaps slightly pre-occupied with things other than his immediate surroundings.

Strangely this time we were both a little shell-shocked.  Perhaps because we were weeks ahead of where we thought we might be, perhaps partly because we were really retracing that evacuation journey, the one that had promised almost no hope of us being here twelve months hence, yet here we were.   

During that last visit Ron was convinced that many years ago, they had moored beside a windmill, which, given the lack of any hint of the presence of one on the skyline, and the lack of inclination on the part of any on board to go exploring, seemed unlikely.

With nothing to do but settle into something of a cruising routine we struck out in search of that mythical beast.  At least in our limited experience, there are a few of these things in the Netherlands, and they are usually not particularly hidden from view, so it was almost a surprise to find the subject of the first windmill photo of the year almost hidden in a little copse on what was once the moat of the old fortified town.  It was fully kitted out with sails and we’d guess it’s probably a pump rather than a mill, but that level of investigation was beyond the scope of our day’s outing.

It could be that harbour works since Ron and Robin’s first visit have blocked access for boats, or it might be that twenty years of successive travel memories have merged into one glorious idyllic postcard and they didn’t really moor in front of it after all, but in the absence of any other mill, even though it’s not exactly as described, we’ll count this as mission accomplished.

OH…MR PERKINS! - MONDAY 29 JUNE -YERSEKE toTHOLEN

 

It’s been some time since Mr Perkins has done anything other than behave like the well mannered old dear we’d all love him to be.

Franky had given him the usual post winter fondling.  Even his  (Mr P’s not Franky’s) weeping orifices had dried to a socially acceptable level, although we can never be sure that will be a permanent state of social compliance or whether he’s just having us on for a bit. By and large he’s been giving us the impression of running like a Switch watch, or at least something like a Swiss watch would be if it was powered by ancient British diesel technology.

Just why he chose this glorious morning to remind us that he’s in charge, we’ll never know.

When the time came to leave, we turned the key on the (completely refurbished and rewired last year) dashboard, to hear nothing but a single loud click.

We tried again.   Click.

And again.  Click.

It seems that his starter motor is starting to feel its age.   In lieu of a defibrillator, a large screw driver shorted across it’s terminals had the necessary counselling effect and we were away once again bounding across the bay, running with the tide at about the speed a snail would bound if it could.

To Tholen this time, where only one of us has a memory of last year’s visit!

A DAY OF REST - SUNDAY 28 JUNE - YERSEKE

Yesterday, when we told the nice Harbour Master that we might move on to Tholen today, he warned us that everything there would be closed so there’s not really much point.  Then he confessed that nothing would be open in Yerseke either, (except for the church and perhaps a cafe or two) so we had a clear choice of moving to somewhere where we could do nothing, or simply doing nothing.

Common sense prevailed.

Exercise is often overrated, but after a long day lolling around inside a ten metre boat, the lack of it does begin to weigh on one’s conscience, so late in the afternoon we thought we’d take a turn around the town known as the “Oyster and Mussel Capital of the Netherlands”.

Had we not done so, we may not have known that Oyster farming was invented in China three thousand years ago, the Romans refined it or did whatever they did to it 400 years ago, but as with many of their good ideas, when they left town, the instructions were lost.  Sometime in the mid nineteenth century a French chap thought it might be a good idea and that prompted a fellow from this very town to give it a go as well, and that apparently was that; the beginning of a very long and presumably fruitful relationship between this town and the Mollusc family.

Everything was closed exactly as was promised of course, so we contented ourselves with not visiting the museum, nor sampling any of the wares of the many empty restaurants overhanging the ancient ponds.  The juxtaposition of fine dining and oyster farming seemed odd at first glance, but then we noticed that the farms, which are of necessity industrial in character and not exactly the sort of thing that would top one’s list of scenic attractions, in a certain light, with one’s head tilted in a particular direction, reflected one of the great fashion colours of today.

American Flag Oyster Farm Blue.