ORANGE WARNING - TUESDAY 23 JUNE - OLDENBURG to BRUGES

The marine notices said that the entire canal infrastructure between where we were and where we wanted to be would be closed till midday.   So we phoned to make sure and were assured that only the lock in Bruges was affected.

Therefore we timed our run so that we’d got to the first of Bruges’ lifting bridges, the lock would be open and we’d be moored in the shade of the port before the real heat of the day began.    When we reached the first bridge however, the lovely voice from the other end of the line suggested that as the lock was not going to working until five thirty, we might like to put ourselves on one of those kabob skewers and wait where we were, slowly revolving for the next five hours so we warmed evenly in the orange light of the heatwave warning.  So we sat, fruitlessly keeping watch for anything resembling a sign of life near the bridge control.

We did have some sympathy for the dozen or so commercial barge crews affected by this outage, even if we envied their air conditioned wheelhouses, although once things did get going, because of the unique shape of the lock, the waiting pleasure craft were allowed to go to the head of the queue and sneak into the otherwise unusable half.

This meant we arrived in Bruges, tired, hot, and somewhat relieved to be sitting in the shade even though the port was as devoid of movement as the air was.  Theres’ nothing can be done but settle down for a few more days of grinning stupidly and nodding in agreement every time someone says “You’re from Australia, you must be used to this”.

We really don’t have enough spare energy to argue.

OH POO! - MONDAY 22 JUNE - DIKSMUIDE to OLDENBURG

We had considered getting away early, but the heat of the day doesn’t tend to dissipate until long after sunset, and we were flagging a bit afater two days of gently pacing our activity while slowly being broiled, so it was closer to nine when one of us lifted the floor to stow away the last of the tools.

Anyone who has passed through farmland in Europe at certain times of the year will be familiar with the distinct olfactory sensation that relates to the spraying of winter’s excrement over summer’s crop planting, a process which is apparently so disgusting to the plants that they then race as fast as they can towards the sky in an effort to get away from the ground which they no doubt conclude is the source of the unpleasantness.

We’d had the occasional gentle waft overnight, not surprising given the proximity of our mooring to paddocks of freshly growing green things, but the moment that floor was lifted our sympathy for the plants increased enormously as we were hit with a solid wall of what could only be described as “pong”.

Having now reached some sort of pinnacle in our lives where imitating that Mongolian contortionist in a confined space that smelled like a, well let’s face it, a sewer, is less than appealing, we did the only sensible thing we could think of under the circumstances, and called for help.

It only took Super-Thijs a few seconds to discover that simple human error on our part was the culprit, to tighten the joint loosened by our error, and send us happily on our way to Oldenburg.  There we spent the evening with the heat tempered a little by a cool sea breeze, and our already ebullient moods enhanced by an after dinner visit from Dave and Ria.

YELLOW WARNING - SUNDAY 21 JUNE - DIKSMUIDE

One of us thinks it was the brilliant job he did packing last year under what were somewhat trying circumstances, the other thinks that it’s all the systems she’s put in place over the last seventeen years.

Whatever the case, oblivious to the heatwave warnings, by the end of the day the boat was ship-shape once again, with all the little optional repairs and modifications done to boot and we declared ourselves ready to rumble.

That was a little premature of course because we had been surviving on last year’s crackers and a jar of almost out of date jam, but we braced ourselves and walked into town in the evening cool, by then in the low thirties, to buy the minimum of provisions to get us through a couple of days.

Then there was nothing to do but to sit outside in the calm of the night feeling quite content with our lot and wondering where we might go tomorrow.

 

OUT WITH THE OLD, IN WITH THE NEW - SATURDAY 20 JUNE - DIKSMUIDE

Every year within hours of coming aboard, or days, depending on whether or not we’ve remembered to print the new photo before we arrive, we execute what in these times of computer jargon is called, a refresh of the four photographs in our little frame.  It lives on our galley counter and inexplicably is the only place on the planet deemed fit to provide a public showing of our offspring.

When the frame was new, we only hand one grandchild, a tiny little thing who became a man, and a small fluffy granddog who we loved (almost) as much.  Despite, almost two decades ago issuing a memo to our offspring and their spouses that they were to do nothing that would give rise to the birth of a child between May and September, our travels were interrupted on five further occasions so that we could be around for those happy events.

That frame is a constant reminder of how quickly life evolves, and now perhaps a reminder that we have aged just as much as the baby in the photo almost twenty years ago.    The old photos are removed and placed in a makeshift album, that more than anything else provides an astonishing measure of the time we have been fortunate enough to spend on our peripatetic adventures.

It’s more than a symbol of family on the other side of the world, (after all they are just one small video call away these days), it’s a reminder of where we are and of the adventures we’ve had and the people we’ve been privileged to meet along the way.   

Curiously the switching from old to new each year has become a subconscious ritual that forces a reflection on where we’ve been, a happily misty eyed revision of those old photographs, a wave of gratitude for all that we’ve experienced, and excitement for whatever is to come.

TRAINLAG - FRIDAY 19 JUNE -PRAGUE to DIKSMUIDE

Our decision to take the overnight train from Prague was a bit of a throwback to the days when we could buy a Eurail pass for a season, and sleep on a train as we moved across Europe saving a day’s travel and a night’s accomodation cost to boot.  

This time though, we didn’t have a two year old and her four year old sister to frighten off those who sought to share a compartment with us, so for about the same as our room cost for a week in Prague, we had paid the privacy supplement and settled in for the sixteen hour journey to Brussels with only each other for company.

We slept well enough we thought, lulled by the gentle rocking of the train, interrupted only by the fire alarm at four am, and a half hour delay while someone decided it wasn't an emergency. yet despite those thinks, our bodies are feeling their age and our brains are wondering if we really did sleep at all.  

Perhaps its something they put in the water.

Thankfully, back in Diksmuid, Thijs put our Joyeux into the water as well, and with a minimum of fuss we were able to at least make her suitable to move aboard albeit too late for any provisioning.

Which is why we came to be sitting on the Tea Room terrace in Diksmuide as the sun slowly sank in whatever sector it sinks in the Northern Hemisphere, watching in silence, trying to gather our thoughts, stationary for the first time in a month (but it felt like a lifetime), quietly planning our next move. 

We’re home.  

 

AND AWAY WE GO! - WEDNESDAY 20 MAY - DICKY BEACH to DUBAI

What a whirlwind week we’ve had.   

Having made our travel arrangements to travel through Dubai, exactly two days before the first missile was directed at its airport, to say we were unsure of how our travel arrangements would look would be an understatement.

With the ceasefire of hostilities in place, modified scheduling of flights out of Brisbane resumed barely two weeks ago, while the leader of the free world seemed to have no other agenda than to disrupt our plans.

Even while he threatened annihilation of an entire country (a step down from from “a civilisation” at least) last night, we started to believe we might a actually be flying, so hastily booked a hotel room and transfers at the other end, where we might make some plans as to what happens next.

The result of all that uncertainty piled on top of our missteps of last year, was that the ride to the airport felt quite different this time.  Not the wind-down after that last minute cleaning panic, not the “what have I left behind”, not “here we go again”, just a kind of contented relief, and of course gratitude for all the things that have aligned to allow us another year “on the road”.

HOW’S JO? - TUESDAY 19 MAY - DICKY BEACH via MT KOSCIUSZKO

For lots of reasons mostly to do with being a bit occupied with life, we’ve been a bit remiss in not bringing updates on the state of well-being of the other of us.  

Eight months ago, during our consultation prior to surgery, her orthopaedic surgeon stated that his objective was to receive a postcard from us twelve months from that date from somewhere in the world after we had returned to our usual peripatetic ways.   He warned that we could expect that it would realistically be 18 months until her recovery could be considered to be “complete”, and even now we have no reason to doubt that prognosis.

We have sent him the above as an interim measure.   To mark the sixth month anniversary of that fateful day, a photograph taken just below the Mt Kosciuszko lookout, about half a dozen kilometres below Australia’s highest peak.   We thought about completing the walk, but then thought that there’s no point in getting older if you don’t get wiser, so settled for the half distance six kilometre round trip.

From that one can deduce that the world is once again our oyster, although one which for a time at least, we may well be exploring at a pace that reflects the condition of our lower extremities.