Season’s End. Thursday 4th October - Nieuwport to Diksmuide

We were up at the crack of nine, bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to rock and roll.  We thought we’d be underway by ten.

That had been a good plan, but when we opened the curtains that sliver of golden sunshine that had seemed to cross our bed earlier may actually have been the glow of the streetlight above us peering in through a crack.   At first the silhouette of the sun was vaguely visible through the fog, but by our planned departure time visibility had reduced from “we can see a bit” to “we can’t see a thing”.

By almost lunchtime if we stood on one leg and squinted really carefully, we thought we could make out the other side of the lake, which we took to be a sign that we could get underway albeit with a certain degree of circumspection.  Finally “home” in Diksmuide in what by then was the crystal clear of the late afternoon, the morning fog seemed as far back in time as the rest our journeying this year.

A bit of a Captain Cook. Wednesday 3rd October - Nieuwport

For reasons that are are not easily explained given where we live at other times, we hold a bit of a soft spot for Flemish coast.   

Perhaps it’s something about the light that we like, the way colours always seem pastel soft, or the way it appears to continue endlessly without distinguishing feature, apart from markers created from time to time so that those walking along the beach can keep tabs on how far they’ve walked.

In warmer months its a hive of activity with countless apartments open to the sea, now though they are vacant, shuttered tight against the elements and that perv with his binocs.

Ready for Next Year. Tuesday 2nd October - Nieuwport

By mid afternoon, having rid the bilge of it’s navel lint and having made sufficient lists of things to do to keep us procrastinating for at least another year, it was time to once again poke our noses into the great outdoors.

By then the wind had settled to something less than a roar, and the sky to a lighter shade of pale.  We discovered that the town was also putting the finishing touches to it’s preparations for the coming bleak, stripping off summer’s tinsel, like us no doubt making lists for the coming year.    

Just two days ago there were gardens and floral mermaids and fish and a lighthouse with people strolling while licking ice-creams almost as an act of defiance against the coming season.   But two days ago was September.  Now the gardens are as bare as the streets are devoid of people, waiting once again for warmer times.  

Looks Like We're In for Nasty Weather. Monday 1st October - Nieuwport

It was blowing today, hard.   It was raining too and while these conditions may well have provided a myriad of photo opportunities for those a little more steadfast than ourselves, we were happy to listen alternatively to the buffeting outside and the little whir of our tiny electric heater doing its best to keep us snug and indoors.  We used almost seven kilowatts of electricity today, almost four times our usual and were comforted that the wind  turbines out there were spinning faster than usual to make up.

Yesterday as the last of the blue was being blown out of the sky we couldn’t help but notice a few things that perhaps we could point out to our Antipodean leaders.  Here, not only are wind turbines not considered uglier than coal fired power stations, they are often found on the very edge of villages, where they may not disappear exactly, but they don’t intrude other than as a reminder that electricity has to come from somewhere, and perhaps if one doesn’t want more of them, one should use less of it.

On the other hand, here, curiously perhaps, having a tangled mass of electrical and telecommunications cable hanging at first floor eye level is not considered to be a sign of prosperity and success.   Perhaps we should just get out more and forget about this stuff, but that’s not going to happen until at least the rain stops.

Down to the Sea in Our Ship. Sunday 30th September - Veurne to Nieuwport

Nieuwport is at the very heel of the Ganzenpoot, the Goose Foot, that part of the delta where half a dozen rivers and canals converge through a series of sluices and locks which keep them all above sea level where they meet the sea.  This is where the gates were flung open in a desperate attempt to keep the invaders at bay in the Great War, successfully allowing a bit of Belgium the size of a pocket handkerchief to avoid occupation.

In something of an historic understatement, this was said to be a politically necessary move for King Albert 1st, who remains in some prominence in effigy, sitting on his horse overseeing the comings and goings of the entire Ganzenpoot.  There are a number of other monuments to those times sprinkled in the vicinity to remind us of battles fought and prices paid.  It was a far less significant battle that commanded our attention today though.

We had a tiny weather window to cross this equally tiny patch of seawater before the already strong winds would turn to lashing gales.  Fortunately this coincided with the similarly sized time window in which the locks were operational.   If one imagines being a cork being blown across a bathtub in which a firehose is being used to fill it through the plug hole, one would have a fair idea of what our five minutes of discomfort felt like.  Sadly, a casual observer could not have been aware of the depth of experience called upon to oh-so-casually enter the lock and tie off without fuss, but we noted that King Albert, who’s seen it all before, did appear to avert his gaze until we were settled.

In every nook and Cranny. Saturday 29th September - Veurne

Newton’s Third Law states (more or less) that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Therefore it stands to reason that for every bright sunny day we’ve spent out and about and generally having a good time, the things we have neglected or just plain ignored, like cleaning the naval (not a misspelling) lint from the gloomiest corners of the boat’s nether regions, and the accumulated soot and grime in Mr Perkins’ bedroom leave us with a price to pay.

Thankfully that sort of work seems to be so much easier on a bright sunny day, and  today was that day.  So was yesterday as a matter of fact, and we are happy to report that all the hard to reach bits are now sparkling clean and shipshape, even places “where the sun don’t shine”.

The Alternative Lifestyle Conspiracy. Friday 28th September - Veurne

By day as the only residents in the port, we are surrounded by silence except for the sucking sounds of the barnacles treating themselves to the buffet that our worn out anti-fouling has become.  No other boat is on the move.

Each night though, the carpark behinds us fills with Camping Cars, or Motorhomes as we’d call them in another hemisphere.  If they could seethe, there would be a seething mass of them, but they can’t.   After dark at least they are quite possibly among the most inanimate things on the planet, and the more their numbers increase, the less seething they appear to do.

They just turn up around dusk in their droves, huddle in neat rows, and are mostly gone by the time we have seen fit to greet the day.  The curious thing is not that they are there, but that there is rarely a sign of intelligent life aboard or any life for that matter. Windows and doors remain firmly closed, nothing emerges from within except the barest hint of a winking bluish light that seeps out of the cracks of the blackout curtains, accompanied by vague sounds of murder or football or cheery game show audiences.

Perhaps they are not occupied at all, perhaps by day they are part of some sophisticated, remote controlled traffic calming system for motorways.