Where are we? Saturday 13th August - Peruwelz to The Royal Peronnes Yacht Club

Playing with the big boys is all very well although in truth it would be better if on the long stretches we could keep up with them, but we can’t so we (mostly) don’t try.  This removes one kind of stress and adds a very different kind; that of not knowing exactly when are going to get to anywhere.   

Instead of travelling faster than we want to, just to keep up, we simply bob along enjoying our own company until of course we arrive at a lock to discover the ships have long gone and the lock is in exactly the opposite state of operation to the one we need it to be in.  In that case, as we did this morning, we must wait for as much as a few hours for sufficient traffic to come along to justify filling and re-emptying the lock or until the kindly lock keeper takes pity on us and operates the lock anyway.   “Justify” is an interesting word in this context because the volume of water in a two hundred by twenty by fifteen metre deep lock is significantly more than we use while having a short, sharp shower, or even hosing the garden for an hour or two, and it’s a bit difficult to see any "justification" for letting us through alone, although we are certainly glad they do.  

Thanks to the lack of vagary in the metric system if one were to idly multiply the depth by the width by the length of the lock, one would know exactly how many litres of water it contains, and presumably this volume could be expressed it in terms of how may times it would take to empty to fill Sydney Harbour.  Someone clever might even be able to calculate just how big the tap is that enables them to fill in a ten minutes or so, but it’s suffice to say;- “VERY”.

Even when water is not in short supply, it’s difficult not to feel a little special, if not quite embarrassed during those times when we are the sole occupant, but it’s also quite nice not to be staring at the back of a ship with a four metre diameter propeller intent on washing us over the wall!   

Dodging and Weaving Friday 12th August - Ladeuze to Peruwelz

 

We both really enjoyed today, it wasn’t just the scenery and the scale of the canal, but with four locks up and ten down in the space of a dozen kilometres it really did put us in mind of France and the decade of delightful cruising we have spent there. 

For the last ten days we’ve been dawdling our way through some delightful countryside and visiting memorable, if not always entirely engaging villages.  When we came to the end of it all this afternoo we found ourselves briefly in a mist of wistfulness, wondering whether we shouldn’t just turn around and go back the way we came.

For reasons that we can’t quite put our fingers on, but quite possibly not wanting to spoil the memory, decided to press on and re-explore a bit of old territory, and a little new, get out of the intimate little waterway and mix it with the big boys for a bit. 

At exactly the time we reached that conclusion, we also reached the intersection with the main canal, as indeed did three hundred tonnes of ship aimed right at the place we wanted to be. With a little nifty helm and throttle work we managed tuck in behind said monster without any drama, just in time to meet six hundred tonnes coming the other way.   That in itself might have been OK, had another (empty) twelve hundred tonner not appeared at precisely the same moment in our rear-view mirror (or would have if we had had one), and as empty monster ships do, travelling very much faster than a certain little blue boat.

Just about anything else one can think of travels faster than we do, so it wasn’t very long at all until they’d shot past leaving us to contemplate whether we still had time to change our minds.

A day of exploration. Thursday 11th August - Ladeuze

 

“Vertrouwen” is not a tiny ship.  She’s a twenty-five metre long slab of ancient steel in the shape of a former Dutch working barge, yet had Andrew not “reported in” a few days ago we may well have slipped quietly by without noticing her, hidden in plain sight.

 

But he had, and we didn’t, and as a result last night we had one of those happy catch-ups that have become a regular feature of our travels of late.  As usual we couldn’t possibly swap four years worth of news in one night so it was pretty clear that we’d have to stay another day so that we could pick up from where we left off this morning.

Andrew has taken a year or two to travel the distance we have covered in the past week, so he’s had more than enough time to learn a thing or two about the history of the surrounding area.  When he kindly offered to show us some of his favourite bits from the comfort of his air-conditioned car, we of course thought it would be rude to decline.  The entire region seems to have a reason to celebrate giants and witches in no particular order, and confusingly even giant witches. Festivals are held regularly in many of the villages to commemorate these and stranger goings-on in former times. We seem to have lost some detail in our translation  of the historical connection to all of this (and the absence of the museum in Ath didn't help), but there seems to be a quite romantic portrayal of a mix of historical and fictional persona. Curiously no real mention made of the terribly grizzly consequences for those who were accused of dabbling in those arts, possibly because those particular kinds of barbecues were no fun at all for the attendees.

So with more questions than answers in hand, we moseyed up hill and down dale, through villages and farmland, learning a little more as we went, of geomancy and giants, of energy lines and witchcraft  and owls and black cats, stopping only for shrimp croquettes and Belgiums finest potato chips, and possibly the occasional refreshing fizzy drink to nicely round off our time together.

Wednesday 10th August - Ath to Ladeuze

During the course of the last fifteen years we have watched the mode of transport of the itinerate lock keepers progress from bicycles, to motor scooters, to little cars with the back seats taken out (a tax-saving device in France) to what has become the ubiquitous “camionnette” or little white van.

When the two young men charged with taking us through the first four locks and half dozen bridges ran past us this morning on their way to the first lock, we wondered if the Waterways Authority had taken away their cars in a round of cost-cutting. By the time we arrived they were involved in some sort of push-up competition, but they must have been tiring because they were only using one hand.

They did this for the entire five kilometres of our journey with them, winding every bridge winch and lock gate with what could only be called “gusto” and then presumably ran back from whence they had come.  Sadly we didn’t find out the name of their Rugby team, but as of today, we’re fans.

The next team were equally as efficient, with every bridge ready and waiting for us to pass, and who cares about the cars lined up waiting while we did.  Physically the difference was astonishing too and one must wonder if part of the reason for that is that everything on their watch was automated. While describing a person’s physical attributes in terms of circumference is no longer socially acceptable, we can only conclude that some sort of wizardry was used to insert them into their little car to move between obstacles.

After an hour or two of watching all this running, winding and in the latter case pushing of buttons on the automatic locks, and in the face of what must surely be the last few hot days of summer, we decided we’d do what we do best: We’d find a nice shady spot and take the rest of the day off.

Tuesday is Ironing Tuesday 9th August - Ath

 

One of us was secretly a little sad because it’s so quiet here and she rather likes the sound of trains in the background, so she feels quite cheated, so we decided to stay another day to lounge around and perhaps to see what was going on in town.

The “House of the Giants” was worth a squizz according to everyone we’d spoken to, and although in a literal sense it’s open at the moment, it’s not open in the kind of way that will allow visitors until the year after next. The “Museum of Stone” seemed like a chance, but it’s a bit out of town and we’ve seen stones before.

The “National Ball Games Museum” looked interesting too, well it did to one of us, (The other has asserted that our televisions are not of the kind that best suited to those sorts of transmissions and therefore neither of us are particularly up to date on any score), however even if we had achieved Royal assent to visit it, opening hours are every third time an eclipse of the sun coincides with a Sunday, so that was out.

We knew the Graeco-Roman Museum had been open on Sunday because we’d spoken to him, and they have exhibits, including a 2,000 year old boat, which “speak for themselves” apparently.  Today when they spoke, it must have been: “we think we’ll have the day off”.

So we explored most of the central streets, concluded that the place is quieter than the Railway Station, and repaired to the boat to do a bit of afternoon train spotting.

And some Ironing.

Monday is Washing Day Monday 8th August - Ath

When weren’t enthralled when we found the stone wall with the mooring bollards separated from the Railway station by nothing more than a patterned concrete fence.  There were no other boats there which is always an ominous sign, and we wondered if there’d been a mistake on the chart.   We even checked the satellite view on our Maps to see if it was us who had it wrong.  

The grass and trees were neatly trimmed it must be said, and after a bit of investigation on foot we did find a notice board with a welcoming message from the Tourist Office explaining how we could get a key to unlock the boxes which had water and power.   With this knowledge one of our hearts began to flutter as she thought of the prospect of a day of washing, while the other, aware that we had not taken water since leaving Ghent breathed a little more easily so we popped into town in search of someone to pay.

We found an office at the address provided, and in the absence of any sign that we might be in the correct spot asked one of the two personable young folk behind the desk if indeed we were in the tourist office.

“No”, said the young man, “I am the Gallo Roman Museum”, then indicating towards his colleague he said “She...”(pausing for effect) “is the Tourist Office”.   We had a lovely chat to both the Museum and  the Tourist Office and a delightful walk home!

Meanwhile, today back at the station, with a boat load of fresh washing and ironing done, things are so tranquil that we’ve decided that another day to recover from the forty kilometres we’ve travelled this week might be a good thing.   The trains are so  super-silent it’s as though they tip-toe past each other with their fingers to their lips, giving each other a knowing glance and a nod in our direction which says “shh…they might be asleep over there”.   

Just what exactly are the wheels of trains made from in Belgium?  Memory foam?

Smile and Wave Boys! Sunday 7th August - Lessines to Ath

 

The canal between Lessines and Ath is narrow, winding, and delightful. It was a perfect place to spend a gentle Sunday morning ghosting through the farmlands and forests but it was also one of the most exhausting days we can remember. 

We ended our day with aching arms and faces from the constant waving and smiling at the throngs that lined the banks.  The fishermen (uncommonly friendly), the cyclists, the walkers, the picnickers and even the cows seemed to be inordinately happy, and why shouldn’t they be?  Even though the distance was a mere twelve kilometres today, the canal was at times not much more than a drain through the villages and at others could have been mistaken for a ditch as it bore us happily through little patches of farmland.

It was just one of those days when we reduced the speed a bit, and then a bit more until we were almost in reverse, as insurance against it ending sooner than it might.

Our journey had almost ended a few hundred metres after it had begun, at the first bridge, where quite some time after our lock/bridge keepers for the day had failed to arrive, we began to develop fleeting thoughts of defeat with perhaps even a drop of angst and even a dash of malice in the brew, albeit very much tempered with sympathy for asking them to come to work on such a beautiful Sunday when we supposed we could have chosen any other day of the week had we been more thoughtful.

They were probably just being considerate though, giving us time for coffee and cake while we waited.  When they did arrive they cheerfully advised they’d be with us all the way, and would definitely makes sure that there would be no further delays and we’d all be safely home in time for lunch. 

And we all were.