Valerie Poore's Blog, page 11

Mastery takes many forms

Last Friday, I had the pride and pleasure (and probably a touch of positive prejudice too) of seeing my daughter graduate with her Research Master's in historical linguistics at Leiden University, the oldest seat of learning in the Netherlands.
This degree has been achieved despite the very difficult circumstances imposed on her by the pandemic as well as some intense personal challenges, so I was clapping fit to burst when she received her official certficate.
I found the ceremony itself the most interesting and enjoyable of any academic award occasions I've experienced. Firstly, the building was really such a lovely setting. Leiden university exudes that aura of ancient and hallowed academia. I imagine it's similar to the atmosphere at Cambridge or Oxford universities. I could almost smell the parchment as I sat on the old pews in the gorgeously panelled room. Wonderful.
Daughter's pitch on the fascinating
subject of old English syntax
Secondly, each recipient (there were about ten of them) had to give a one-minute speech about their research topic, an ideal length because it forced them to be concise and invited them to be engaging, a bit like giving an elevator pitch. I enjoyed all of them; they were so varied and much more exciting than I could have imagined. There were even some topics that made me wish I could go back to university and study, for instance, inter-language code switching among bi-lingual people. I have spent a few years now being a sounding board for Jo's research on a particular area of historical syntax, but now I learned of even more subjects to intrigue me. 
Anyway, after each speech, their supervisors (if present) said suitably complimentary things about them and then each new Master's graduate was handed their diploma and a single rose. Those whose supervisors weren't there had accolades heaped on them in the form of a letter instead. It was all very moving.
Happy with her Master's and her rose
After receiving their degrees, the next ritual was for the new graduates to sign their names on the 'wall of fame'. In fact, the wall is an entire room on one of the upper floors of the building and represents a tradition of long and noble practice. Every centimetre of each wall is covered in tiny autographs, some of which are protected due to the status of the scribe; Winston Churchill is one of them, along with the signatures of a number of the 'Oranje' family (the current royals). I should add that Churchill didn't study at Leiden but he was awarded an honorary Doctorate of Law in 1946. This link to the university's website explains more. I believe Koos’s son’s name is also there somewhere too, probably quite far up given his lofty two-metre height.
Waiting outside the room
My daughter making her mark
I snapped away as Jo signed her name, and we tried to zoom in on it....well, we know it's there, even if it's barely distinguishable from all the other scribbles. They're only allowed to write in pencil, so the pencil in the photo marks the spot
Hard to see, but her signature is there
A happy girl
Looking down into the courtyard
Celebrating with coffee
After a celebratory cup of coffee in one of the campus's wonderfully comfortable coffee bars, we took a walk through Leiden, past its historic harbour.
However, Leiden deserves its own blog post, so I'll keep the rest for next time. I have photos of graceful old boats and also the fascinating timmerwerf  (carpentry yard), which we were lured into on route. For now, suffice to say, I was a happy mum to have seen my girl achieve what she's worked so hard for, and I'll leave you with this typically Dutch bridge and windmill.
And then a walk through beautiful Leiden
 Have a good week, allemaal and watch this space for a return to boats and barges in my next post.

When research is a togetherness thing

The last few days have been fascinating. I've been doing some research for my work-in-progress, which is a sequel to The Skipper's Child, the novel I wrote about twelve years ago. My young hero, Arie, is now 16 and has joined his father, Hendrik, as the co-skipper of their barge, Rival. 

The new adventure takes them to Germany and to the East German border, so I've been trying to find out how things were at that time, and Koos, with his skills in reading German, has been helping me. I have to admit I might have to change my plot a little given what I've now found out, but this website has provided a heap of information for me on what happened at the iron curtain border. It was pretty difficult for anyone to get through it, not least Germans, but as often happens, I've got hooked on the research itself. What Arie and the Kornets will do, I now have no idea, and my story has yet to sort itself out! But it's giving me loads of new ideas.

If you look at the site, you'll see that on the GDR side, there were look-out posts on the bridges (crows' nests) and a barrier that slid across the canal when transit stopped for the day. The translation for the site is pretty decent, so let Google do it for you if you don't speak German, like me (I've had Koos to help me). Seeing the old photos gave me quite a chilling feeling, so it was a bit of light relief when we started looking for the customs post on the West German side.

Apparently, so the site says, German skippers could leave personal possessions there before entering the east if they were prohibited items. They could then pick them up again on the way out. A nice, human touch, I think. Anyway, in 1966, the year of my story, the West German checkpoint was the white building shown below, some 2.6 kilometres from the border.  Today, it is a Greek restaurant, somewhat extended and with good mooring space in front of it. The sepia photo is quite evocative, isn't it? The screenshot from Google maps beneath it with its colour changes the whole feeling the place conveys.

A photo from 1966 showing that what is now a Greek restaurant used to be
the West German checkpoint

Here it is as seen in satellite view in 2018, complete with the bridge

At some point after 1966, though, a new customs checkpoint was built. I'm guessing that was some time in the 70s and that the photo below, which we found on the same website, was taken in the 80s but it doesn't say so.
The old West German customs house 2.7 kms from the East German border. This photo has no
date, sadly, but I'm guessing it's from the 1980s
 It looks typically 70s to me: functional, flat-roofed and a little severe. Koos and I became intrigued by the building and started looking on satellite view for the images available. Germany makes it more difficult to find things as there's no street view due to their privacy rules (which I'm inclined to agree with), so it made us even more determined to keep looking. However, where people have taken photos and geotagged them, it's possible to see what's there. 
This was the view from the southern bank in 2018. The customs house is just visible
behind the trees

In studying the image above, I saw signs that the old customs building was still there in April, 2018. By August, as is shown in the image below, it had gone, demolished for reasons unknown, which is a pity, but I'm glad the original checkpoint building is still in use and thriving.
The satellite image from August 2018, showing just the outline of the old customs house.
So you can see we've been a bit side-tracked. The original checkpoint building will be the only one relevant to my 1966 story, but it's been an entertaining diversion to find out where the later one stood and when it disappeared. We're now talking about making making a road trip to go and see the border crossing. This is why I love research; it takes me to new and undiscovered places. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find the key to unlock my plot there. 
Have a good week allemaal. I hope life treats you well wherever you are.

Woodn't it be nice?

In the past weeks, since we've been home from our travels, I've been much occupied with wood in various shapes and forms. It started with the old blanket chest we've used as a coffee table for some years. I bought it about twelve years ago, always planning to strip it and either oil or polish it depending on what it looked like. But, as usual, life got in the way and I never got round to it – until a few weeks back, that is. 
After returning from the shipyard, I was looking for projects to keep up my momentum and decided on an impulse to clear out the chest (or kist as we call it here) and get going. It took a bit of work involving paint stripper, a scraper and lots of sanding, but Koos and I are pretty pleased with the result. The wood is oak, so it has quite a fine, dense grain, which made stripping it of all the old dark varnish quite time-consuming. We haven't got all of it out, but we don't mind as it gives the wood a bit of character. Anyway, it's so much classier than it used to be.

Then, I saw another old pine kist advertised locally for €20, which I felt we simply had to have. It's a traditional Dutch Zeeland design and ideal for storing my spare duvets and blankets. I wish I'd taken a 'before' photo because it was painted a hideous red-brown colour with fake grain over the top. 
I remember 'paint, grain and varnish' being a popular technique when I was a child and I think this chest was the result of someone's amateur attempt at it. Unfortunately, it's been even more challenging to strip than the other chest and has taken considerably more paint stripper, as well as a sturdy belt sander (which sadly died from its efforts). The photo below is how it looks so far. There's still some work to do on the moulded edges and lots more sanding, but I'm looking forward to finishing it with wax polish. It weighs a ton (well, maybe 60kgs), so getting it into place upstairs at the crumbly cottage is going to be another challenge. Wish us luck with that one. Woodn't it be nice if it turned out to be easy?

Another woody job I've embarked on is the stripping and refurbishing of the teak doors to my entrance hatch on Vereeniging. I'm ashamed to say I've neglected to maintain them properly over the last few years, so despite some interim cosmetic revarnishing, the weathering has left patches where the varnish has peeled off over time and the wood has become grey and stained. Last Friday, I spent the day scraping and sanding. 
As you can see, the grey patches still mar the wood, so I'll need to treat them with a fluid we call ontweringswater here. I have no idea what this is called in English as the translation says it's decontamination water, but I'm sure that's not right. What it does is reverse the effects of weathering and the grey returns to the wood's original colour. Maybe one of my readers here knows what the correct name is?






Anyway, these photos show what I've managed to do so far. I'm hoping to finish in the coming week and get some protective varnish on before the cold weather comes. It's been incredibly mild this October, so I'm counting my blessings that I'm still able to do this kind of outdoor work. Woodn't it be nice if I could keep going all winter?
Lastly, and on another subject entirely but which sort of falls into the category of 'wouldn't it be nice?', we've been cat sitting this week. My daughter has been away and we had the great pleasure of taking care of her two purry friends. The adorable little black and white cat, Mini, is (hopefully) recovering from what is normally a fatal disease, FIP, so it's been a joy to see her gaining strength day by day. However, there's no guarantee that the improvement is permanent, but wouldn't it be nice if it were? We're keeping everything firmly crossed and more.

Ready to pounce from the landing
Seeing sheep for the first time; her eyes were like
saucers

And this below is Sumo, an old lady who has stayed with us many times. She came with my daughter from South Africa and is a real street cat toughie, albeit it very sweet and loving. I should also say that her name is no accident. She's fifteen now and still has mad half hours around the house, bless her. Wouldn't it be nice if she were still like that in a few years to come? Sadly, she and Mini don't get on so the week was punctuated by occasional snarling matches when the two of them met in doorways or on the stairs. Luckily, no blood was drawn, but flick knives claws were constantly at the ready. In fact, it would be really nice if they were to call a truce and just be friends.

Actually, the cats went home today and the cottage seems very empty without them. I'm glad my other daughter's cat still comes visiting – sort of. He lives next door and considers my garden part of his territory, but he's quite nervous and has kept his distance more than usual since Sumo gave him his marching orders in no uncertain terms. Wouldn't it be nice if all our feline furries were friends too?

Well, enough of the woody word play...wishing you all a great week allemaal and I hope to have some more DIY progress to recount for you next week.

The greatest impressionist

It's close to the end of October now, and I'm still wallowing in recollections of our summer travels. In fact, they ended more than six weeks ago, but I'm not quite done with them yet, as you will see. Having written about the year's special places, people and peak experiences, this week I'm going to waffle on about the sights and sounds of our watery journey that made the greatest impression on me.
The title of this post does, of course, refer to nature. When we fare gently along Belgium's stately rivers and France's quiet waterways and canals, we are very open to the natural world around us. We have no wheelhouse to protect us from the elements, but at the same time, we are not shielded or distanced from them either. I love being out on deck, and even when Koos gives me the freedom to go inside out of the wind or rain, I never do – except to make our coffee and snacks. And so we can smell and feel so much, whether it is the ripe odours of manure wafting across our bows mingling with the scent of jasmine, or the bite and burn of wind and heat on our skin. And there are the glorious sights too.
It's almost a cliché to wax lyrical about reflections, I know, but I am time and again struck by the perfection of the mirrored view we see in the water. I regret, always, having to disturb it as we did when we broke up the lovely eye-shaped image made by this new bridge in Thuin when we passed under it.


Then, how magical is this row of trees reflected so perfectly in the calm waters of the Schelde on a cloudless September morning? No impressionist painter could give us greater, more vivid art than what we see every day on the water.

And there are the secret corners and hidden beauty of places boaters and tourists rarely stop. Below is the entrance to an old water mill and its surrounding buildings; a tiny self-contained hamlet of run-down cottages, barns and, central to the collection, the dilapidated but charming mill: its workings gone, its bridge broken but exuding a confidential peace that drew us in. The trees and undergrowth had encircled it, emphasising its magical secrecy. What we spend fortunes creating, nature does naturally, silently and with infinitely more grace.

Or the isolated locks we pass through but, with nowhere to stop, we can only look back in regret at the inviting scene. There are dozens of these, each with a lock house standing forlorn and empty; the sad victims of a bureacracy that won't allow the sale of houses without public road access. So, with no lock keepers to live in them, they are falling into disrepair. If only...
A lonely lock, its only visitor the VNF lock attendants who 
follow us to each lock and operate the gates for us: men in small
white vans who work on the waterways but don't live on them

And just off the waterways, there are other delights, especially for Koos. Train lines often run parallel to rivers and canals. In the photo above, Koos is in his personal heaven because not only does the railway run alongside the Sambre, but we found a wild mooring where, after a very short walk, we came to a level crossing. To cap the delight completely, a train obligingly came past just as we arrived at the track.

But back to our natural world again, another magical aspect of the waterways for me is the animal life. We occasionally see water rats or voles, but most of the animals we encounter either next to, or on the water, are cattle. I missed an opportunity to capture a couple of cows taking a cooling dip one day, but we saw many other beauteous beasts as we fared along.

Mostly, however, our wildlife is birdlife. This year, there were more herons than I have ever seen before – even after realising that some of them were the same birds, constantly taking off and flying ahead of us before landing on low lying branches and standing stock still (as they do) as if they'd been there for hours. When I realised, it made me laugh. I could even imagine they were deliberately teasing us. There were also more coots, those stroppy, feisty, territorial little birds that can terrorise geese and other waterfowl three times their size. I love them. One of my favourite pastimes is watching the banks and looking for the secret activities of the life amongst the reeds or beneath the spreading branches of the trees. There are nearly always coots busily bossing their families about in the shallows.

But while we're on the subject of nature's glories, I mustn't forget the skies. We had spectacular weather  while we were away and day after day of sizzling sunshine with barely a drop of rain. Nevertheless, the sky still put on a majestic show, time after time. Below are just some of the fabulous cloudscapes we were treated to.

But there were also hazy, streaky tranquil skies, which I loved as well. The one below was a special example. I took it on the day we left France, and it strikes me that it carries a hint of the melancholy I felt in its blue haze.

There were inevitably numerous other sights and sightings that left their imprint on my memory. I could never put them all in a blog, but my photos help to remind me and I can spend endless hours looking at them, picturing where we were, reliving the moment. Just one example is this snap I grabbed of a rowing boat with an upside down chair in it. We were on the Sambre where numerous fishermen take their ease and often fish from small boats, but clearly this one had a story behind it. Any ideas in the comments below, please :)

Or the station at Obourg, near which we'd tied up against an old quay wall and taken a walk just to see where it went. In a chance encounter, we met a local man who told us the station was home to a war memorial commemorating an unknown British soldier. The information board told us the hero had held off a German advance single-handedly by sniping at them from a rooftop, thereby allowing his fellow countrymen to escape. Sadly, he didn't make an escape himself and for me, seeing this tribute to an Englishman's courage in such an obscure and out of reach spot was a moving experience.

So that's it for my summer travel blogs. I hope you've enjoyed seeing where we went, who we met and what we enjoyed so much this last summer. It was a wonderful, if short, trip, and one I won't forget in a hurry. We achieved our dream to reach the aqueduct on the Canal de la Sambre à l'Oise, we spent time at our personal mecca, Tupigny, and we went through the historic boat lifts at La Louvière. That's a pretty good score of 'firsts' for a one-month trip away, isn't it?
Enjoy the coming week, allemaal, and I'll be back with more current doings next week.




 

A passage through history

As promised to Don and Cathy Jo, fellow boaters and bloggers, this post is about our trip through and down the historic barge lifts from Houdeng/La Louvière to Strépy Thieu (in Belgium), a distance of some seven kilometres from one end to the other along an old section of the original Canal du Centre. Over its length, there is an overall fall (or rise) of just over 62 metres (217 feet).
To give you some background, I've previously mentioned going up the huge 73-metre lift at Strépy Thieu, a phenomenal engineering feat we experienced on our journey to the Sambre. However, this great lift and its wider cutting replaced four smaller lifts (which I've also mentioned before) that were built between 1888 and 1917, and were designed by Edwin Clark, the engineer who was responsible for the Anderton Lift in the UK. Despite earlier wishes and attempts, we'd never managed to go through these historic lifts on the Hennie H, so when the opportunity arose on our way back to the Netherlands this summer, we simply had to take it. Well, you would, wouldn't you?
I was quite absurdly excited as we approached Ascenseur 1 (Lift 1). Even though we've often travelled to the canal here by car and walked much of its length, I'd never been to this first lift on the system. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't the smart waiting area and new pontoon that we tied up to while we received instructions from the pleasant lock-keeping team member.
Looking at the lift, I was puzzled by its simpler appearance than that of the other lifts on the canal. However, this one had to be repaired and revised some years ago after an accident in which a barge was crushed and stuck in the caisson (the tank that the barges sit in) when the lift started rising while the barge was still exiting. This accident happened in 2002 and during the repairs that began in 2005, a major restoration was performed, probably explaining its somewhat newer appearance.
Approaching Ascenseur/ Lift 1

Entering the caisson
Looking back up after we'd descended
Leaving lift 1
It was very special for us to be living this history on our own Hennie H. Lift 1 has a drop of just under 16 metres, which is deeper than any of the locks we'd been through. Even more impressive is the fact the mechanisms operating this and all the lifts are original. They work on a hydraulic counterbalancing system in that while one caisson rises, the other descends. What surprised us, though, was how they adjust the balance. If the descending caisson is not heavy enough to lower steadily, water is released from its rising partner. In addition, more water is poured into the descending caisson from the canal above. I have to say this was something of a shock as they didn't warn us, so to see two waterfalls suddenly gushing into our caisson from a dizzy height was not what we were expecting. Nevertheless, it was a simple and highly effective solution, because down we went at a much improved pace.
Increasing the weight of our caisson. This
was later, but the system was the same.
Because it was quite late in the day, we opted to stay the night on the canal and do the other three lifts the following morning. Our obliging lock-keeping team arranged to be ready for us at 10 a.m. and we found ourselves a pleasant spot to spend the night close to the bridge at Houdeng. Our descent of the lift had been in cloudy and slightly rainy weather, but it soon cleared up and we had a lovely evening of golden sunshine, helped by a bottle of plonk from the nearby Aldi supermarket!
The following morning, we set off in good time and headed towards Lift 2, which was around two kilometres further along the canal. What we hadn't taken into account when we booked our passage was the low swing bridge (also a historic monument) about halfway along where we had to wait for the dream team to reach us. They'd probably thought we'd only arrive there at 10 o'clock, so we caught them on the hop a bit.

The historic swing bridge at Houdeng Goegnies
Lifts 2 and 3 are very close together and both just under 17 metres deep. It was a beautiful morning and I loved being able to see the next lift as we descended Lift 2 in our green duckweed tank. The whole canal surface was covered in weed for long stretches, but it was very thin, so gave us no problems.

Descending lift 2


In the Lift 3 caisson
At the bottom of Lift 3
And on our way to cover the final few kilometres to Lift 4
The canal to the last lift at Thieu is also quite a stretch. I don't remember exactly how long it is but it must be over three kilometres. There's another pretty historic bridge, this time a lifting one, and our attendant looked on anxiously as we passed through it in case we caught our umbrella on the steel. All was well, though, and we were through for the final leg.

Our umbrella gave the attendant an anxious moment

Another highlight as we made our way towards Lift 4 was looking through the trees and spotting the great Strépy Thieu lift dominating the scenery as it does for miles around. It was a lovely moment of relativity to see it there from our own passage through its historic predecessors. 

The final lift in the stretch was a fitting end to the experience. The view from the caisson is quite breathtaking, looking out as it does over the wide basin at its foot and then further over the golden Wallonian hills on the other side of the new Canal du Centre. What many don't realise is that there is still a further six-metre lock to descend before reaching main waterway, meaning that we were still at quite a height. As a grand finale, the panoramic vista was hard to beat and I was so pleased we'd been able to take this time to 'do' these lifts.

The resident geese. They've been there for years.

From the old canal to the new. What a sight!
A stunning view across the basin to the hills beyond
Leaving Lift 4 and waiting to go down the final lock.

So, Don and Cathy Jo, I hope you (and everyone else) have enjoyed the trip. It was one of the highlights of our travels this year and we were fortunate to be blessed with both the weather and the time to do it. For anyone visiting, there are passenger boats that do tours of all the lifts, as well as two visitors' centres where information about the construction and mechanics of these hydraulic marvels is readily available. We've been to this old stretch of canal by road many times, but nothing can beat experiencing the living history of this waterway by faring through it ourselves.
Have a great weekend allemaal, and I hope the world is kind to you in the coming week.

To Helling and gone

This is something of an interim post between my blogs about our holiday. As those of you who are Facebook and Twitter friends already know, we have recently been to the slipway, or helling as we call it here, with my Vereeniging. It was inspection time again. Yes. That nerve-wracking moment when the surveyor comes with his hammer and starts bashing the bottom of the hull as hard as he can to find weak or thin spots. My blogging friends who have known me for many years, or those who've read my Watery Ways/Harbour Ways books will know how alarming this can be. The first inspection I had cost me more than just sleepless nights. It was a day I'll never forget. Since then, I've calculated Vereeniging has had four more inspections, none of which have brought such bad news, thank heavens, but it's always a tense time.

 

Luckily, this time, my lovely barge passed muster although the inspector had some advice for us regarding other things that need attention above the waterline, one of which was to attend to some play in the steering bearings, which will need some thought. Anyway, it was a relief to see that her bottom is a good thickness almost everywhere and above the minimum requirements in the one area where it is a little on the thin side. No need for further action at this stage, but something to keep an eye on. 
I must say he was very thorough and precise, which is reassuring, although I find it strange that over the years some of the numbers don't seem to make sense. I suppose it depends on precisely which spots they measure, as this can vary within quite a small area. Whatever the case, Vereeniging has been pronounced fit to fare, at least for another year. I believe that these days, the validity of the report is limited to one year. In the past, the only proviso was the date given for the next inspection.
Anyway, below is a kind of picture story of our trip to the helling (all of 6.5 kilometres), the work we did and our trip home again (a bit longer as we did a slight detour). Despite the patches of blue sky, we got throughly soaked going to the yard. Conversely, the return trip looked very threatening but remained dry the whole way. Needless to say, we loved every minute in both directions. The in-between days at the yard were, fortunately, beautiful and we had wall-to-wall sunshine for the painting. I've added a couple of brief videos as well to animate the story slightly. 
Leaving Oudenbosh
Out on the lovely Dintel river
A nearby factory on the water
There are large areas of lovely rural scenery, though
Heading towards another factory

Arriving at the yard, a lovely evening sun makes a lovely scene
8a.m. the next morning, ready to start.
Going up the helling


A short video of her ladyship rising 

A safe 'landing' and ready for spraying
One blessng: we didn't have to do the spraying ourselves
this year

The inspector's verdict. All good news!


Most of these numbers are the guesstimated length in metres. 
She's still 19.8, and thankfully hasn't grown!

After days of back-aching painting, one very shiny bottom
And again
A proud prow!
Time to go home: early Saturday morning, a misty start
but so still
The river was mirror smooth
The only ripples were made by Vereeniging

Almost home
Back on the Mark into Oudenbosch



And yesterday, basking in the sunshine


And lastly, a short video of our return trip forthe sound of the engine and the atmosphere :)
Thank you reading and watching, allemaal. If you have any questions about what the inspection or work involves, feel free to ask! The next post will be about the fabulous historic boat lifts in Belgium. 

 

It's not the places we go; it's the people we meet

Here we are again, two weeks already since my last post. I'll confess I'm struggling a little. It's not that I have a block or anything like that; I just seem to be so busy that writing even a weekly blog seems quite a mission when there are so many other priorities. 
Anyway, since I wrote about my favourite holiday moorings, we've had a week on the slipway with the Vereeniging, a labour of love and a lot of very hard work that has pretty much swept all those holiday feelings and experiences out of my consciousness. It's inevitable, but still a pity. I need to do a blog about that too, but for now I'll try and immerse myself in the summer glories once again.
I don't know whether I mentioned it before, but we set off on 15 August after we'd received a visit from one of my longest ever blogging friends, the lovely Fran whose blog Bonnie of Clyde some of you may remember. We've kept in touch over the years on both Facebook and Twitter; we also met once back in 2016, so it was a huge delight to have her and her husband Pete arrive in Sas van Gent the morning before we departed. What a treat it was to see them. They live in a fabulous converted barge on the Essex coast, but this time they were travelling Europe in their camper with their gorgeous spaniel. We had the best of chats and I'm so glad we were able to meet up before we left the harbour. Thank you, Fran. That was so special and I hope to return the compliment before long.
Fran, Koos and me
Pete and Koos, two of a kind when it comes to
wry humour
Just two days later, we met up with another special pair of friends, Jo and Peter from Australia. We'd already seen them in Sas van Gent before Koos had his stent operation, but we all felt we hadn't finished catching up. Imagine our delight, then, when they told us they were coming our way. We were at Kerkhove on the Schelde for the night and given the prospect of bad weather the next day, we were only too happy to sit it out in such great company. Many chats and much yummy food prepared by Jo in their amazing boat's kitchen added to this most enjoyable interlude. Thank you too, Jo and Peter. We'll remember the times shared with so much pleasure.
Koos and Peter before our departure (a photo you
might remember)
Another of Peter's lovely photos of our Hennie H
as we were leaving the marina
And as if these great encounters weren't enough, we had another one a day later in one of our favourite places, Antoing, just south of Tournai. Another two long-standing boating friends, Jude and Roger, also from Essex, gave us even more warm, fuzzy feelings when they drove all the way from Diksmuide to visit us. Jude and I did what we nearly always do...talked books, while Roger and Koos provided the nonsense factor. It was the most beautiful evening and I will cherish the memory of their company as well. We felt very blessed to have been able to spend time with such great friends during this first week of our holiday. Sadly, I don't have a photo of Jude and Roger this time, but the images in my mind won't fade; that's guaranteed. A visit to Essex is definitely on the cards as a return match. I'd love to add Australia to that wishlist too, but I think that might be overdoing the optimism factor.
We always enjoy our meetings with local people on our travels, but this time we didn't stop that much because of our haste to reach the Sambre. It was therefore a real pleasure when we reached Tupigny on the Canal de la Sambre à l'Oise to find ourselves in company with so many very nice folk. When we arrived, we were greeted with open friendliness by a French barge owner, who was justifiably proud of his huge Dutch Luxe Motor. He took great pleasure in telling us about the history of his boat and its unique historic engine, an Industrie two-cylinder motor with 40 horses per cylinder. Everything about the barge was large, and the owner's character matched it well. He was effusive in his pride of the magnificent vessel.
A magnificent Dutch Luxe Motor, so wide it only
just fitted into the locks

 When these good souls departed, we were joined by another, much smaller river cruiser with an intriguing Californian flag on it stern. We were initially puzzled, because the owners were audibly French, but all was revealed when a friendly face with an American accent popped up on the deck of the Hennie H and invited us for drinks that evening. Janis and Michel (she being American and he French, but they speak French at home) hosted a small gathering on the quayside that evening. We were joined by a French couple, Martine and Jean-Luc from another Dutch barge and together we sat, chatted and sipped wine until the sun went down and the midges arrived (a powerful incentive to end the socialising). I couldn't follow everything that was said, but it was such a delight to sit on the bank of a French canal and listen to these charming people conversing in the language I love. Michel, a former architect, was full of amusing anecdotes and there was much laughter along with the rosé and snacks.

The following morning, Janis and I exchanged books after discovering we'd both written memoirs. Hers is a fascinating and wonderful story of their family's sailing adventures. Here's a link to it. I devoured it and can recommend it very highly. We met them again a few days later at the halte nautique in Le Gard on our return from Vadencourt. For me, the click with Janis was confirmed and it was so good to spend time with them there too. We shared a table at the local, excellent restaurant, Le Lever du Jour (in case anyone's interested) and had drinks on the Hennie H that evening.
Leaving Le Gard and the lovely Janis and Michel

A couple of other memorable meetings also took place at Le Gard, where we spent two nights enjoying the mooring and the facilities. The first of these was just after we arrived. The gangway to the moorings had come off the grooves on which its wheels ran up and down and was in danger of slipping off the pontoon altogether. Koos and I decided to try and lift it back onto the runners, but before we had a chance to make the first shove, a young man who'd been cycling past leapt off his bike and rushed down to help us. He, being young, fit and strong, made short work of heaving the heavy gangway back in place, then dusted himself off, grinned broadly, chatted briefly and went back to his bike. We were both charmed and astonished at his willingness to run to the aid of two total strangers, and, in all honesty, we couldn't imagine the same courtesy being extended to us back home. These northern French were living up to their reputation for kindness and amiability. Even the lock assistants were unfailingly kind and helpful.
The following day, during my wanderings around the village, I came across a shop that seemed to sell the kind of slightly bohemian dresses I like. Seeing the door open, I succumbed to my curiosity and went in. This impulse became one of the highlights of the trip for me. The proprietor of the shop was friendliness itself, and in my halting French, (for which she completed my sentences, filled in the gaps and then told me I spoke her language well – bless her) I managed to talk to her about all manner of things. When I then mentioned how kind the people we'd met had been, she told me it was 'la mentalité du Nord'. I agreed and mentioned the film Bienvenue Chez Les Ch'tis from which I'd learned that northerners were known for their friendly attitude. She almost screamed with excitement and told me it was a hundred percent true; that she'd seen the film four times and that each time she'd cried because it touched her so much. I left the shop with gifts I'd bought for my daughters and a huge smile. If we're ever in Le Gard again, I'll definitely pop in to say hello. I don't know her name, but she made my day and more than confirmed the truth of the region's reputation.
Well, I think that's quite enough for now allemaal. I'll try not to leave the gap between posts so long next time as I've got plenty more to write about our holiday and also the Vereeniging's hellingbeurt. 
Have a good weekend and keep warm or cool, whichever is appropriate! I'll leave you with a few more of my favourite Schelde river scenes.

Reflections on our journey: Part 1 My favourite moorings of the trip

 During the four weeks that we've been away, internet access has been very difficult, so I have only been dipping in sporadically. As for blogging, it's been virtually impossible. I only had my iPad and Blogger does not work well with iOS, so my only post was a somewhat jumbled collection of photos. Now I'm finding it difficult to know where and how to start telling the story of our magical month-long trip.

Maybe I shouldn't even try; perhaps I should just confine myself to anecdotes or reflections on aspects that struck me most particularly.

What can I say that I haven't already said in previous blogs and books?

Well, perhaps I should sum things up in four ways: what were my favourite places on each of the main waterways we travelled? What impressions struck me most forcibly? What meetings gave me the greatest pleasure? And what were the best things we had with us to help us travel more comfortably?

I'll probably do four separate posts to cover them all, so I'll start with my favourite places this time because although we've done much of this trip before, we stopped at different moorings and explored different towns as well. We also went further along the Canal de la Sambre à l'Oise than we have done previously, mainly so we could reach the aqueducts that closed the canal from 2006 until 2021, so without further ado, here are my personal favourite places on the Schelde/Scheldt, which we followed upstream as far as Antoing, south of Tournai. We also returned along the same stretch, so we had the opportunity to spend the night at different moorings:

On our outgoing travels, we stopped first at the Kloron marina in Kerkhove, which was really pleasant, despite the somewhat overcast weather. The harbourmaster was welcoming, there were full services (shower, leccy and water) and a good supermarket nearby. But it was also in a lovely setting, a sort of lagoon-shaped short arm off the river. Of course, it was enhanced still more by the fact we met some very special friends there, but more on that next time. The second two photos here were taken by our friend, Peter. It's always so nice to see our Hennie H on the water from another perspective.

Our mooring was right at the end of the arm

To leave, we had to reverse to the wider basin and turn
On our way out
Also on the outgoing trip, we stopped in Antoing, an old favourite where the mooring has no services at all but it's close to the town, which I like very much, and it has a great view of the main waterway with its constant flow of barges heading north and south. I should also mention we stopped in Antoing going home as well for all the above reasons, and also because it has a bunker station where we could top up with fuel. A favourite mooring in Antoing

The handy bunker station at Antoing

On our return journey, we not only stopped at Antoing, but also in Tournai and Oudenaarde, both of which were great for different reasons. The mooring at Tournai is very new, very secure and very hi-tech. We loved the first two features (clean, safe etc.), but the hi-tech part was a challenge. Long story short, it took us an hour to pay for €1's worth of electricity, which had to be achieved by scanning a QR code, registering on a website with name, address, telephone number etc. and then paying by bank transfer. It became even more complicated when the QR code of the electricity point next to our boat didn't work involving a phone call to their help desk. Luckily, we both read French and Koos speaks it very well, but I can't imagine how people cope if their French isn't good. While part of the site was in English (if requested), much of the important information was still in French. Madness for €1. Tournai was beautiful, though, and we enjoyed our day there, and the mooring, very much.

As for Oudenaarde, we know the town well, but had never been into the marina before, always opting to tie up against the quayside. The marina was a delight: an attractive setting, a lovely harbour master and all the services too. 

Tournai: A delightful city
The spanking new and secure mooring
Photo showing the protective 'wall' in the river
to prevent too much disturbance
Oudenaarde marina. A lovely tree-lined setting
And again.

There's not much more to say about our overnight moorings until we reached the Sambre. We spent a night on a quay wall in Mons, which offered us the most beautiful sunsets (I'd have to pinch some of Koos's photos for those) and another night at Marchienne-au-Pont in the outskirts of Charleroi, which we like very much but is not particularly photogenic. The real treats came when we reached the French border, so in short order, my favourite places to stay were Erquellines marina, Tupigny on the Canal de la Sambre à l'Oise and Vadencourt (likewise)where we saw the brand new aqueducts I've been so excited about. 

Erquellines doesn't look much from the photos, but it was so peaceful, so serene and so open. We loved it. Added to these qualities, it had an immaculate shower block and, to Koos's delight, the train trundled past every half hour (or maybe more), but it was the peace that struck both of us the most. We'd happily have stayed there much longer.

Erquellines marina: peace incarnate
Permanent moorings for these old classics

Tupigny was something of a Mecca for us. We've been wanting to take our boat there for a good ten years and missed the opportunity in 2018 owing to some incorrect information we were given. We first went there on a road trip and were smitten by the beauty of the setting of the village, nestling as it does in a deep valley. We saw the canal had an 'arrêt d'ammarrage' (mooring stop) with bollards and decided this was where we wanted to be one day. We finally made it this year and were so pleased to be able to spend two days in our dream spot, exploring the village. We also met some lovely fellow travellers, but again, more of that later.

The empty lock keeper's house by the Tupigny lock. Oh what I
could do with one of these! There are so many.
The arrêt d'ammarrage we have dreamed of so long
Looking along the towpath from the lock. The Hennie H is
just visible in the distance

Vadencourt was just five kilometres, three locks and three moving (turning and lifting) bridges further on from Tupigny. As our second Mecca, our main delight in mooring up on the arrêt d'ammarrage there was that we could see the restored aqueduct, which is more than impressive. I can scarcely believe it was a collapsed and overgrown mess just three years ago in 2019, but it was opened in 2021, so within two years, they have rebuilt and restored the entire system of aqueducts, locks and bridges that had been closed for so long. The village had a small épicerie, where we could buy baguettes and wine, so even better. A real highlight, it was!

Our arrêt d'ammarrage just before the aqueduct
The river from the aqueduct

The aqueduct from the river

Of course, there were other lovely stops, but in some places we only stayed an hour or two. We also spent a night on the old Canal du Centre in Belgium at La Louvière, but I'll do an entire post about that because the historic lifts we went down deserve more attention.

Next time, I'll write about the people we met and other special encounters, but I hope I've broken the blogging drought suitably with this post. Tomorrow, we are off to the shipyard with my Vereeniging. Time for an inspection again, so wish her luck! I haven't seen her for nearly five weeks now, so it will be a happy reunion in any event.

Have a good weekend allemaal!

A picture's worth a thousand words...well, a blog post at least

Last Wednesday, I abdicated my responsibilities, abandoned work and suggested to Koos that we should go for our first proper spuddle (short trip) of the year on the Hennie H. He didn't take much persuading; neither did my neighbourly offspring, who had a day off anyway.
The first trip out of the harbour is always cause for a sense of celebration and with the weather being utterly gorgeous, the festive mood was upon us. Never mind that I forgot the picnic sandwiches and the kettle, which got left behind in the car. We managed and so did offspring's dog, Luna, for whom it was the first time ever on a moving boat. Bless her, she did very well with nary a tremble in sight.
I'll let the photos tell the rest of the story, but suffice to say, we all thoroughly enjoyed it and are looking forward to more, and longer faring, in the coming months. It's time the Shoe stepped out again...it's been far too long.
Leaving the harbour
Dogged determination not to look at the camera
Sorry :)
A passing commercial...
that then decides to turn round mid-channel and reverse into 
a harbour
Another manoeuvring barge
The nearby crane depot (Mammoet for
those in the know)
Into an inner harbour which leads to a quiet tree-lined canal
They don't come small around these parts (same harbour)
At the end of the canal, a quiet spot for a coffee break
The Shoe takes her rest
Looking back the way we came
Hopefully happy families

After our coffee break, offspring and grandpup de-camped to walk home. It had taken us an hour and some to fare eight kilometres. Cutting off the triangle, it was a 5km walk home for her and Luna, easy for these intrepid hikers. As for Koos and I, it took us another hour and some to fare back again, and I'm pleased to say I steered for most of the way, so it was a good refresher for me too. 
When we arrived at our mooring, we agreed we were very happy we'd gone; the HH had flexed her faring fins and we'd had a perfect afternoon. Mind you, we've had lovely weather for several days now, but Wednesday was the highlight in my book.
Have a good week allemaal. I'll be back with something different next time.


 

A picture tells a thousand words...well, a blog post at least

Last Wednesday, I abdicated my responsibilities, abandoned work and suggested to Koos that we should go for our first proper spuddle (short trip) of the year on the Hennie H. He didn't take much persuading and neither did my offspring who had a day off anyway.
The first trip out of the harbour is always cause for a sense of celebration and with the weather being utterly gorgeous, the festive mood was upon us. Never mind that I forgot the picnic sandwiches and the kettle, which got left behind in the car. We managed and so did offspring's dog, Luna, for whom it was the first time ever on a moving boat. Bless her, she did very well with nary a tremble in sight.
I'll let the photos tell the rest of the story, but suffice to say, we all thoroughly enjoyed it and are looking forward to more, and longer faring, in the coming months. It's time the Shoe stepped out again...it's been far too long.
Leaving the harbour
Dogged determination not to look at the camera
Sorry :)
A passing commercial...
that then decides to turn round mid-channel and reverse into 
a harbour
Another manoeuvring barge
The nearby crane depot (Mammoet for
those in the know)
Into an inner harbour which leads to a quiet tree-lined canal
They don't come small around these parts (same harbour)
At the end of the canal, a quiet spot for a coffee break
The Shoe takes her rest
Looking back the way we came
Hopefully happy families

After our coffee break, offspring and grandpup de-camped to walk home. It had taken us an hour and some to fare eight kilometres. Cutting off the triangle, it was a 5km walk home for her and Luna, easy for these intrepid hikers. As for Koos and I, it took us another hour and some to fare back again, and I'm pleased to say I steered for most of the way, so it was a good refresher for me too. 
When we arrived at our mooring, we agreed we were very happy we'd gone; the HH had flexed her faring fins and we'd had a perfect afternoon. Mind you, we've had lovely weather for several days now, but Wednesday was the highlight in my book.
Have a good week allemaal. I'll be back with something different next time.