Valerie Poore's Blog, page 12

Dusting ourselves off

My apologies to all who thought I'd be posting about our first spuddle of the year this weekend. Alas, it was not to be. Much to our disappointment, the weather has done an about turn, a kaapse draai of note, and we've rapidly resorted to winter woollies and thick coats instead of the 'jerseys are enough' joy of the last couple of days. In fact, my daughter told me it was even snowing this morning where she lives. Snowing! 
Okay, it is still only March, and we all know this fickle month can decide to throw a weatherly tantrum at any moment. Mad as a March hare? I would suggest mad as March full stop. After all, that's what it is—a mad month. But I digress. The title of this blog is 'dusting ourselves off' for very good reason, and that is because in contrast to the rainy (snowy) chill of today, we had a visit from the Sahara during the week.
I think almost everyone in Europe has experienced this phenomenon, so I know it will be little surprise to local readers, but it really was quite a shock to wake up on Wednesday and find everything covered in fine yellow dust, pock-marked with small lumps of sand. It happened overnight when it also rained as well, so it was already sticky and hard to clean off before we'd even started. As I write, I still haven't managed to wash everything down, but Thursday was spent on the Vereeniging, which had turned a dull shade of brown. And then yesterday I attacked the Hennie H, whose pale shade of beige wasn't quite so unsightly. Luckily for me, the sun shone brightly upon my efforts, and I quite enjoyed playing Mrs Mop to our old ladies, although I fear there's another fine layer of dust on both barges today. Never mind. There are worse problems in life, and they both looked clean for a while.

The sun shone brightly on my efforts above and below

And for no other reason than I like sitting by the water and watching the commercial barges and ships pass by, here's one of a sea-going vessel heading towards Gent.

And this was the wash it made as it passed. It was actually more impressive than it looks in the photo but it made a nice swooshing sound as it sploshed onto the rocks near my feet.

 

The rot of ages

What a beautiful few days we've finally had in the flatlands (see photo below if you're not convinced of the flatness)

It was really quite glorious, so first things first, we took the opportunity to nip across the harbour and fill up with water. Bliss. We can now stop being quite so stingy with our ablutions and flushes. Actually, we've been using buckets from the canal for the loo for the last few weeks in order to save drinking water, such was our diminishing supply. I know. It's silly really as it's no real pain to fill up, but it takes a while and when it's cold and windy, we're not inspired, I must say.
Job done, I decided to go for a walk along the arm of the river to its junction with the Dintel and then back along the other side.  It really was quite lovely in the spring air. As usual, I forgot my camera and had to make do with my feeble phone. But never mind. When the light is good, even my meagre megapixels can't go too far wrong.
Here's the route I took.
I started where it says Vintage Brabant, walked north to the junction at Schans, crossed the bridge and walked back to the southern end and then north again to our mooring. The photos below are just a few snaps I took along the way.
Looking north at the junction. There's a small shipyard to
the right. The crane is a boat lift
Looking east to the Mark section of the river
The Dintel
The junction through the trees
Back along the Mark arm to the harbour
Mummy and baby Highland coos
And again. I've been watching baby coo grow and he's 
becoming a splendid little chap
The final stretch before Oudenbosch begins
Pretty, isn't it? Anyway, my walk over, it was time to get to work on a problem that's been plaguing me for years, yes, years. In fact, this is the problem that's behind the title of this post. It's hard to explain without showing you, and the photos I've taken have such bad light, it's almost impossible to see my rot of ages, but I'll have a go.

A couple of years back, some of you might remember I posted about the leak from my back window on the port side of the barge; a leak that had been going on for ages behind the woodwork, which resulted in my ripping the entire back wall off to expose the mess. Well, I managed to stop that one, only to have the same thing happen on the starboard side. I kept thinking I'd cured it and then it would start again. Unfortunately, what I didn't realise was that a real cure would be impossible without major reconstruction work. 

The problem stemmed from a faulty construction when the window frame was put in meaning that water could accumulate in a gulley I couldn't see below the window frame. Quietly, over the years, the gully rusted away with me being none the wiser. I have now exposed it all and it's a real mess, but at least I can see what the damage is even if I don't yet know how to fix it.

The picture below does perhaps show the gap and the hole that developed behind a steel strip that was only spot welded in place. This gap, made by progressive deterioration, is where the water has been coming in. Given that the strip was only spot welded, it's no surprise that it kept leaking. 

The next question is whether I can learn to weld. Or, should I use some mega-strong two-component epoxy to close it and then weld another strip over it? I do want to learn to weld, but I don't know if I can do so quickly enough to fix this before the rain starts getting in again. Decisions decisions. 

The rot of ages. See the gap and the hole underneath it
See also the steel strip on the left that has been cut.
The rot was hiding behind it.
A close-up of the gap and the hole.

So that's my news from the Vereeniging this week, allemaal. A fascinating life, isn't it? Rusting rivets rule. Anyway, I'll keep you posted on developments. I bet you can't wait now, can you? 😁

On a cold and frosty morning

Pretty as a picture: our neighbour's tugboat, Johanna, just to
give you something beautiful to look at
Here in the Dutch winter, it's one thing or the other. We either endure grey, wet weather with mild temperatures, or it's bright and sunny but bitterly cold. One thing that never goes away, though, is the wind. The flat landscape in this country provides no resistance to the gales that sweep across it and for those of us who live here, there is nowhere to shelter: no valley to nestle into, no hill to tuck behind and no ridge to protect us. The dykes are often lined with trees that are supposed to act as windbreaks, but they don't really help that much. So even now that it's beautifully bright with hard frosts overnight, the wind keeps blowing, and boy, is it icy!
Yesterday morning, I woke up on board wondering why my nose and cheeks felt so exceptionally cold. I always turn the oil stove off at night, but normally the residual warmth keeps the inside temperature from dropping too far, and I usually sleep happily until around 7.30 in the morning. However, when I crept out of bed to escape an attack of cramp in my feet, I discovered it was only 6 o'clock. 
I don't do early, especially not 6 o'clock early, but this time I knew the cramp was because I was freezing.
Now, I have a nifty digital device that gives me not only the time, but also the temperature and humidity on board. When I shuffled over to peer at it, my eyes widened in horror. No wonder I was so cold. The temperature in the boat was only 5c, and I'll swear there was an even lower windchill factor because an icy draught was whistling round my ankles. It finally dawned on me we must have had an unexpectedly cold night. 
Not quite ready to take a look at the outside world, I lit the stove and scurried back to bed, hoping it would warm up enough for me to make a cup of coffee and drink it in comfort. But it wasn't to be and in fact, it took more than two hours for it to reach 8 degrees. Hardly cosy and definitely what we would call room temperature.
By that time I'd given up and I got myself dressed before wrapping my hands around my mug of coffee in an attempt to get warm. When I did finally stick my head out of the hatch, the morning sun had melted most of the ice on deck and on the roof, but you can see from the photo below, there was still plenty left. 

What I should add is that the icy part of the deck is right over my bed and although I have thick insulation on the inside, it's still the coldest spot on board. Not much encouragement to stay under the covers, I can assure you.

All the same, it was a beautiful morning as the blue skies and early sunshine will testify. What is not visible, of course, is the wind, which soon had me ducking back inside to escape its knife-like cut.

On the upside, the previous afternoon had been lovely and I spent a few happy hours scrubbing the Vereeniging clean and doing my best to de-green the nooks and crannies around the rubbing rail and edges. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get rid of all of it, but next time, I'll attack it with some vinegar and that should do the trick. Still, she's looking better on the whole and I enjoyed giving her a good wash down. It's one of the few cleaning jobs I find therapeutic rather than a tedious chore.



 Today, it's been bright, sunny and even colder in the wind. I'm back at the crumbly cottage where Koos and I had planned to start scraping down window frames ready for re-painting, but the frigid air put paid to our good intentions and we did other jobs instead. The garden fence, being in the full sun, got sanded and oiled instead. 

Ah well, it's only March and I still have no spring flowers in the garden yet, although I did see my first bumble bee—a good sign that warmer days will come.

Have a good week allemaal. 

High Water fun and games

It's hard not to feel that what happens in our lives right now is insignificant when compared to what's going on in Ukraine. Indeed, our own ups and downs seem very minor and hardly worth a mention, but even so, the last week has been one of 'firsts'.
For instance it's the first time ever the Netherlands (and probably all Europe) has experienced three severe storms in succession. Added to that, it's the first time I can remember that even when the storms passed, we've still had gales and heavy rain showers for the rest of the week.
Another first is that apparently the river on which the Vereeniging is now moored has never overflowed the bank before, an event that had us in a state of alarm on Monday while storm three was raging. 
The photo below was sent to Koos by a kind neighbour who lives in the flats opposite the mooring. We'd only been at the crumbly cottage for a day, having sat out storms Dudley and Eunice on the barge, but to be honest, we weren't expecting Franklin. When we left my lovely barge, all was well apart from the loss of my steering wheel cover (which has since been retrieved from the water). By Sunday evening, though, the wind was howling again and Franklin had arrived. 
However, he had a sting in his tail, and brought torrential rain and hail in his wake, the result being the river rose and overflowed for the first time anyone can remember. The consequence of such an unexpected overstrooming as the Dutch call it, was that the ropes were too tight and the Vereeniging was listing. There was also a risk of damage to the hull because the fenders were no longer protecting her from the concrete sides of the quay. Lastly, we were both worried that if it rose any higher, there was a chance she might tip too far over, allowing water to enter our wastewater outlet pipe

The photo taken from our neighbour's balcony. 

The photo above was the one the neighbour took. As you can see, the path along which we normally walk was under water, but the interesting angle at which the Vereeniging was lying was not so apparent then. It's a pity I didn't take a photo when we arrived but it was getting dark and we had other priorities. 

Fortunately, the water hadn’t risen too high above the quayside, and we could paddle to the barge. Anyway, we released the ropes and she righted herself with a sigh of relief. A neighbour helped us out with old car tires to protect the hull (they fill with water so they sink below the surface, rather than float, which is what the fenders do), and we weighted another large fender to keep us from the wall. Our electricity cable had also got submerged. Of course, we had no power and by this time, it was completely dark.

But, as always, we have torches. I also have a good supply of LED lights and with the oil stove, we could cook, but the main problem was water. No power, no pump! Fortunately, we had a bottle of water in the car, so could at least make coffee. And the next day, I bought more from the local supermarket. Climbing on and off the boat was more of a task, though. I must say I’m glad we both still have our hips and knees and could haul ourselves up and down the extra height! Even so, the following day we put a step in place to make it easier, which we've now left in place – after all, we're not so young that we don't enjoy a bit of help.

As for the high water, it lasted the whole of the next day before it started to drop. By the time we left last Saturday, we were completely back to normal although it continued to blow hard and rain for most of the week. To our relief, we had the power back again on Tuesday afternoon, thanks to the harbour master’s timely arrival. The poor man doesn’t have good knees so negotiating the bank was impossible for him. He didn't have Wellies either and he had to pick his way along the flooded path very carefully. 

For us, this has been a lesson. Despite the locks at each end of the river, the water level can’t be relied on. We have, you might say, taken note. Another thing we’ve been reminded of is that good neighbours are gold. I am so very grateful to them for their help, so Serge and Marcel, if you see this heel hartelijk bedankt!

Saturday morning and back to normal, but the tyres and fat fender remain
just in case!
Just a nice view from the town end of the harbour about 500 metres on 
from the Vereeniging
So that was our excitement for the week. As I said, it seems paltry in comparison to what is happening in eastern Europe now, but it was quite a challenge for us and we felt it wise to stay on board until the weather had stabilised completely. It is now bright, sunny and very cold, but at least it's not blowing a hoolie, as we say.
Have a good week, allemaal!

A foray into France

 I'm late posting again. I should have written this blog last week, but life and then interruptions in the form of Dudley and Eunice (storms of note) got in the way. The last few days have been spent anxiously tying things down and watching the stormy conditions from the Vereeniging's windows. Luckily, the worst we suffered personally was when we saw my handmade steering wheel cover, which I thought would be almost impossible to remove, lift off and take flight across the water. 

Others were not so fortunate, sadly. The cost in damage and life has been high and the news has been sobering. We have lost one of our own community to Eunice in a tragic accident, and our hearts go out to his family.

But before Eunice came to disrupt and destroy, Koos and I took a trip down to Chauny in the Aisne department of northern France last Sunday. The reason for our trip was to chase a dream, which proved to be just that, but we had a lovely day anyway, which justified the journey.

One of my hobbies is looking at houses for sale in places I love. I have apps for France, Portugal and South African property sites and whenever I feel glum about Dutch weather, I start browsing. It keeps my dreams of travel and moving alive and I can spend happy hours looking at houses, finding their locations and following Google street-view to see what the area is like. 

The week before last, I was immersed in the French app when I came across what looked at first to be an unprepossessing bungalow. What caught my attention, though, was the waterway in front of it. Where was that? I asked myself. So clicking on the image, I checked the details of the ad. It claimed the bungalow was near Chauny on the Canal de St Quentin. 

Immediately interested, I checked the rest of the details, which mentioned the bungalow had two bedrooms and a large garden. I showed Koos, who was instantly captivated by the idea, and he set about finding its location based on the photos shown of the bungalow's environs. He’s quite a wizard on Google Earth, so with the clues provided, it wasn’t too much of a challenge.

I should mention that we both love Chauny, we adore the canal and we particularly like the scenery in the area. This little house had all the hallmarks of 'the dream', added to which it was incredibly cheap. Well, Koos's sleuthing found it and we became even more excited as it was very close to the junction with the Canal de l'Oise à l'Aisne where there is not only a lock, but an aqueduct too. We’d stopped below the lock in 2017 and had fallen in love with the tranquillity of the area.

Long story shorter, we decided not to wait for the estate agents to respond (they never did), and last Sunday we made a day out of travelling down to see what the bungalow was really like. In reality, it was a disappointment, confirmed when a delightful old lady living in one of the other houses said it was no longer for sale; the owner had withdrawn it from the market.

Not to be denied our day out, though, we took our picnic lunch to the lock and then went for a walk along the aqueduct. The photos below tell a better story than I can of the magical scene. The Oise river over which the aqueduct is built was in flood and water inundated many of the fields along its route. To me, it looked as if this often happens as the houses were built on rises and there seemed to be plenty of room for the water to spread out.

The Canal de St Quentin (looking north)
with an flooded field to the right
The entrance to the lock is behind me

The Canal de St Quentin
looking south

The lock into the Canal de l'Oise à l'Aisne
Looking across the aqueduct to the river below
The aqueduct over the Oise river
Mistletoe in the trees against a dramatic sky
I liked the aqueduct, as you might have realised

Looking back to the lock from the top
Canals always call me. I just want to go!
As you might have noticed from my snaps, the weather deteriorated, but not enough to spoil our day. Still, it was getting cold and blustery, so we retreated to the car and took a drive to another bridge across the Oise/Aisne canal, by which time the weather improved again, which made for another nice canal photo or two.

What was interesting here was the sign showing this to be the area in which Robert Louis Stevenson made a journey along the Oise river with a friend as part of a longer trip starting in Antwerp. The river here is popular with canoeists who are encouraged to follow in Stephenson's...erm...paddle strokes? (well, they can't be footsteps, can they?). 

What I liked most is that the Oise also runs parallel to the Canal de la Sambre à l'Oise, and goes through some of our absolute favourite places. It's special to know that RLS loved it here too and must have seen or known of all these charming villages, like Tupigny and Vadencourt. He wrote a book about this particular journey, which I have and have read parts of but still need to finish. Koos also paddled along the Oise in this area with his sons many years ago although he didn't know of Stevenson's journey at the time.

Our last destination of the day had us circling back to a bridge we could see from the aqueduct, but before we reached it, we found another piece of interesting history. The photos below tell the story of why this particular section of bridge is mounted on blocks next to the Oise river.

In brief, and as I understand it, the real bridge over the Oise at Manicamp was destroyed at the end of May, 1940. As the information says, it was brand new but was never reconstructed during the war. Instead, this section of a 'floating road bridge' (designed by English engineer, Allan Beckett and used as temporary ports in Normandy) was installed so that locals could at least cross the river and use their normal route. However, as it was only put in place in 1947, the poor souls had to wait nearly seven years to regain access to the villages and towns on the other side.
Now replaced by a real bridge, the 'passerelle' as it was called was put to rest here as a historical war monument in 2016. I may have got some of the details wrong, and I've just tried to glean the main points from the boards without going into too much detail. But all you French experts out there, feel free to correct me! I'm just translating what I think it means.



So, a fascinating and highly enjoyable day was had by the two of us. We haven't been on such an excursion for ages and despite the distance (a round trip of 500kms which Koos nobly drove single-handed), it did us both a power of good. We might not have found our dream cottage, but with trips like these, we're quite happy to keep on seeking.
Enjoy your week, allemaal. Take care. It's stormy out again tonight, so keep out of harm's way!

Seeking out stories in Belgium

I'm a bit late with my blog again this week, for which I apologise. I'm finding it difficult to keep up with everything I want to do alongside my work and my own writing has been suffering as a result. I've got so many DIY jobs to sort out I'm having to keep a list. Yes, me. I never keep lists, but this one's on the fridge so I can't lose it. There are admin jobs to do as well, which I've been putting off, but won't be able to do so for much longer. Mr Taxman waits for no man, or in my case, woman.
But having said that, we did make a brief escape last weekend. For just one lovely day on Saturday, the sun shone for most of the day albeit with a biting cold wind. I think you can even see the clouds moving in my photo below. It was very chilly, but lovely to get out. We did a brief incursion across the border into Belgium where we found a lovely walk along an old railway line. These were the views we saw.

Once the wind got too cold, we escaped back into the car and went for a drive ending up in the border town of Assenede. I was about to say it's a village, but I'm not sure that would be correct. It's actually quite large and seems to go on forever, but right near the centre, we found this fascinating corner.

The photo above shows the sign marking what used to be an old harbour. There's nothing there now and the waterway has long gone, but Assenede used to have a small but busy port on a waterway called the Braakmanbaai. The sign below tells us that the harbour allowed flat-bottomed boats almost into the centre of Assenede where they could load and offload. However, it was already out of use in the 16th century due to silting. I think it's remarkable that the sign and information are still kept here. A nice piece of history that captured my imagination. Apparently there's a stream running through the middle of the old harbour channel, but we didn't see any sign of it.

Another interesting snippet from Assenede, and this time a more quirky one, is told by these two photos below. The odd sculpture of a man eating a stone derives from the story in the sign, which tells us that several centuries ago, the people of Assenede spent what was considered to be a wasteful amount of money on having their village street paved with stone. This expense came back to bite them when during a crisis (probably a famine) in the 19th century, the residents of the village were starving and had no money to buy food. The story goes that the people of the surrounding villages mocked the good folk of Assenede by saying they'd have to eat stones instead; hence the rather alarming looking sculpture. It seems a bit unfair on them really given that it was probably their forebears who committed the costly folly.

It's amazing what we find in these out of the way places, isn't it? Incidentally, just behind our stone-eating man is a bollen pitch, which is a kind of bowles. At the moment it's covered in a protective tarpaulin, but when the warmer weather comes, we'll be able to see the older folk of the village playing their traditional game here too.

This last photo is of the track that runs along the edge of the old harbour. It's private property, but I rather liked the collection of red brick buildings at the back there.

Altogether, it was a lovely uitje as the Dutch might call it, and it did us good to do something different for a change. Hopefully, there'll be more of these excursions in the weeks to come, weather permitting.

Enjoy the rest of your week allemaal, and I'll be back to catch up with you all soon.

 

More incursions into Brabant: seeking out its watery ways

I'm a week behind with posting about my activities, but no matter. Nothing of great note has occurred in the flatlands. We're still under partial lock and key; it's still grey and cold (mostly), so the lock and key stuff isn't quite so bad; and it's still winter, but that's no surprise to the rest of you northern dwellers.
What we have done, however, is a little more exploring of our new(ish) terrain, and so last weekend, we took ourselves to Roosendaal, a town some 10 kms from Oudenbosch by road, but quite a bit further by water. Given the extra distance and the biting cold, we took the easy option and went by car.
Koos had been investigating the harbour area in Roosendaal on Google Earth and I'd also seen that it was being renovated, but nothing quite prepared us for the extent of the refurbished marina area. 
Apparently, the local council (the gemeente in Dutch) wanted to attract small boats to the city, and there are now loads of moorings, and even some with electricity and water points. What we found strange, though, was that when we looked at the website explaining it all, it was clear they didn't want people staying overnight, which begs the question of why they offer electricity and water too.
Anyway, we realised soon enough that this was not a destination for the Vereeniging, but we enjoyed the outing and our wander around the harbour. There is a marina further back along the reach, so if we want to go to Roosendaal in the summer, we could certainly find a spot. And we probably will. 
Despite the gloomy weather, I took some photos (see below). The quays look a little bleak as much of the new paving is going green (like everything else at the moment), but there were plenty of people out and about, especially in the children's playground adjacent to the harbour. I think you could say it's an area under development, so I'll look forward to seeing if it attracts more boaters when the weather's warmer. For now, I particularly liked the yellow footbridge and quirky gargoyles mounted in the walls. 








These houses are new but inspired by traditional Dutch styles
I have a feeling there will be a lot more of them in the 
surrounding area soon.
Below are a few photos of the official marina. It's not particularly appealing because the surroundings are quite industrial, but I'll bet it looks better on a sunny day. We could certainly overnight here and enjoy a summer's evening in the city.




 To finish on a brighter scene, here's a photo I took today of the Vereeniging just after a bit of de-greening and cleaning. The sun was shining and she looked lovely ... but then she always does. At least I think so!

It's February this week, so spring is on its way (or autumn for my friends in southern climes). Something to look forward to anyway. Have a good week allemaal! 

Water over the land

Sound worrying? Fortunately, no, I don't mean flooding, although we have indeed had plenty of high water on the big rivers lately. In this case, I'm focusing on one of the aspects of living in this country that never ceases to intrigue me: the way the canals sit higher than the land around them; hence the water is always over or above it.
A few days ago, we had a rare afternoon of sunshine, so I donned my coat, hat and gloves, grabbed my camera and took off for a walk. My way took me along a local village dyke not far from the great Terneuzen to Gent sea canal and I was, as usual, on the lookout for ships on their way to or from the Gent docklands.
The thing is, because the canal is just that bit higher than the surrounding farmland and its protective dykes make it look even higher, the ships give the appearance of drifting across the fields. It's slightly surreal, especially when looking through gaps between the houses. There, in front of you is something akin to a a castle tower proceeding at a snail's pace across your vision. A very arresting sight, I can assure you.
I spotted the ship in the two photos below several times as I walked along the village dyke. 


But by the time I reached the end, another one (see photo below) had caught up and overtaken me. I should mention that this canal is extremely busy and the bridge leading to the small town of Sas van Gent, the Hennie H's home port, opens at least twice an hour, and often more, during daylight hours. It continues throughout the night as well, although the openings are probably fewer, but we'd guess forty times a day wouldn't be an exaggeration. And that's just for those vessels that can't pass under the bridge; there's a constant stream of barges ploughing their way to and fro.

Whatever the numbers, we're not short of shippy eye candy, especially when you think that each time the bridge opens, it's possible for several ships to pass through in procession. Road traffic often has to wait 20 minutes and sometimes up to half an hour for all the canal traffic to get through. The photos below were all taken while I was waiting.

Changing the subject now, this last photo is of a small house along the dyke, which has recently been put on the market. It's very cute, but it needs a lot of work, and I mean a lot. Curious to know what it was going for, we were shocked to discover the asking price is €145k. A couple of years ago, they'd have been lucky to make €85k and indeed, I think it was even sold as a renovation project for about that amount at the time.  It still has to be renovated, so is it worth it? I don't know, but given the way prices have shot up in the last two years, I am sure it will be snapped up. It will make someone a lovely cottage ... eventually!

 Have a good weekend allemaal

The Oudenbosch Basilica: St Peter's in the Netherlands

My second post of the year! It's is also a bit later than I intended, but hopefully I'll get back into the swing of things soon. In any event, the month hasn't had a very auspicious beginning. Apart from the leaks, which are not yet totally cured (a long story for later lamenting), it's been (yes, you've guessed already) largely wet, and cold and only fit for hibernating. Or maybe I'm not being totally fair.
On Sunday, one of Koos's sons came with his wife to visit us at the Vereeniging. As always, we enjoyed their company tremendously and did a walk around Oudenbosch to show them the new sights (or sites). For once the afternoon was sunny – for a while anyway.
Our first stop was the famous Basilica, which I think impressed us all. I'd been before, but this time, the pale sunlight was shining through the high windows and it all looked rather heavenly (sorry). For those who didn't read my previous post about this amazing church, it is heavily inspired by both St Peter's in Rome and the basilica of St John Lateran (which is also in Rome but outside the Vatican). 
The story goes that Oudenbosch's parish priest in the mid-19th century was one Pastor Willem Hellemons, who had studied in Rome. He'd spent his free time in the holy city walking through St Peter's and developed a great admiration for the church's architecture. His lodgings, however, were opposite the St John Lateran basilica, so when he returned to the Netherlands, his dream was to build a church that would honour both buildings as well as the Pope himself.
Enter the famous architect Pierre Cuypers (he of Amsterdam central station and the Rijksmuseum fame) and the Basilica was designed with the nave, dome and interior based on St Peter's while the facade was copied from St John Lateran's. Apparently, permission for this smaller St Peter's (in fact dedicated to Agatha of Sicily and Barbara of Nicomedia), was given by Pope Pius the 9th after the Dutch Papal Zouaves and other local Catholics went to Rome to defend the pope against Garibaldi's nationalist army in 1868. I'm not quite sure how this was possible, though, since construction had already started in 1865, so maybe it was more of a blessing than permission. 
In any event, the connection with Rome was confirmed, and Willem Hellemons' dream was realised. There is even a piece of the cloak worn by Pope John Paul II during the assassination attempt on his life in 1981 held as a relic in the Basilica. What is remarkable is its size. It is a massive church for such a small town and stands out as a somewhat incongruous but proud landmark. 
So there you have it: a bit of quirky Dutch history that is visible for literally miles around. I particularly like the saintly statues on the top of the facade. They look quite a crowd scene, don't they?
Oudenbosch basilica (photo: Wikiedia)
The photos of the interior below are, I admit, not the best. I took them with my phone, which has a fairly dreadful camera, especially when it comes to lower light levels. I hope they give you an idea of the rich decorations in the church.
Floor detail
The nave from front to back
Looking up to the dome
Nave ceiling
After leaving the Basilica, the weather changed and it became cloudy, windy and rather cold. Undaunted, and with our hands shoved in our pockets and our noses tucked into our scarves, we all walked across the main road to see if we could find the Chapel of Saint Louis, the Basilica's smaller scale mirror image and an even quirkier feature of Oudenbosch history. 
Koos's photo below is of the chapel, which is set in a courtyard surrounded by what used to be a famous boys' school. 
The baby sister: Chapel of Saint Louis inside
the former school courtyard

As you might already have guessed, our Pastor Willem Hellemons was the brain behind the school project and the mini basilica; the architects were different though. The setting is lovely, but unfortunately for us they are restoring the chapel, so it was closed and we couldn't see inside – a shame because I believe that too is beautifully decorated. The old school buildings are now rather elegant apartments.
If you'd like to read more about it, this website is in English. Oddly, it's all written in the present tense, but that's a Dutch convention and is often how the past is presented. Here too is a link to a book (in Dutch) about the school; it gives a few photos of the chapel's interior, which I found interesting; I hope you do too.
Lastly, I've pinched another picture from the Chapel's website, which shows clearly how similar it is to the Basilica. 


In other news we are at last having a few dry days this week, and this morning the sunrise was quite beautiful. We've also managed a few good walks, so my last few photos here are of strolls with my grandpup-next-door. I am blessed, aren't I? What with the Vereeniging in Oudenbosch and the crumbly cottage in Zeeland, life could be a lot worse despite our current restrictions and wintry conditions.





Have a good week, allemaal! Keep well, keep positive and keep smiling.

A new year but the usual walk

HAPPY NEW YEAR, allemaal! I hope you had a good Christmas and festive season. 
Here in the flatlands, all was generally quiet. We had a Christmas lunch with my girls on the Vereeniging followed by a walk around Oudenbosch looking for somewhere to let the dogs run. Unfortunately, we didn't succeed in that mission, so the search for good dog walks in the area will be resumed the next time the grandpups visit.
That said, 'daughter one' and I did a New Year's beach walk on the 31st and, as often in the past, we headed for the estuary where the mix of sand, pebbles and tidal scrubland is always appealing. Luckily, the weather dried up for our stroll although it remained mostly wet and windy here (and still is). There were very few others around, so other than the weather, it was perfect. Just a couple of dog owners, who like ourselves were escaping the bangs. We could listen to the wind, the keening of the gulls and the cries of the terns without interference. There was a brief episode with some quad bikers, who shouldn't have been there at all, but they didn't stay long.
However, my ambitions of a place in the sun are currently limited to poring over estate agents' images of homes in Portugal and Spain. I can but dream, can't I? The only bright skies I've seen recently have been those lit by fireworks. They were banned this year, but you'd never have thought so. Belgium and Germany (where most of the fireworks come from) are far too close for the ban to have had any chance of succeeding.
Anyway, to kick off the year, the photos below are of our walk at Paulinahaven on the Western Scheldt coast near Biervliet (see map).








 In other news, I'm up to my ears in 'project shower' at the moment. As many of you know, I have a horror of leaks wherever they may occur. To my dismay, the shower developed a leak that no amount of silicone kit has cured, so there was nothing for it but to rip the whole thing out and investigate the darkness below. I have to say that, barring a few bashed knuckles and choice expletives, the dismantling was much easier than finding the culprit, which has so far evaded me. Koos and I tested the drain, the water pipes and the taps today, but none of them has given up any surprises, or comfort. The only thing left it can be is the outlet from the shower tray itself. I'll let you know! 

A bit fuzzy, but this was the dark and dingy 
place below

I also have a leak to solve on the Vereeniging...again. I check under the floor every week and for months it's been dry. This week, however, I found a puddle, the source of which is also proving hard to detect. Ah well, what would life be without a few leaks? Hmm, I shall ponder that appealing notion for a while.

Have a good week, one and all, and I'll be back with more watery wonderings in the coming weeks.