Valerie Poore's Blog, page 16

A weekend of superlatives: from the highest hill to the deepest lock in the Netherlands.

 Last weekend, we went away. I know. It seems almost unbelievably adventurous after having been confined to my weekly commute between Rotterdam and Zeeland for an entire year. Given that we are in lockdown, you might well wonder why we went at all. Well, there were three reasons: the first was that I'm doing research for a project I’m busy with and needed to go to there; the second was that my daughters had extolled the beauties of the area I needed to go to, this being south Limburg, and thirdly, I knew it would be very quiet and empty of people. The town we stayed in was Valkenburg, which most of the time exists for tourists. However, there are no tourists now so we could be assured of a peaceful time with virtually no one about.

South Limburg is the southernmost province of the Netherlands and is distinguished by having real hills of the rolling, gorgeous and unexpectedly scenic variety. I have to say this was a complete surprise to me because although I've been to Maastricht a few times, I've never explored the countryside to the east of the Maas river there. Mostly, when you speak to Dutch people, they will tell you the Netherlands is completely flat except for 'a couple of hills' in Limburg. I took them at their word and had no idea I would be driving through rural scenery that would equal the prettiness of England's Devon or Belgium's Wallonia. What a delight it was, and worth every metre of the additional 130 kms each way that we had  to drive so as to avoid going through Belgium. 

The black line is the obvious route; the blue
line is (more or less) what we had to do

From the crumbly cottage in Zeeland's southernmost point, the direct route to Limburg is straight across Belgium from Antwerp. However, Belgium is currently off-limits, so we had to drive north to Breda and then east to Eindhoven before going south to Maastricht. Valkenburg is to the east of Maastricht. This meant that instead of a 140 km drive, it was 270 kms – each way. We took it gently, though, and shared the driving. The weather was beautiful too, which was a blessing, and the whole trip was just the tonic I needed.

The Wilhelminatoren

Valkenburg from the Wilhelminatoren
Valkenburg was originally the stronghold of a family of the same name. It is the only castle in the Netherlands built on a hill (now there's a surprise, I hear you say), and even then is only on the foothill of the real thing, the top of which is where I took the photos above. The castle began life in the 12th century and went through several stages of building in the following centuries, mostly due to being sacked by marauding invaders and then rebuilt. However, its final demise as a complete fortification occurred in 1672, when the French King Louis the 14th conducted a long and devastating siege of Maastricht, using Valkenburg Castle as an outpost for fighting. Eventually William III of the Netherlands retaliated by destroying the castle to such a degree it would never be rebuilt. For the next few hundred years, the castle ruins were neglected, until in the early 20th century a foundation was set up to preserve them and keep them safe for future generations.  I must admit I found it really impressive to look up at it from the city and to walk around its perimeter walls, but from the top of Heunsberg Hill, it looks positively small. The Wilhelminatoren, however, which you can see in the first photo, looks impressive from any angle. It is a much later addition. You can read about it here with Google Translate's help :)
The castle looks impressive from the town
Beautiful, but not Dutch as we know it

The river Geul

Valkenburg is a very pretty town, completely unlike anything you would expect in the Netherlands and with none of the influences that grace Amsterdam, Utrecht and all the other beautiful Dutch cities. It is very much its own place, as is Maastricht, and I had a powerful feeling of being in another country completely. What with the hills, the panoramic vistas, the limestone buildings and more Belgian or even French architecture, it was hard to believe we were still in the Netherlands.

Our visit was a short one, but one thing we both wanted to do while we were there was visit the 'Drielandenpunt' some 22kms away. It's the point where Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands all come together at the top of the Vaalseberg, the highest point in the Netherlands and a hefty 322.5 metres above sea level. At this one point, you can straddle three countries without moving.

Drielandenpunt. B is for Belgium. At the back it's Germany
and to the left is the Netherlands.
A German barrel organist
And as if to underscore its international flavour, the barrel organist above was German. I think he was actually standing in the Netherlands although I'm not completely sure, but that's the beauty of this place. It doesn't matter.

And for those who remember a post I did a while back about Belgium's border markers, this is number 1 that Koos is leaning against, the first in the series of 369 that were placed over a border length of 458kms. In fact, Koos marks the spot.

While I'm on the subject of superlatives, I'm sure readers here know by now that we cannot stay away from the water and boats for long, so on our way home we stopped at Maasbracht to look at the Netherland's deepest lock, which is found on the Juliana Canal that runs parallel to the Maas. I should say that most locks in the country reflect the flatness of the landscape and are rarely more than a couple of metres deep. The fall on this one is almost 12 metres, which is impressive by anyone's standards. We just struck lucky when we saw this container barge coming in and had to watch the whole process, of course.
The container barge arriving


At the bottom
Starting her exit
Squeaking out under the road bridge
And off she goes, south into Belgium
Back home again, it's been a stormy week. The weather broke on Tuesday and by Thursday, the winds were howling. We had to go to Terneuzen, so we took a walk along the estuary of the Westerschelde. It's hard to tell from the photos below, but the wind was so strong I had trouble keeping to my feet. I think you can just see the white caps on the water.

The boats below were in the safety of the harbours. The blue one was dredging, which was interesting to watch. It doesn't matter what the weather's doing, work must go on!

It is odd to think we are now at the opposite end of the Nethelands. In fact, the last Belgian border marker (No. 369) isn't all too far from where we are now, and yet the country we are so close to is so far away at the moment. I do so hope we can cross that border again before too long. Belgium is very much a second home to me and I miss it. 
Have a good weekend, allemaal. 

Tankers, ships, barges and tugs

These last twelve months have been incredibly difficult for us all and it's not over yet, it seems. As readers of this blog will know, though, my sanity (such as it is) has been saved by being able to spend time on my barge and also on our Hennie H. We haven't been anywhere by boat since 2018 due to the Hennie H's engine problems and we're still going through plenty of ups and downs where that's concerned. However, being able to be on board the Vereeniging, do jobs on both boats and make plans has been a blessing.
The other thing that's kept me going is my daily walk. I always take a camera with me, even if it's just my (not very good) phone, and I often walk along the sea canal, always in the hopes I'll see some of the big boys going past. Well, yesterday I hit the jackpot. I was just walking over the bridge when I noticed a queue of six vessels waiting for it to open for them. I have never seen so many, and the odd thing was that they were all lying still, hovering (if ships can do that). There must have been some kind of glitch with the opening mechanisms as they are rarely required to wait. But when I was halfway across the bridge, the bell rang and the booms came down. I'd have loved to get a better full on view of the ships from the centre of the span but I had to hotfoot it to the other side. Even then, I had to climb under the boom to escape, so I ran down to the water side to take these photos. 
Aren't they a fantastic sight? I feel so privileged to see these huge craft come past so often. It's soul-stirring stuff.

I love these muscular tugboats
What a sight to see. These ships are massive
When the sun catches their superstructure: beautiful
The last two of the group approaching the bridge
I love this vivid colour
Heading for Ghent

On a smaller scale, one of the harbours adjacent to the canal is home to these historic barges. I know I've taken and shown photos of them before, but I never tire of seeing them.

The historic harbour, known here as the Nostalgic Harbour
Such beautiful examples of old Dutch barges

And then, these are some pretty views from the town next to the canal, Sas van Gent. At one time it was fortified as many of these border towns were, and there are still many places where the fortifications have been preserved. Hulst is one of the prettiest examples, but it is further to the east. The fortifications at Sas van Gent were demolished when the canal was increased in size as it cut a swathe through the built-up area. In fact, the historic barges are in what remains of the second version of the canal, while this little bridge below is over a harbour that was the original canal to Ghent. 

Classic Dutch design

Sas van Gent is so named because it was where the 'sas' (an old word for a lock) into Belgium and Ghent was situated. There is now no lock here as the huge sea locks in Terneuzen have replaced it, but you can still see the former sas at the end of the historic harbour. I find it a pity that the constant widening of the canal has meant that Sas van Gent has lost much of its charm, but it still has some pretty parts. The bridge above (and below) and the quayside are lovely.

The old charm of Sas van Gent on the quayside

That bridge again
 As you can see, I have no shortage of beautiful walks and there's plenty of eye candy for a boat lover like me. The huge ships on the canal are breathtaking, but there are so many other boats, barges and tugs to look at too. In that sense I know we are very fortunate and I value these sights, as well as the open spaces we have around us with our extensive nature reserves.

Lockdown is tiresome and tedious; I miss the contact and interaction I used to have with my students terribly, but at least I have work and we have all this too. Many people have neither and I really feel desperately sorry for them. When I look at it this way and see how rich my surroundings are, my life could be a lot worse, couldn't it? 

Enjoy the rest of your week, allemaal. 

The wonderful support of We Love Memoirs

This week's post is a bit of a departure for me. I don't normally write about my books or even the books I've read. My review blog is for those and I prefer to keep this one about life here in the Netherlands, my boating world and our various travels.

This week, though, I want to pay tribute to a group on Facebook without which I wouldn't have half the readers I do have either for my blog or for my books. That group is We Love Memoirs founded by Victoria Twead and Alan Parks, two memoir writers who brilliantly saw the opportunity to start a community on social media for both readers and authors to get together. From this group alone, I have gained many, many lovely friends across the world just by being a member of a community where reading is the glue that binds us. I've also 'met' dozens of brilliant authors, some of whom have also become dear friends in real life.

I can't remember exactly how long I've been a member of We Love Memoirs – it's been several years now – but I have to say it's my favourite corner of Facebook. In fact, it provides everything I personally want from social media: likeminded people in terms of both readers and authors, and a wonderful platform on which to share stories, photos, reviews and events. I get most of my reading recommendations from WLM, not to mention numerous free books from promotions, competitions and giveaways.

The other thing I love about the group is that it's strictly non-political and non-denominational, so the discussions are all completely without any rancour; exactly, to my mind, what the 'social' part of social media means.

We Love Memoirs is, for me, the perfect example of what a well run group should be. It has getting on for 6000 members, and because of that, there are numerous moderators, all of whom seem to have special focuses. They are amazing, they really are. They don't only make sure the posts members put up conform to the group's rules; they organise daily features, competitions and promotions, all of which must take a huge amount of time and dedication, and guiding them all is the endlessly inspiring Victoria Twead. 

For those of you who've never read much in the way of memoir, I was amazed to discover the wide range of genres that fall within this umbrella: everything from lighthearted travelogues to inspirational accounts of people overcoming the most appalling difficulties. There really is an enormous selection of possible books to choose from. My Kindle is positively bulging with all the books I've bought, won and found through the various recommendations, games and links on the group's page. 

In this lockdown time, especially, I think WLM has been a huge boon to me and so many of the members there, and so I just wanted to say thank you to We Love Memoirs, to Victoria and Alan for founding it, and to all the marvellous moderators, members and authors for making it the truly great group that it is.

And as if you haven't already noticed, the link to the group is here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/welov... 😁

Many of my friends say it's their happy place on the Internet, and I agree with them. Come along and make it yours too!

Enjoy the rest of your week allemaal.

My Crazy Life Full With Books: Author in the picture: Valerie Poore

An interim post. I really enjoyed answering these questions on Kathleen vam Lierop’s blog!
My Crazy Life Full With Books: Author in the picture: Valerie Poore: Valerie Poore is the lovely author of many books mostly wonderful memoirs such as Waloon Ways (about Belgium), Faring to France on a Shoe, A...

Dutch winter play

 I'm not going to write much today (I hear you all sigh with relief) because this week, I think the photos and film clips will simply speak for themselves.

As portented (is that a verb?) last weekend when it snowed so heavily, we were subsequently hit with a week long period of intense cold. The upside (if such there can be) was that the sun came out as the temperatures dropped and even I can admit the scenery looked very beautiful. But what was even lovelier was that as the big freeze went on, ponds, canals and even large lakes froze up all over the country. 

As the night time temperatures plummeted to -10C and below nationwide, the Dutch dug out their skates and gleefully dusted them off. It's been several years since there's been a freeze prolonged enough for skating on natural ice. Locally, we saw it back in 2017, but I think the last big one was in 2012. Of course, everyone gets excited about the possibility of an Elfstedentocht, that famous Dutch marathon on ice that passes through 11 towns in Friesland, but sadly, it wasn't freezing for quite long enough this year. That apart, last Friday, Saturday and Sunday, saw the Dutch glorying in their favourite winter sport, and it really was a joy to see despite the breathtaking cold. Below are my own photos taken of the nature reserve ponds not far from the crumbly cottage.

It was such a delight to see whole families out on the ice with tiny tots as well as grannies and grandpas too. As for the teenagers and young adults, I could see how at home they were on the ice, skating as if they were born to it – which I suppose they were, really. 

Sadly, I no longer know how to embed a video here, but the one in this link is well worth a look. It's from the Dutch news site NOS and I think it's quite magical. It shows how throughout the Netherlands, happy Dutch people took to the ice in vast numbers to enjoy a mini holiday from Covid and all the other cares that have come with it. I hope you enjoy it too. And if you want another look (I find it so compelling) here's another video I found on YouTube.

By Sunday afternoon, it was all over, though. The thaw had set in and Ice Skating clubs were warning people to get off the canals and go home. As for accidents? Sure, some people took a dunking when they literally skated on thin ice; others fell and had various bumps and bruises, but no one was seriously hurt as far as I know. The vast majority of people enjoyed the break from everything and just had good, old-fashioned, joyous fun. Today, we're back to the usual: grey, wet and gloomy, with +5C, but what a lovely weekend it was. 

Enjoy the rest of your week allemaal and I'll be back with more sundry news and views soon!

And so came the snow

I'm shivering in my timbers here in the flatlands this week. You all know how much I loathe the cold and the snow, don't you? Well, it's really come to get me this week. 

Last night we were supposed to have had a blizzard, but  (to my relief) it didn't really materialise in our part of the world. However, it did snow quite substantially. Here's a photo of my Vereeniging in her new, fluffy white coat.

Apparently, it will snow again tomorrow, but then it will simply freeze for a few days and won't even make zero centigrade until next Saturday. Fortunately (or not) I have now escaped to Zeeland where it is a) a couple of degrees warmer and b) easier to manage than skating over a frozen foredeck and negotiating a snowy (and long) gangplank before leaving my own premises. However, I hope I can get back again before it all thaws as I'm very anxious about frozen pipes and pumps. Since being a master worrier is my most advanced skill, I can dream up worst case scenarios that none of you would never have thought possible (oh yes, I can do that and more). So, I shall be distinctly uneasy until I can check on my lovely barge's bits in person.
I did my best to prepare for the big freeze by unplugging the water pump, emptying all the pipes, emptying the cistern in the loo and leaving an electric anti-frost thingy on. Then I wrapped my water pump in a quilted cover and any exposed pipes and stopcocks are swaddled in disposable nappies and towels. Now, I can only hope for the best and say a few prayers to the water gods. We don't often get prolonged cold spells, so I sincerely hope this won't be one of them.

For the time being, I'm still trying to get out and walk but today's efforts were a bit feeble. All the same, I captured a few photos just to prove we have snow here as well (and that I went out in it!). I must say, though, I'm very impressed with our municipality. They always manage to salt the roads to make sure everyone can get out if need be. I did a bit of salting myself in front of the crumbly cottage but mine was table salt and not the real stuff. I'm proud to say it worked a treat and our pavement is completely clear. I can imagine it looked funny to see me there with our salt pot, but hey...whatever works!

Have a good week allemaal, wherever you are. Tomorrow, we shall have to go and check on the Hennie H...boats! Who'd have them? 

And so it gets colder

As often happens in this country, real winter only begins late in January and sometimes not until February. Well today, I can confirm we have real winter. Actually, it started yesterday when I walked around the harbour here and I became suddenly, horrifyingly aware it was snowing...yuk! The wind was biting, so I scurried home as fast as I could get there. It carried on snowing for a while, but then turned to rain. Phew, I thought. What a relief! I'm sure you all know how I feel about snow by now. My distaste is so great I won't even 'like' photos people post on Facebook with snow on them unless there's blue sky there too. Yes, sorry, but I am that petty. 


Anyway, this morning, the sky had cleared and there was even some sunshine for a while, but by the time I wanted to go for a walk again, everything had turned grey and wow was it bitter?! Koos and I agreed it was the coldest day of the year so far. We differed in our reactions, though. He likes snow and welcomes it. I don't. Of course. Even so, we had a nice wander along one of the side branches of the canal nearby but I have to admit it was a bit bleak and bone rattling.

It was good to take a walk, however. I have to tell myself so because I know staying inside doesn't suit me at all. I have a tendency to suffer from winter blues (SAD) and struggled with it throughout my youth although I didn't know what it was at the time. When it miraculously disappeared during my South Africa years, the penny dropped. So now I'm back in northern Europe, I have to get as much daylight into my system as possible to avoid the glooms. Having the incentive to get out and about was much easier when we had a dog I have to say. These days I need to encourage myself with promises of rewards when I get home. Next thing I'll be buying myself balls to chase...

Before I get carried away, though, I thought I'd post a photo of this abandoned farmhouse. It is all that's left after the area was taken over for industry and glass houses. Such a shame, really. Below it, I've posted a couple of photos of similar houses in a village quite close to this where the houses have been renovated and are now lived in. They are gorgeous and I wonder what the future of this dilapidated old place might be. It would be lovely if someone could rescue it before it collapses, but I doubt if it will happen. I always feel a sense of loss when I see the homes and farm buildings that have been vacated in areas taken over by 'development.' It's as if the dignity has been stripped from them; homeless homes, so to speak.
Abandoned farmhouse and barn


I love the garden of this house. It's a lovely place
This one used to look very sad, but it's quite pristine now 
and look at the beautifully rebuilt barns behind it. Someone's
saved it and made a huge investment here
Back to reality, tomorrow I'm starting two big online courses and then another one next week, so I'll be very busy again for a couple of months. I hope I'll be able to keep up my daily walks and my blog, and with a bit of luck there'll be more canals, boats and rural scenes on this page in the coming weeks. I'll do my best anyway but if you see an empty space for a while, I hope you'll be patient until I can get going again.
Have a good one allemaal.  Here's one final photo that I took on my Friday walk, which I rather like. Keep well and keep warm!

The daily walk show

One of the few upsides of the current lockdown we're undergoing here in the Netherlands is the amount of walking I seem to be doing. While I don't make New Year's resolutions as a rule – mainly because I'd never keep them for more than about a month – I did decide to try and make time for a daily walk, at least all the while we can't go anywhere else. A sort of resolution, then.

The reason for my more determined than normal efforts is because I have trouble enough with enduring winter, and since we haven't been able to go to Portugal this January as we'd planned, I'm missing my winter dose of Vitamin D in the Algarve sunshine. Okay, I know I'm not going to get much of that here, but at least by going out for a walk every day, I'm getting something of what's going, aren't I? And actually, we've had a few lovely days recently.

My aim has been to walk 4kms every day and so far, I'm managing to do it. I like walking although I confess I haven't done as much as I used to since Sindy (beloved pooch) died, so now I'm feeling quite proud of my efforts. Some days my distance calculator has said I've been a bit under the 4kms, so the next day I've walked a bit further to make up for it. The only snag is the mud that's everywhere at the moment. We've had so much rain all the country paths are like wading through a quagmire and as I don't have boots made for that kind of walking, I'm sticking mostly to the roads. Still, now and then I've taken the plunge – quite literally once – and hopscotched my way through the puddles or skirted round the knee-deep tractor tracks. The plunge part was when I miscalculated the depth of one of these muddy pools and ended up ankle deep in slush. That was fun – not.

The best motivation for getting up and out there has been the opportunity to take photos of our surroundings. I've got a new camera, thanks (very much) to Koos, which is a delight to use and I can just slip it into my coat pocket when I go out. It's a little Panasonic compact but it has a whopping 30 x optical zoom, which is fantastic for those long distance shots of barges disappearing into the haze. I've been after this particular model for ages; it isn't the latest one, but I read all the reviews and it has everything I personally want, especially a really excellent lens. With my camera as inspiration, I started posting my daily snaps on Twitter, which a few people seem to like. However, because my blog is my favourite place on the net and since I can't possibly let Twitter have it all, I thought I'd add some of them here too. 

So, dear readers, here's a collection of my most recent daily walk photos. I have to admit they're in no particular order because Blogger just seems to ignore the sequence in which I post them, but never mind. It actually doesn't matter, although the snowy one was the first photo I took with my camera (It was snowing at the time, hence the haze!).

The day it snowed

I love docks and cranes
Quaint village street
This lake is an old creek from the days when the land was
submerged when the tide came in
Practicing my zoom. Those houses were about 1.8kms from
where I was standing. I'm impressed.
This was testing the zoom as well
On our great sea canal
A nearby nature reserve after the rains, much as the
land would have looked before drainage Another zooming effort
Typically Dutch

And, of course, there have to be boats



This one was one I took with my phone, but
I just happen to like it. on Blogger, I can't really
see the difference, but I can on my photo program.


Well, that's it for this week, allemaal. We're coping, surviving the restrictions and hoping all these efforts will result in freedom to move around more when the spring comes. Let's hope it does. Meanwhile, I'll just focus on my three Ws: working, walking and writing!

Keep well and look after yourselves!

The beauty (and the paradox) of life with boats in the Netherlands

Last week, I wrote about the downsides of living on board, and came to the conclusion that there really aren't any. Not that I can think of, anyway. The only problem, it turned out, was winter.
Winter on the Vereeniging
But, as one of my friends and commenters mentioned, it's not even winter itself that's the downside, it's where we live in winter that's the problem: the Netherlands. And this got me thinking. Where else could I live on a barge all year round and not have to experience the winter chills? After wracking my brains, I couldn't honestly think of anywhere other than western Europe where living aboard is the norm unless you're in the commercial transport business. And of all European countries, the Netherlands is where liveaboard barges and boats proliferate the most.
Lying abreast a liveaboard barge in Cambrai
northern France
This, of course, means it's much easier to live on a boat here than it is elsewhere. I hasten to add that I don't include the UK in this comparison; they have their own canal boat system, which is totally different from ours. However, more even than in Belgium, France and Germany (where there are also many liveaboards), the Dutch are used to accommodating those of us who like life afloat, so much so there are even floating homes that are not actually barges. They're called woonarken and look more like mobile homes on the water, but they're hugely popular and fetch very high prices if you ever want to buy one with a mooring. Many of the cities, Amsterdam included, have miles of canals lined with these static, floating houses and that's quite apart from the harbours and marinas that house barges like mine.
Houseboats and woonarken in Amsterdam
(The woonark is beyond the second barge)
I would also imagine there are more marinas here in the Netherlands than there are in the rest of Europe too, and definitely more historic harbours for traditional barges and classic boats like ours. What this means is that almost everywhere we go, we can wander along quaysides, walk around marinas and visit harbours knowing there are likely to be boats on which people live. I don't think this is anything like as widespread in our neighbouring countries, do you? 
So, there's the paradox of the whole situation. If we want the (perceived) freedom of having a home we can take with us when we want to move, then we're limited as to where we can actually go and live. Taking that a step further, we're only really free to live this life in countries that have winters with a capital W. And even then, the choices are pretty limited unless you live in the Netherlands. 
Liveaboard boats everywhere we go

That brings me to another point. I love a good paradox and the restrictions on the freedom to live aboard are a perfect example. For instance, despite it being an accepted way of life in Holland, you can't just park your barge anywhere you like; you have to have an authorised mooring, and these are hard to come by. Added to that, there are all sorts of rules to be complied with that you don't have in a house. 
We have to have annual fire extinguisher inspections, and those who have gas on board have to have their installations checked regularly as well. Then there's the lift-outs for insurance inspections which are obligatory every six years (you don't have those for a house either!), while barges longer than 20 metres need to undergo quite extensive modifications for their cruising certificates (all compulsory). They're also obliged to have onboard electronic positioning systems so they can be seen and tracked wherever they go. And yet, ironically, it still feels like freedom, a feeling intensified when we cast off the ropes and say goodbye to the land.
Barges over 20 metres have to have extensive modifications

Koos and I are already busy preparing to do just that, hopefully this coming summer. I've been sanding and varnishing skylights and name boards, as well as planning a refurbishment of the interior of our Hennie H. We're also hoping to do a trip on the Vereeniging and the thought of that magical feeling when we reverse out of our mooring is what keeps the sense of freedom alive. That's real liberation. Normal life as we live it in the winter months is just enduring winter under different circumstances from land-based folk, and I love the circumstances, if not the winter. But the real thrill is when we throw off the ropes and go – armed with a stack of paperwork, certificates and permits, of course.

Have a good week allemaal. Keep healthy and keep busy and look after yourselves.

Our own harbour in Rotterdam

The beauty of life with boats in the Netherlands

Last week, I wrote about the downsides of living on board, and came to the conclusion that there really aren't any. Not that I can think of, anyway. The only problem, it turned out, was winter.
Winter on the Vereeniging
But, as one of my friends and commenters mentioned, it's not even winter itself that's the downside, it's where we live in winter that's the problem: the Netherlands. And this got me thinking. Where else could I live on a barge all year round and not have to experience the winter chills. After wracking my brains, I couldn't honestly think of anywhere other than western Europe where living aboard is the norm unless you're in the commercial transport business. And of all European countries, the Netherlands is where liveaboard barges and boats proliferate the most.
Lying abreast a liveaboard barge in Cambrai
northern France
This, of course, means it's much easier to live on a boat here than it is elsewhere. I hasten to add that I don't include the UK in this comparison; they have their own canal boat system, which is totally different from ours. However, more even than in Belgium, France and Germany (where there are also many liveaboards), the Dutch are used to accommodating those of us who like life afloat, so much so there are even floating homes that are not actually barges. They're called woonarken and look more like mobile homes on the water, but they're hugely popular and fetch very high prices if you ever want to buy one with a mooring. Many of the cities, Amsterdam included, have miles of canals lined with these static, floating houses and that's quite apart from the harbours and marinas that house barges like mine.
Houseboats and woonarken in Amsterdam
(The woonark is beyond the second barge)
I would also imagine there are more marinas here in the Netherlands than there are in the rest of Europe too, and definitely more historic harbours for traditional barges and classic boats like ours. What this means is that almost everywhere we go, we can wander along quaysides, walk around marinas and visit harbours knowing there are likely to be boats on which people live. I don't think this is anything like as widespread in our neighbouring countries, do you? 
So, there's the paradox of the whole situation. If we want the (perceived) freedom of having a home we can take with us when we want to move, then we're limited as to where we can actually go and live. Taking that a step further, we're only really free to live this life in countries that have winters with a capital W. And even then, the choices are pretty limited unless you live in the Netherlands. 
Liveaboard boats everywhere we go

That brings me to another point. I love a good paradox and the restrictions on the freedom to live aboard are a perfect example. For instance, despite it being an accepted way of life in Holland, you can't just park your barge anywhere you like; you have to have an authorised mooring, and these are hard to come by. Added to that, there are all sorts of rules to be complied with that you don't have in a house. We have to have annual fire extinguisher inspections, and those who have gas on board have to have their installations checked regularly as well. 
Then there's the lift-outs for insurance inspections which are obligatory every six years (you don't have those for a house either!), while barges longer than 20 metres need to undergo quite extensive modifications for their cruising certificates (all compulsory). They're also obliged to have onboard electronic positioning systems so they can be seen and tracked wherever they go. And yet, ironically, it still feels like freedom, a feeling intensified when we cast off the ropes and say goodbye to the land.
Barges over 20 metres have to have extensive modifications

Koos and I are already busy preparing to do just that, hopefully this coming summer. I've been sanding and varnishing skylights and name boards, as well as planning a refurbishment of the interior of our Hennie H. We're also hoping to do a trip on the Vereeniging and the thought of that magical feeling when we reverse out of our mooring is what keeps the sense of freedom alive. That's real liberation. Normal life as we live it in the winter months is just enduring winter under different circumstances from land-based folk, and I love the circumstances, if not the winter. But the real thrill is when we throw off the ropes and go – armed with a stack of paperwork, certificates and permits, of course.

Our own historic harbour
Have a good week allemaal. Keep healthy and keep busy and look after yourselves.