Better late than never : Four days in Faro

Lat weekend I didn't get round to writing a post, but I think I can be forgiven as I was in lovely Faro in the south of Portugal. I went with a very good friend of mine, Marion. We have known each other for as long as I have been here in the Netherlands but this is the first time we have been away together.

Back streets of Faro

A cosy corner in the old city

We had a lot of fun exploring and walking the city and then taking trips out of town. On one day, we headed east to Olhao and Tavira. Olhao wasn't all that exciting (for that read disappointing), but Tavira was gorgeous with a wide river running through it, a castle on the hill and plenty of white-painted charm. I loved it and had to lurk round the river of course.

Tavira

The church on the hill in Tavira. I was standing on the remains
of the castle walls

City walls and urban homes are indelibly welded together

Looking across the Gilao River

Looking downstream on the Gilao River

We had two more days after this on one of which we went to Estoi, a village just inland from Faro, where we found this lovely old palace which has now been converted into a hotel. The rest of the village was rather clearly shut except for one café occupied by a group of English people having lunch. They told us they lived in Estoi and could thankfully tell us how to reach the palace as there didn't seem to be any clues left for Joe Public. Even the bus stops were a learning experience as the bus companies only have a sign on one side of the road. You have to know that you need to stand opposite it on the other side and we were ticked off by the driver for waiting a few metres too far from the spot.

The Palace of Estoi

Palace grounds and buildings

The following day, we took the bus to the beach and walked to a point beyond which there were no tourists or sunbathers at all (always a good goal). We both paddled in the sea, pleased to know we were treading the waters of the Atlantic - I can't even remember the last time I had my toes in such western waters. It was a glorious day; hot with a brisk breeze and much to my shock, my feet and legs caught the sun. I had a rather uncomfortable night coping with sunburn on my shins, toes and ankles. I can hear you saying 'that'll learn you," can't I?

On our last day, we did a boat trip around the islands off the coast. Faro is bounded by an area of natural beauty with a lagoon, mudflats and sandbanks. The boat toured the islands and the skipper, Claudio, pointed out which birds, waders and crabs it was home to. It was great to see all the birdlife, and I must say that Claudio was pretty easy on the eye too, so we didn't mind looking at him either...haha. One island is completely uninhabited with the exception of an old man (in his eighties) and his dog (said by Claudio to be about two hundred years old), the only humans and animals permitted to live there. There was also a lighthouse island where we stopped for a look around. The whole tour was a lovely end to our trip and a very welcome dose of sunshine despite my fried toes.

Old huts on Desert Island

The one and only lighthouse

Faro castle seen from the water

Our charming and rather dashing skipper,
Claudio

A state of flux

When I look back on what I wrote in my first harbour memoir, Watery Ways, I realise how much our community has changed since those days. From my perspective, it is less cohesive than it was, but maybe that's because so many of those I started life in the harbour with have gone; such is the nature of a restoration harbour.

There were many more barges in the harbour in 2002

Trees and cars on the quay...unheard of now!
This is Koos next to our old renault

Sadly, some have gone with more permanence too. This last week we buried the second of our liggers this year: the first was a mere 52 when his heart just stopped while at work in Kazakhstan of all places; the second was a close neighbour of mine who has been struggling with cancer these past four years. At 74, he'd had his three score years and ten, but it still felt too early. George and I had been neighbours in the line-up of barges many times and even when separated by other boats, ours were never far apart. He'd done a beautiful job of restoration and it is sad that he will never get to go faring in it. I liked him very much.

Other things have changed recently too. The helling (slipway) and working yard where I have spent so many hours closed on April the 30th. Its future is uncertain, but the Maritime Museum say they cannot afford to keep funding it as it doesn't make enough money to cover the costs. The keys were handed to the council on May the 1st and we now await negotiations to see if it will be kept going, perhaps on a more commercial basis. I have a lift-out booked for October, so I hope there will be a workable plan.

My first liveaboard, the Hoop, on the helling (slipway)

I think this event, more than any other, defines how things are changing. For the younger generation of liggers, it is probably less dramatic as they have formed their own core community and will arrange things their own way, but for those of us who are older, it feels like the end of an era.

Sorry for the poignant post today, folks. I'm feeling a bit sad, but I hope you all have a great week.

First faring in fair wealther

I'm a bit late with posting these photos. I thought I'd be able to put them up last week, but life got in the way and so I can only add my somewhat belated report now of our first faring of the year. As with my last post, the photos tell their own story, and many of you will have seen these views before since we need to  travel quite a long way on the Ghent to Terneuzen Canal before we can branch off and go somewhere else. Thus it is that for a two hour 'spuddle', we can only see the same again...not that I mind! I love it, and I love seeing the great sea ships go past. I also enjoy faring past them. It feels so exciting even though it's probably the safest kind of faring we can do.

The weather was, as you can see, perfect, and my daughter joined us too. I particularly like the photos of her and Koos playing the fool. 

We headed north along the canal towards Terneuzen and then I got some manoeuvring practice in a side harbour. This was an interesting experience in how un-intuitive it all is for me...the wind didn't help either. I practised 'three point turns', but the wind only really let me reverse to the right. To achieve a left turn (with a left turning screw, which becomes right in reverse) is more difficult anyway, but with a strong wind blowing us broadsides, it was nigh on impossible. Add to that my lack of brain cells when it comes to how the steering behaves, and this didn't work all too well. At least I succeeded the other way!

Anyway, it was on the way back I suddenly had a light bulb moment. Driving a barge with a wheel is like driving a car. No one ever tells you this, but if you want to reverse to the right, you have to turn your wheel to the right...duh! I've spent years 'not getting' how to do it. If only someone had said how similar to a car it is I'd have been fine, but the books and instructors just don't make that connection. Odd, isn't it? Anyway, now I'll stop rabbiting and let the photos speak for themselves. Suffice to say we thoroughly enjoyed the first excursion of the year.

Heading out of the harbour

north...to Terneuzen

One of our routine sights - a cargo transporter

The whale to our minnow

My WOBs flag in full view too

Daughter and Koos seeking far horizons

And in more recent news, our sheeple have returned to the field next to the crumbly cottage. We love them for their characters and their company. Here are some close up pics. Don't you just love their expressions?

Have a great week, everyone. Have you had some good weather too?

Picture Post: A dash up to Deventer

One of Deventer's very charming streets 

Every now and then, I take a trip to the east of Amsterdam to visit Saxion University in Deventer. It's work, so most of the two day trip is spent indoors, but in the evenings, I can stroll round this exceptionally pretty Duch town and if the weather is fine, I can walk along the river Ijssel. It is a beautiful stretch of water - much more natural than the river in Rotterdam and it is wonderful to stretch my eyes over the fields beyond. On Tuesday evening, the sky was clear, and the sun warm. Like many others who were either walking, eating picnics or simply gazing at the water, I loved being there. The photos speak for themselves, so I hope you like them.

A water authorities boat patrolling

Heading towards the lock

Still and peaceful in the lock

Evening light over the harbour

A lovely old clipper lies at rest

A sweet sign for dogs that there is always water for them there

The following morning in the main square

Tomorrow, I'll do a post about our first faring of the year!

The meanness of cleanness

I know, I know. I mutter more than somewhat about cleaning the barges, but when you have one and a half boats to care for (don't ask), it can become a tad tedious. As I said elsewhere on social media, people who have boats and barges know that we do more scrubbing and scouring than a Victorian housemaid, and that's just for one.

Well to cut my mitherings short, since I posted last week about the new meaning of greening on the Vereeniging, I thought I'd tell you about the meanness of cleanness on the Hennie H this week. To clarify any confusion (if that's not a contradiction), my own barge is the Vereeniging in Rotterdam; it's where I live during the week when I'm at work. The Hennie H (pronounced Ha), which I share with Koos, is in a harbour at Sas van Gent on the Zeeuws Vlaanderen border with Belgium. Sas van Gent is about three and something kilometres from the crumbly cottage that I escape to at weekends. This is the holiday barge, the one that took us to France last year and will hopefully bear us east to Poland this year - although if we get that far remains to be seen. I only have three months, which is the absolute maximum time I can (not) afford not to work. That said, the Hennie H has been sitting twiddling its fenders since November, which was the last time we went out for a spuddle.

Our harbour at Sas

It will come as no surprise, then, that after such a long period of idle rest and despite a few wash downs throughout the colder months, the little barge was in much need of a spring clean. I started a couple of days ago, but I was dog-sitting and couldn't spend the time that I really needed as said pooch insisted on sitting on the hottest part of the deck. Not a good move for a small furry being. So since he went home, I've been able to spend more time on it and attack with some good Val verve and vigour. Fortunately, I don't have to climb any masts or hang myself over any precipitous sides with this one; it has those wonderful things called gunwales which allow me to walk with some dignity along the barge and mop down the sides rather than doing a fair impression of a vertically challenged spider as I do on the Vereeniging.

Factory backdrop

No the meanness of the cleanness on this barge is that everything visible is either white or cream. Add to that, the mooring is close to a number of factories that emit all sorts of noxious substances (well I might be exaggerating that a bit) that all end up as grime on my lovely gleaming roof (that part's true). And even worse, the fire brigade use the water next to us to clean out their tanks now and then. What I suspect strongly is that they also take gleeful pleasure in spraying all the surrounding boats and the Hennie H in particular with water dredged from the bottom of the canal when no one's there to catch them at it. The result is that now and then we arrive to find the barge covered in gritty black mud. Wonderful, isn't it? On a white barge. You can imagine how mean that makes me!

It's no wonder that barge skippers of yore always had brown sails and tarpaulins. It was probably in anticipation of this kind of meanness.

A nice clean HH

Anyway, after many hours graft today, this is how her roof looks! Doesn't that cleaning make it look gleaming ?

And just for fun, I've added a few extra photos of the surrounding countryside too. Have a great week everyone.

Looking over the fields on my walk

A fine old brick barn

Paddocks for the horses - there are a lot of them here

Spring in the trees

Spring has sprung so time for a spuddle...

This last week has seen that sudden flick of the switch from winter to spring. It's odd how that can happen overnight, isn't it? Last weekend, it was still cold and I was wearing my immersion heater winter coat, as well as a scarf and hat, without feeling I was overdoing it at all. But then on Tuesday it all changed and spring shouted its welcome from the mast tops.

On Wednesday morning, we were up early so that Koos could go and do his duty as a citizen and vote (I can't as I don't have Dutch citizenship, not yet anyway). I won't go too deeply into the complexities of Dutch politics here, but suffice to say there were around twenty one parties on the ticket. Of those, there are about ten big ones and the rest are small, particular interest groups; for example, the party for older people, which focuses on pensioners rights etc. In the Dutch system, all have them have the chance of gaining a seat in parliament, but despite my interest in how it all works, it still foxes me at times. Nevertheless, I think that because of the issues at stake this time, the turnout was impressive. - over 80%! Anyway, the weather was glorious and we were able to have the hatch open for the first time in months, the downside of which was I saw all the dust in corners I don't usually notice. So while Koos was away, I did some much needed smooshing, both outside and in.

On Thursday, it was even better. The sky was cloudless and the air sweet. I looked out of the hatch at the Oude Haven and fell in love with it all over again. It really is a special and lovely place to be, and for this time in March, it was a deliciously warm and balmy day.

My view from the hatch - such blue, blue sky

Dew on the deck - this time last year there
was ice instead!

With this in sight, I decided that it was THE day for a first spuddle in the rowing boat - an occasion that we greet with much enthusiasm every year. Last year's didn't take place until early May, so we are more than a month and a half ahead.

Last year's first spuddle - 5 May with the trees in leaf

Of course, opportunity is everything and it may well be there were days last year when we could have done it before May, but just didn't have time. Anyhow, yesterday was the day this year, so as I only had to teach in the afternoon, I spent the morning cleaning out the little boat, after which I invited my daughter and her boyfriend to join us after work. We had two sets of oars and set off with great gusto; an easy enough accomplishment given that we had the impression were rowing on a slack tide.

The forward team cracking on

Once we were through the bridge we made great pace going upstream along the neighbouring harbour, Haringvliet, and had a lovely view of the ships. Koos was in good form yelling neighbourly greetings to all and sundry and almost deafening me in the process, but it was all great fun.

The Haringvliet

We even played the fool a bit, pretending to get snooty with each other and everyone else too, as captured by one of the forward team.

Koos and I playing the fool

But then we had to turn round and go back. Did I say something about a slack tide? Well, it was still coming in, so no wonder we raced upstream. Going back was an exercise in fortitude and endurance, not helped by Koos' ribald comments that had us going every which way and quite frequently in circles! Still we made it eventually and congratulated ourselves on a greatly enjoyable start of the spuddle season.

Oh and by the way, the elections turned out to be no table-turning of the status quo or the move towards extremism we'd feared, which was definitely a relief. Now we await the negotiations for who else will make up the coalition government. That's when the fun starts!

Grown-up millenials

We've all heard about the 'millenial' phenomenon by now, haven't we? That strange period we are currently going through where kids born in the eighties and nineties (although I think it's more nineties than eighties) are displaying certain characteristics never seen before, as a result of the internet age - the nose in their phones, not listening, not reading and wanting to be spoon-fed phenomenon?

Well, I've got news for you all. I've realised it's not just the kids. Don't put all the blame on them. No, no, no. I have personal and intimate experience of dealing with some fully grown forty to fifty-year-old, matured in wine, cheese head millenials with more holes in their memories than a lump of good Edam. You don't believe me? Well, I have proof...indisputable, unputdownable (oh no, that's books isn't it?), irrefutable proof. You see, I know them; lots of them.

Let me explain. My day job is to teach Academic Writing and Business Communication at the university in Rotterdam and also for students at the University of Amsterdam. Now without going into too many details, many of these students are not youngsters, but PhDers and Research Master's students who have returned to academia at a later stage in their lives, for what reason I don't really know, as I tend not to have time to get involved in their personal lives. By the way, the same goes for me too in their eyes.

When I go into class, I think they regard me as some kind of android. I have no existence outside the classroom. This conviction is so strong that if I inadvertently bump into one of them elsewhere in my other guise as a human being, they don't quite know how to handle it. It's true!

Anyway, that's beside this particular point. Where was I? Ah yes, Edam cheese. The truth of the matter is they are just as bad as the teenagers. When I teach their classes, half the time they are fiddling with their phones under the desks (at least I think that's what they're doing; I dread to think what else it might be), or they're checking their Twitter or Facebook messages on their tablets. Then they they seem to have to rush out of the room for urgent calls in a sort of cyclic rota system throughout the lesson. I swear they've arranged it all in advance! There's no pretence that they need the loo; no, nothing as subtle as that. They have about as much finesse as a bull in a china shop and the tact of a northerner stripped of his charm (apologies to any northerners reading this, but you're much better, I promise). This of course means that they don't listen, they don't read, and they don't know what they're supposed to be doing at the end of the class, and then they blame me when things go wrong. They do. It leaves me speechless. The Edam cheese analogy is no joke; it really isn't, Any gems of information I impart seem to disappear into the holes and out the other side. Nothing is retained.

Then there are the written assignments that have to be submitted online. After dealing with the torrent of emails they dump on me when they realise in panic that they haven't understood (for that, read 'listened to') the assignment and the deadline is a matter of hours away, I then start receiving their offerings. If that's what you can call them. I have a very strong suspicion some of them might be trying to write their theses, or at least their papers, on their smartphones. I mean it! I say this because I'm totally convinced they do their assignments on them.

Firstly, they manage to overlook instructions that are written in capital letters, bold type and outsize fonts, which are as clear as flashing neon signs without the neon; secondly, they can be guaranteed to upload them in the wrong style format even though every assignment has aforesaid neon sign equivalents telling them how to do it, and finally the end result is so shoddy, messy and badly presented that I cannot believe they have the temerity to send them in as an academic writing or business document.

Now everyone makes the odd typo (see my tweets, says she hanging her head in shame), but these, dear readers, these are supposed to be serious, graded assignments. I am, I have to say, flabbergasted. This evening (and after this I'll shut up, climb down of my high horse and shuffle off to bed) I read an assignment where the word 'synopsis' was spelt in each of the following ways: synops, synopse, sinopsys, and synopsise. And all in one paragraph. Yes.

So, my friends, you want to tell me about a millenial generation? I'm not buying it. I think it's a complete millenial society, or should I call it a symptom of close encounters of the Edam kind?

Happy Sunday everyone! I'll be spending at least some of the day trying to unscramble gobbledegook and answering daft questions that Google has much more patience with than I have.

A flurry of activity

Well here we are at the beginning of March already, and it's been quite a busy time in a number of ways. The trouble is I don't quite know how and what to say about it, but let's see what comes out!

As you all know by now, I published my new book last weekend. I haven't launched it as such, so there's been no party or fireworks lighting up the Oude Haven (hmm, that was a missed opportunity) ; maybe I'll celebrate more when I've brought out the paperback which I still have to do. Having the real book in my hands is still something I cherish. Nevertheless, it's going well and so far, those who've read it have enjoyed it - or so they say.

Then last Monday, we were treated to a visit by some very special people. John and his Dee from Yorkshire popped in to say hello while visiting Rotterdam for the weekend. John is a friend of my sister and brother-in-law and has in fact known the latter since they were kids. I met John some years ago, and knew then that he had lived in Rotterdam for a while back in the seventies. He was blown away by the changes to this great city; something I can well imagine as when he was here last, there were still massive wasteland areas that had not yet been rebuilt after the bombing in 1940. Rotterdam is now famous for its fabulous modern architecture, most notable of which is the new Markthal.  We had to take them to see it, of course, so here's a photo I took from inside it with my not very smart phone. I love the view of the famous Potlood building!

And here's another I took outside. This is the library with its unusual exterior pipe design. I really like it but I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. The light on it was amazing after a day of constant rain, but the photo isn't really good (see remark re phone). Still, you get the idea.

Then on Thursday, poor Koos had to have some surgery - nothing serious, but it's kept us harbour bound for the last couple of days. The handy thing was that he had it done at the local Havenziekenhuis hospital, so as they wouldn't let him out before I had to go to work (later than anticipated), they took him back to the barge in the hospital electric taxi, an odd little contraption that looks like a fully covered golf cart. We'd decided he could wait till my daughter could fetch him, but the nurses offered him the ride, which he gratefully took.

Then yesterday, I had to have my annual training session to maintain my position as a Cambridge ESL speaking examiner. Given that I've only done one lot of examining ever (this time last year), it was very necessary, believe me. I'd forgotten a lot and as I'm actually going to be examining next week, I was very glad of the refresher. I'm not sure who's more nervous about it - the candidates or me!

So we are now on board this wet (again) Saturday morning when we would normally be at the crumbly cottage. Still, all is otherwise well, Koos is on the mend, and I'll catch up with everyone next week. Now that wasn't bad for someone who didn't know what to write, eh?