Musical Boats

For the last month, we've been playing musical boats in the harbour. Up until last week, it only affected me in so far as I kept seeing different barges in the Oude Haven and one or other of the other harbours in our complex was simultaneously empty.

The reason for this complicated form of boat rotation is that the Rotterdam authorities are dredging…something they need to do now and then to clear the river bed of the debris that collects there, among which are large numbers of bicycles, mobile phones, shopping trolleys and other assorted projectiles that the inhabitants decide to hurl into the waters when the spirits take them - literally and figuratively.

The dredgers started at the eastern end of our small network of harbours and worked their way up through the Haringvliet and into Wijnhaven to our west. At each stage, the barges have had to move to another harbour to allow the dredgers to work unimpeded, hence the assorted array of visitors. Then last week, the mail arrived informing those of us in the Oude Haven that it was our turn to move.

Now life needs a good deal of coordinating when it comes to shifting and finding places for twenty odd resident barges as well as quite a number who were there temporarily. The email included an extensive spreadsheet giving instructions as to who was going where, when, and by what means - some barges have no engines so had to be towed. The image below is just a portion of the table of instructions.

I was a little concerned about these arrangements since having lost my loopplank, I've been relying on my neighbours to give me access. I had visions of being stranded with the Vereeniging floating dejectedly on its own. I knew many of my fellow bargees were moving on Thursday while I couldn't move till the weekend owing to my day job.

As it happened, I decided to cancel Friday's work so I could be there, and it was just as well. On Thursday afternoon, three of the barges (in fact my immediate neighbours) had gone and the others were scheduled to leave the following day. Koos drove up from Zeeland to help and on a very soggy Friday morning, we started to get the engine running in readiness to move as the barges on each side of me were being towed.

To our dismay, the problem that caught us out when we were last moving occurred again. The engine just died. We thought we'd fixed it, but it seems there is still something wrong. The upside was that since the tug boat was on duty anyway, we could be towed too. Still, it's a worrying issue that Koos still hasn't managed to resolve despite several more hours trying to bleed the system and find out what is causing it to lose power and what's worse, to smoke badly too.

That apart, though, I am pleased with my change of scene, and looking forward to at least two weeks 'holiday' in the Haringvliet. It's only a couple of hundred metres from where I was, but it's great to have a change of outlook, so for now I'll take in my new surroundings and get a feel for it all.

The photos below are of where I am now and also of the almost empty Oude Haven.

In position

No loopplank needed here - just these small steps

A nearly empty Oude Haven - a very unusual sight

The current incumbent of our slipway - huge, isn't it?

Have a good week everyone and watch this space. No doubt there'll be more news from the watery burbs next week!

More of the same

Now I've written my Nutty Nora posts and got those out of the way, I'm going back to my usual topic - barge stuff.

The last few weeks have been difficult on board because a little while ago, I arrived back after a weekend away and found my lovely, safe loopplank (gangplank) seriously bent, rendering it now totally un-safe for human passage.

My suspicion is that a whole troop of tourists decided to use it for a photo opportunity and pushed it so far down on one side, it then got stuck under the rope pins of a bollard and was bent even more as the tide rose. Now bearing in mind there's a very visible sticker on it that says "max 3 persons", I was not best amused.

As it really was no longer safe, we didn't put it back after my hellingbeurt (slipway week), so I've been relying on the neighbours for access until we can straighten it out and strengthen the section. These things are far too expensive to abandon and the insurance company doesn't seem to be interested in helping either. I know it doesn't look bad in this photo, but you should see how skew it really is…and very wonky indeed.

To make matters worse, my nearest neighbour has also removed her loopplank  as she is no longer living on board, so I am now doing a three barge hop to board the Vereeniging. This requires skills something akin to those of a mountain goat, which - I hope you'll agree - I'm not! Well, if I am, I'm a very clumsy one.

The overall consequence is that there's a limit to what I can do as I cannot easily get materials on and off. So...I am concentrating on painting (surprise surprise!). Slowly but surely, all the red trim is being finished (takes me an age) and my next job is to de-rust and paint the engine room windows. I can't believe this warm weather is going to go on that much longer, but while it does, I must paint…and paint….and paint some more!

Added to that I have also been been working inside and have re-painted my kitchen cupboards. When I made them back in 2002, I stained the panels with chestnut coloured varnish, which looked more red than anything, and I'd never felt like changing them. As of this last week, though, they are no longer red-pannelled but completely creamy white, and I am so enjoying their bright shiny faces.

During the course of the coming week, I'm praying the weather will give me the break I need so I can also paint the foredeck (I've been saying that for months, I know). In the last ten days or so, every time I've decided to do this very necessary job, it's rained, so keep your fingers crossed for me because next weekend, we have to move again and I don't know when I'll next get the chance. 

The reason for the move is because the council are currently dredging all the harbours so we are being turfed out of our spots in rotation to clear different sections at different times. Next week it is the Oude Haven's turn to be dredged and I don't know yet where we'll have to go. By the time I write this blog again, we'll probably be in a different harbour and mooring, so watch this space! I'll also take some photos as it's very rare that the harbour is ever empty of barges. The last time was in 2007 when the harbour wall was re-built. Koos and I were the last to leave, and I took this photo just before we cast off and pulled out.

An almost empty harbour in 2007

It normally looks like this! Very full.

Have a good week everyone and may the sun keep shining on you wherever you are!

In which I find I am technologically challenged

Before I leave the subject of my doffness completely, there's one other incident I've had a big chuckle about…well, more than one chuckle, to be honest. It's not about absent-mindedness, this one. No, it's about that other symptom of advancing years…the inability to keep up with modern technology.

I should say I've never been one for buying the latest and newest piece of techno-gadgetry. On principle, I will buy second-hand stuff rather than new and that extends from phones to cars. I've only ever had one new computer, and one new car in all my nearly sixty years. These days even my smart phone is not smart at all and I cannot work out how to use touch screens, tablets or pods with any semblance of dexterity; I'm just not that savvy…or maybe it's that I'm not that interested.

So when the day came that I flew to Birmingham this last August expecting to drive a hire car, imagine my consternation when they introduced me to a vehicle from out of some kind of sci-fi movie. I'm really serious. I couldn't believe what this thing did.

What happened was that I'd booked a car online (as one does these days) and I'd specified I wanted a manual gearbox. I've never driven automatics so I always tick the box to show I want a normal car with a normal gear stick.

Well when I arrived, things started out badly anyway, which set the scene for further dismay. I was already hot, bothered and frustrated because I couldn't find the car hire office but then even madder at myself because I'd put the wrong return date on the booking form and found I had to pay more than double I was expecting to bring it back a day later. As a result, by the time they took me out to my hire vehicle I was definitely not in the best frame of mind.

The receptionist showed me to the car - at least that's what it looked like. I don't remember now what it was, but on the outside at least it seemed quite normal, bar one thing. It didn't seem to have any mirrors. Never mind, I thought. Perhaps they pop out when the car starts (I really did). I knew things had changed since 1995 which was when my old Opel was built so I was prepared for some small surprises. But, as they say, this was not all...

The receptionist handed me what looked like a small credit card and told me that was the key. She showed me where to poke it in and then hurried off to deal with another customer.

I got in the car and looked around. This was when I started to get worried. Nothing looked normal. There were only two pedals; there was no proper gear stick - just a lever thingy - and there was a computer screen where the  speedo and rev counter should have been. I realised to my concern they'd given me an automatic, but then what was this screen? How did I start the car and where were the mirrors?

Still, trying (but in truth failing) to be courageous, I stuck the credit card into the slot where the receptionist had shown me. The computer screen sprang into life and filled up with numbers and blinking symbols…but the car hadn't started. At least I couldn't tell if it had or not. There was a faint sort of purring, but I couldn't find a resident cat and nothing else seemed to be moving.

Frustration set in. I tried again at least three times and still the car didn't seem to do anything except purr faintly. Was it or wasn't it running? I really couldn't tell.

So it was that eventually I marched back to the office and demanded help. The astonished assistant who was now at the desk listened to my complaint and then said, "But madam, it's a hybrid car. Don't you know about them? It's electric, so of course you can't hear it."
"But it's got no gear stick either!" I wailed.
"No, madam, it's an automatic. Look," he said patiently, "I'll come and show you how everything works."
Still deeply troubled and very suspicious, I followed him back to the now-dubbed space invader.
We got in.
"Put the card in the slot."
I did.
"Now watch the screen. As soon as it says 'ready', you can drive. Just remember never to use your left foot"
"Oh? Why not?"
"Because there's only an accelerator and a brake. You must never use your left foot, see?"
Okay… well, not really, but...
"Now watch the screen again. Put your right foot on the brake and keep it there. Now put the car into drive."
"But it's not running!" I said, confused.
"Yes it is, the screen says so."
"The screen says so…right…"
"Put the car into drive and watch the screen."
"What must I be watching for?"
"What's behind you, that's what," he said patiently.
"But why can't I use mirrors?"
"There are no mirrors, madam."
I looked at him, I looked at the alien controls of this automatic hybrid thing that I couldn't hear and couldn't feel and decided I was absolutely not going to give up control of my already iffy directional sense to a computer screen.
"Nooooo!" I exploded. "I can't do this, I'm sorry, but I'm NOT driving out into rush hour Birmingham in this thing. Find me a proper car!"
The assistant looked totally flummoxed.
"But it is a proper car, madam."
"No. It isn't!" I squeaked. "I wanted a car with everything in the normal place…and a gear stick...not this…whatever you call it!" To my shame, I burst into tears.

Well, that convinced him. After making embarrassed but soothing noises, we got all my luggage out of the space invader and I was led back to the office until they could find me something else. After about half an hour someone delivered a small manual drive Peugeot complete with standard speedo and displays (although even some of these were digital) and they hurriedly handed me the keys and sent me on my way.

When I told my family this story, we all had a good laugh at my histrionics, but it was a bit of a salutary lesson. I've now acknowledged I need to go on a course or two on how to cope with some of this 21st century technology. I dread to think what I'll do otherwise when my old and trusty car (with wind up windows and old fashioned cassette tape deck), computer and phone (no touch screens in sight) give up. Or maybe I'll just have to accept it's time for me to give them up too! What do you think?

Reminiscing

As some of you who've followed me here for a few years will know, I used to have a barge in Brussels.  It was what I had to escape to at the weekends before the cottage on the dyke. A charming, stubby old thing rather like a comfortable matron, the Ténacité was a shortened spits, the model of barge or péniche mostly used on the French canals. Its original length was 39 metres, but fourteen of those had been chopped out (I know - sounds ludicrous, doesn't it?) and served a new purpose as a floating boat house for a canoeing club. I was left with the remaining 25, hence the stubby, rather matronly appearance.

So why am I reminiscing then? Well, I'm busy writing about those Brussels years in a new memoir and it's giving me cause to reminisce. My daughter also found a heap of photos  of the Ténacité on a disc that she's given me and which I've been browsing through. Of course the result is I've been getting very nostalgic about that period in our lives, which is already ten years ago. It seems hardly possible.

The Ténacité - a shortened spits

Lots of light and space

The garden was on a slope

Break-time for Sindy and me

Looking along the row of barges

Actually, I only had the Ténacité for three years. I bought it for a song and sold it rather well, which is why I was able to invest in the cottage. But I didn't really want to sell it. Circumstances that I won't go into here rather forced the issue. The thing was, the Ténacité had everything I could wish for: space and light inside and a garden outside. I love gardening, and I love living on the water, but the two don't often go together, so this was ideal in many respects.

The only problem was that the garden was on the dyke, so it sloped up to the road. As you can imagine, this made mowing the grass a weekly challenge. I did the whole stretch (about 30 metres of it) with a hand-mower (yes, I did - a tondeuse à main) but I could only seem to do it in one direction for some reason. If I pushed the other way, the mower would veer off down the dyke and head with unnerving determination for the canal. I swear all that lop-sided effort is why one of my legs is more muscular than the other - really!

The canal on which the Ténacité was moored was very busy. Hour after hour, we would see huge commercial barges passing scarily close to our windows. Occasionally, there would be great excitement when two barges tried to pass our row of floating homes at the same time. There wasn't really room for more than one of the massive two thousand tonners to go through, but sometimes they tried (and eventually made it). However, life would be rather tense as we watched them squeeze through the gap battling not to get sucked into each other's water space (something that can easily happen).

About a kilometre along the tow path, there was a lock, and we often walked up there with Sindy to watch the boats passing through. There's something endlessly fascinating about the sight of a barge rising or falling in a closed lock and there are always people standing around, so it's a good place to have a chat. In this case, the chats were always in French, so tended to be accompanied by lots of gesticulating: this was partly influenced by being in a French culture on one hand but also of making my limited French understood on the other!

The reasons for selling the Ténacité were compelling at the time, but I still have regrets about it, so it's good to be re-living the experiences again as I write my new memoir. I'll add a few more reminiscences here from time to time so I can share some of these old photos with you too. I'm not quite sure where the one below was taken, but I think it's on the approach to Ruisbroek, a village along the Brussel-Charleroi canal which we passed through from time to time on our way to holidays further south. It's not a great photo, I know, but it gives you a flavour of how rural these canals are.

Renovations and relaxation

It's a while since I posted anything about my renovation activities on the Vereeniging, so I thought I'd do a bit of a catch up. My posting has been a bit erratic, I know, mainly because I've been so busy trying to get everything done before work starts in earnest. I haven't succeeded of course, but then (as always), everything takes at least three times longer than you think it will! Still I'm not doing too badly.

So first up was the floor in the Vereeniging. I've painted it in stages as I've had to keep moving things around to clear different sections of it. It looks unnaturally bright and shiny in the photo below, but you get the idea. The paint does dull down to a satin finish after a while which I must say I'm very pleased with.

One re-painted floor

Then there was the great couch destruction episode. My daughter had left an old leather sofa on board when she moved out because it was too big and heavy to remove (lord know how she got it in in the first place). For a while it served a purpose as somewhere for me to sit and ponder on my plans. But, it was not very pretty, it was very badly worn and it wasn't what I really wanted. I therefore decided it had to be dismembered in order to get it through the hatch without destroying other things. This I did with the able assistance and enthusiasm of both my daughters. Then we carted the remains off to the skip on one of the yard's rather old and rickety trolleys (see evidence below). The best thing about this exercise was the fun I had with my two girls as we hacked the thing to pieces.

How to demolish and dispose of an old sofa, harbour style

Following its removal, I was able to finish painting the floor much more easily, as well as re-painting the ceiling throughout the boat. I've also renovated the bathroom, which was looking a bit sad. Now I just need to do all the walls and cupboards.

Meanwhile, other things were happening in the harbour, one of which was a summer festival. The residents of the Oude Haven did their bit by putting on a viking day for the children. The photos below give a glimpse of the festivities and the last one shows the local kids playing with mini viking ships in a paddling pool.

Photos of the summer festival and viking day

Of course, my activities were also interrupted by my week on the helling which focused all my attention on the Vereeniging's exterior, but I've already written about this. The most recent and (I personally feel) crowning achievement has been the construction of my new stairs. The old set that I built back in 2003 or thereabouts was designed for younger versions of us (K and me), and an even younger version of Sindy. Recently she hasn't been able to come on board if I haven't had help. She's just too old and arthritic. The stairs were also getting pretty shabby and so I decided it was time to make some new ones with an easier slope and a bit more substance. Five planks of pine and two thin sheets of plywood later (along with the help of a youtube 'how to' video), this is (queue drum roll) the result. 

Daughter, Jo, playing the fool behind
my new stairs

I still have to finish varnishing them and putting anti-slip strips on them before I test Sindy's abilities to get up and down, but I'm praying she can manage it. I should say the slope looks sharper in the photo than it really is, so wish me luck.

My daughter  came to help me screw all the treads in and again, we had a lot of fun. Then since the afternoon was so gorgeous, we also went for a spuddle in my rowing boat. This became quite hilarious as Jo is a stronger rower than I am (I should also mention my oar had holes in it…it did!) Added to that, the current was running very fast so much of the time we were going either round in circles, veering into other barges or even going backwards. I think we provided quite a bit of entertainment for the other harbour residents too (note to self: must practise). So to sign off, here are a few pics of our spuddle taken with the ubiquitous smart phone. Have a good weekend allemaal! 

Spuddling on a gorgeous September afternoon

Wonderful World Harbour Days

I mentioned in my last post that I had to vacate the helling early this time round because the harbour management wanted to use the slipway as part of the World Harbour Days celebrations. I am happy to report they did just that…and it was truly amazing. In fact, I think I can honestly say this year's event in the Oude Haven was one of the best ever…and we've had a few!

Normally at this event, Koos and I, together with members of the family, take the Vereeniging on a lap of honour of the five harbours that make up our outdoor museum complex. But this year, even though we fixed the engine problem (see last post), we found our departure was blocked by a row of barges and tugboats right across the entrances (or exits) on both sides, so we couldn't leave our mooring. We didn't mind though. We just climbed in my little rowing boat with an electric outboard motor instead, and wove our way between the other vessels to see what was going on.

Our exit was blocked by boats 

I've published many of these photos elsewhere, but to really explain what was going on needs a few words as well. For that, you can't beat a blog!

Sunday's event was what was called a toeterconcert. Apparently, these are not unusual in Holland, probably because there are so many boats with horns, but what happened was this: a collection of brass bands gathered on a huge pontoon barge which was set halfway up the slipway (which I'd vacated last Friday). They were directed by a conductor from one of the boats in the harbour by means of a microphone and loudspeaker. They played a number of pieces with great enthusiasm if not much finesse, and at intervals they were joined by the barges and boats hooting their horns.

A collection of brass bands gathered on a pontoon
halfway up the slipway

It was a marvellous cacophony. I just loved it. Small boats were filled with people just hovering in the harbour listening to this vivid, slightly out of tune, but crazily vibrant music. The jetties, bridges and terraces were packed. Everyone was spellbound. And smiling broadly.

Small boats filled with onlookers

People watched from the bridges and terraces

Harbour families watching from their rowing boats

Then at one point, a trumpeter standing high on the platform of a fire-fighting tugboat, played a magnificent solo. It was quite breathtaking. The whole show ended with the same boat creating a huge fountain of spray with its high pressure hose. What a fitting end!

A trumpeter plays on the fire-extinguisher platform of
a fire boat/tugboat

The tug's fire extinguishers create a fountain of spray

Throughout the event, we wove our way through the pontoons and barges in my little plastic rowing boat taking photos and enjoying the atmosphere.

All in all it was a great day and another fabulous World Harbour Days celebration to add to the memory collection. In fact, I haven't missed one now for several years as the event marks the end of summer for most of us here. Isn't it great it always does so with so much aplomb?

I describe other, former World Habour Days in my book, Harbour Ways. If you would like to read a sample of the book, you can find it here

A helling of a week

Since Monday, I have been in zombie mode. For those who know me and my barge, the Vereeniging, this means I've just had my lovely old girl on the slipway and it has, as always, been very intense. However, this hellingbeurt has been more so than usual as in effect, I've had three days less than the full week I would normally have. The reason for this is that this weekend, it is World Harbour Days, the annual port of Rotterdam festival, and the harbour authorities wanted to use the slipway for other festival activities…as a result, I had to be off today instead of next Monday, which would normally be the case.

Jodie giving the previous incumbent a stern eye…get thee
gone!

Koos enjoying the morning air

Waiting to go on the slipway

So it was that last Monday morning, we went on the helling and by the evening, we were already prepared for the big hull painting marathon that took place over Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Four layers of bottom coat (below the water line) and two layers of top coat (above the water line) later, plus a new layer on the back cabin (roef)  and the engine room roof, we were ready to slip back down again today.

First coats first on the bows

There can't be many barges with a more beautiful stern

Looking good in her newly blacked skirts!

Unluckily for us, we had a bit of trouble with the engine as we pulled out into the current. It decided to behave very erratically and caused us some unnerving moments by cutting out mid-stream. On the lucky side, however, there was a tugboat in the harbour just lying in wait ready to give use a nudge in the right direction. The engine started again, and we chugged very very slowly back to my mooring. The motor clearly needs some TLC too as it was still very uneven all the way back. It seems likely there's a fuel feed problem, which may or may not be the dreaded diesel bug. I hope not!

So that was the helling week that was.

I've been at it twelve hours a day for the last few and now feel ready for a relaxing weekend. But there is still plenty to do, and before that, I am off to Amsterdam with Jodie to meet the fascinating Trish Nicholson, who is giving a couple of talks at the ABC Tree House on character development in writing. On Sunday, though, I shan't risk dodgy engines, but I shall spuddle around Rotterdam in my rowing boat and see what World Harbour Days has to offer by way of entertainment this year….no doubt I'll have my camera with me!

Only in Wallonia

Today, I decided to have an away day. Owing to all the commitments and deadlines I have this summer, there's been no time for a holiday as such, so I felt that having drafted several sections of my dissertation and done a heap of boat work, I deserved some hours off. So, with Koos in Poland and too much rain for painting, I went south to seek the company of those wonderful Wandering Snails of note, Anne and Oll.

Their narrowboat, generally referred to simply as Snail, was moored at Pommeroeul which is a lovely village in the far south of Belgium. However, as is often the case, the canal is a good stretch from the village itself and the Snail was moored at the junction between the busy and much used Canal Nimy Blaton-Peronnes and the Canal Hensies-Pommeroeul, which is no longer accessible to boaters owing to serious silting at the French border through which it passes (a long story for perhaps another post). As a result, there is a large lock at the junction with the canal from Blaton to Peronnes that is no longer in use.

Canal junction with the lock being the thin blue line between
the two basins

It is a lovely spot, even when the weather is bad (as it was today). I have been there a couple of times before but hadn't matched the name to the place until I arrived. There is a wide basin just before the lock and the sense of space and even solitude is marvellous (see aerial photo here). I'd had what might be called an 'interesting' drive down given that I got lost three times on route and endured Sindy shouting at me every time I slowed down to find out where I was. Added to that, it poured with rain for most of the journey, and I was an hour and a half later than I said I'd be. As a result, my sense of humour had taken quite a hammering by the time I pulled up next to the jetty. Even so, it was lovely to step out of the car (in the drizzle) and breathe in the fresh (damp) air and take in the space and tranquillity of the place again. It was also wonderful to see Anne and Oll again and we spent some good catch-up hours together.

But there is one thing about the lock at Pommeroeul makes it particularly special. In fact, it empitomises what makes Belgium, and particularly Wallonia, such a fascinating country. This écluse hasn't been used for twenty years, yet it is still manned and the lock keeper is there in his office on a daily basis. About the only work he has to do as far as operating the lock itself goes is to open the gates occasionally to let a boat in so the crew can fill up with water; other than this, he has no other locking duties to perform. Twenty years. To have a job that is no job. Almost unbelievable isn't it?

The rather grand and business-like lock keepers office

The lock from the end closest to the Blaton-Peronnes Canal

When I heard this I could only shake my head in wonder and laugh. Belgium is always full of surprises. It is the home of surrealism and somehow this disused, but permanently manned lock sums it up for me.

There is something very gallic about it too - and it reminds me in a way of the automated locks in France that don't operate at lunchtime (true). A quirk that fits in well with the French reputation for their love of lunch.

But this is even more mystifying. Perhaps it is because the Belgians take the quirks just one step further, and the Wallonians, (being French-speaking) go another step beyond that too. So what can I say except what my title says? Where else could this happen? Nowhere else of course. Only in Wallonia.