Valenciennes to Antoing

I've almost been reluctant to continue our travel blog. I suppose it's because I'm still trying to get used to the fact that it's over and we are back home in the Netherlands - not that I don't like it here, of course. I do! But I loved the itinerant life on the water so much that I think I've been suffering from a bit of post holiday blues, and finishing this blog will be the final confirmation that it's back to normal business. The good news is that we are already planning another shorter trip this summer; maybe it'll just be for a long weekend, but it's something to look forward to.

The last of these blogs ended at Bassin Rond again, where we had another lovely night and encountered this very special boat in the morning. It's an ex-salvage boat from an oil rig and the young couple who were living on Milda (as the boat was called) had crossed the channel in her and were on their way to Paris. Isn't it fabulous?

We left Milda and co. late Saturday morning and started on our way to Valenciennes. This involved some negotiating round the thick weeds at the exit onto the main canal of the Escaut/Schelde, but we made it without getting our propellor mixed up with or attached to any hangers-on. Almost immediately, there was a big commercial lock, and after establishing by means of my recently dusted off and sort of serviceable French that the lock at Bruay beyond Valenciennes had been re-opened since 1 July, we knew we could continue with this route (we'd had to change routes on the way south because it was closed for a week or three - the length of time seemed to vary depending on who we spoke to). In this first lock, we tied up to one of the commercials whose skipper was clearly delighted to have another man to talk to and proceeded to regale Koos with all his opinions on life and politics as well as on the Dutch, including why Amsterdam is so much better than Rotterdam. I left them to it. His opinions didn't leave much room for comment or debate.

After another two locks on this wide, beautiful river, we reached Valenciennes around six o'clock and, joy of joy, found a marina with showers as well as electricity and water! Luxury!

On the way along the Escaut

A loading bay for the commercial barges

We lost our lovely Sunbrella in a gust of wind
 on the Canal de Saint Quentin, so I rigged up a replacement

Luxury mooring in Valenciennes

We spent a very refreshing night in Valenciennes (thanks to our first real shower of the journey - see  previous post re camping shower if you are now mentally holding your nose) and after a Sunday morning walk through the town and some internet catch up time outside McDonalds (yes, it did work, even though they were closed!) we set off again down the Escaut. There were three big locks to get through and then no more before Antoing where we wanted to spend the night. It was hot. And it was glorious. Waiting for the locks was no pain at all, and at Fresnes, the last one before the Belgian border, we had to wait quite a while. We only later discovered it was because here all the commercials had to produce their paperwork. As we had our vignettes (stick on boating permits), we didn't, but of course we had to wait for them. Fresnes took about an hour and a half all told.

More riverside loading quays

Waiting for the lock at Fresnes - not a bad life!

After a long stretch of rather lonely canal lined only with bushes and reeds, and where the only entertainment came from the busy activities of the water fowl, we arrived at the Belgian border. Almost immediately, the scenery changed. An avenue of tall trees replaced the bushes, towpaths were suddenly alive with cyclists and there was generally more to see altogether. Unfortunately, the weather also changed and we got well soaked on the stretch of canal that took us into Belgium. But it cleared up and by the time we moored up in the side basin at Antoing, the sun was out again. 

The old customs house on the border

Crossing the border into Belgium - note the trees!

Approaching Antoing with the castle as our beacon

Mooring at Antoing

We liked it so much in Antoing, we stayed there for two days. The town is not particularly beautiful although it does have a lovely castle (which was, sadly, closed). However, the people were really friendly and made us feel extra welcome; there were barges to watch and a great bunker station with a treasure trove of barge goodies; there was also an Aldi supermarket within a short walk of the boat. Tournai was an easy bike ride away too, and I cycled there to buy more cooking gas. On our second morning, we went to the market, where again we were treated with such friendly interest, it underscored for me once again why I love Wallonia so much. We met lots of lovely people in France too, but Antoing will remain in our memories as somewhere extra special.

Oh and yes, I bought Koos a hat at the market to protect his poor neck from too much sun - although from this photo, it looks as if his eyes do better out of the deal.

By now, it was Tuesday and we were nearly halfway through July. I was beginning to get work emails and as I'd originally said we'd be back at the end of June, I thought I should get back and get busy again, so we left Antoing for the last of the legs home.

This was really our goodbye to France and the French-speaking waterways. The next stop would be back in Flanders, so I'll leave that for a final blog.

Kortrijk, Astene and Gent deserve their own piece, don't you think?

This is by road as close as I can get to the route we took going.
We went by way of Gent, Oudenaarde, Roubaix, Lille, Douai and Cambrai,
then south.

And this is as close as I can get to the return route. We returned by way of Cambrai,
Valenciennes, Tournai, Kortrijk, Deinze and then Gent.

From the Bassin Rond to the Canal de St Quentin

Well here we are two and a half weeks into our travels. I can hardly believe we've been away so long already. This last week since we left Douai has been simply magical.

It took us two days to reach Cambrai in the end and we stopped for a night at one of the places we'd long dreamed of visiting, Le Bassin Rond, a lovely lake at the end of a side branch of the Canal de la Sensée at its junction with L'Escaut or the Scheldt as most English speakers know it. We've been there a few times by car but never before by boat, so this was really special for me. On a much more mundane level, it marked the point where the weather had improved enough for me to use my camping shower. For any of you who do not know this marvel, it is a big plastic bag, one side of which is black and the other transparent. It has a handle and a pipe with a shower head . The idea is that you fill the bag with water, leave it in the sun and the water gets hot enough for a good shower. I can confirm it was just wonderful and I've used it several times since...another indication that the weather has remained good.

Cambrai

From Bassin Rond, we continued to Cambrai where we had a great lunch with our friends Alain and David at The Jolly Sailor, their restaurant. This was another long time dream - to arrive by boat, moor up and have lunch there.

Honnecourt sur Escaut

We spent the night in Cambrai and the following afternoon, we started off on the gorgeous Canal de St Quentin that winds its way south. Five dreamlike days when we barely knew what day it was as one sun-filled day merged into the next. All I need say for now is that we went through something like seventeen locks and three wonderful overnight stops before reaching the Tunnel de Riqueval, the end point of our journey. We visited the villages of Marquoing, Vendehuile and Honnecourt sur Escaut, the last being somewhere I would love to park my barge forever. During this time, I got my hillside cycling legs back to some extent when we discovered any decent shops were always 7kms from where we were. Luckily, we always managed to find a bakery and my favourite place, Honnecourt, also boasted a limited grocery store.

I will be writing much more about the magical Canal de St Quentin in due course, but now we are back in the Bassin Rond ready to start the return journey. Tomorrow, we will be in Valenciennes and then we will head north, which is downstream on the Escaut/Scheldt towards Tournai. Homeward bound, but a different route, so still more of an adventure to come.

PS Apologies for the poor photo quality. These come from my not very smart smartphone.

Faring very well in France

I've been absent for a while, for which I apologise but for once I am not sorry. I have been and still am, having a wonderful time following my dream of gentle cruising in France. Not, as most people do, in central and southern France, but in the much maligned north - maligned because of its industrial past and its weather. However, I can confirm here and now that there are many magical waterways in the north and I am happily discovering them with Koos, although I will admit the weather could have been better!

We left the Netherlands on 22 June in pouring rain. Within a kilometre we were over the border into Belgium and forty minutes after that, we were approaching Gent in driving rain, fiollowed by an English narrowboat. Both of us with open steering. The following photos will say it all:

Ten hours later, we were in Oudenaarde. In distance, we'd done a mere 55 kilometres, but river time has its own dimension and we thought we'd done very well, especially as the sun came out as we tied up. Oudenaarde in lovely, but just an overnight stop this time.

By the next evening, we'd followed the Scheldt/Schelde river upstream (or south), crossed into Wallonia and turned into the magical Canal de L'Espierres that becomes Roubaix once over the French border and is a sort of back door into France.

We spent a total of 6 days and nights on this dreamlike canal and met some lovely people (the two Terries on their Widebeam narrowboat) at Leers Nord where we spent 3 of them, so when we left the day before yesterday, I felt quite down. The canal staff and lock assistants were wonderful on both sides of the border, and the whole week was made even more special by meeting up with Koos' son and daughter-in-law, as well as our lovely friends, Jackie and Noel Parry, but once we were on the move again, things seemed better.

The next night, Tuesday, we spent in Lille, revisiting the Bois Blancs where Koos took me the first year we were together. Much has changed and been redeveloped since those days, but the fun of faring through low bridges in the city that many others can't navigate is unmatchable. We almost didn't manage one and lost our flagpole when it was knocked out of its hold by the rungs of one particularly low bridge. Some rapid reversing and flailing with a boat hook and we succeeded in retrieving it.

After heading into the city (always worth a visit as Lille is lovely), we found the VNF offices (the waterways auhorities) and bought our permit from very charming woman, Francoise and were then warmly received by her manager who directed us to another kind woman who heaped us with maps and goodies to help us on our way. 

Wednesday night found us in the quiet village of Don after two hours faring from Lille, and then yesterday, we had a longish day and eventually moored up in heaven, otherwise known as the Canal de la Souchez near Lens. I cannot imagine any place that fits my dream of cruising the French canals more than this one, but time is becoming limited and we had to move on this morning.

Tonight we will be in Douai and tomorrow, our goal, Cambrai. I cannot write more now, but will catch up again as soon as possible. As you can imagine, I am loving every minute of this trip. This is what I have dreamt of for years now and it's worth every treasured moment...rain and all!

Preparing to fare it well

It was back in 2008, eight years ago, that Koos and I bought a small traditional Dutch Barge, a Groninger Snik to be precise, from a family in Groningen.

Just before we lost the bowsprit

I remember the purchase of the little Hennie H as if it was yesterday. Koos drove up to Groningen on 18 May and by the end of the month we were the owners of this very pretty little barge. At this stage I had only seen photos, but exactly a month later, on 18 June, Koos and I drove up together again, our mission being to do the return trip to Rotterdam on the boat.

Leaving Groningen

It was a lovely journey. We set off from a tiny backwater canal in Groningen the following damp, misty morning, heading towards the main arterial canals that surround this historic Dutch city. Not even the demise of our small bowsprit at the first lock dampened our spirits. A misjudgement of the wind and an unfamiliar boat had Koos crashing headlong into the lock wall, and the consequent crunch splintered it. Beyond repair. But we didn't like it anyway, we had no sails and so we laughed it off.

Archetypal Dutch scenery

We spent three days travelling down through Groningen and Drenthe; three days of magical scenery, kindly lockkeepers and mostly friendly boaters along the way. I say mostly because one German boater started barking at us as loudly as Sindy in one of the locks. Apparently, he didn't like the way we did things and he didn't like our dog either.

At our second night's mooring. Sindy on land and
happy to be on terra firma

Sindy on board and very unhappy

That aside, we had a wonderful trip as far as Zwartsluis where I left Koos to return to Groningen and fetch our car. He continued on for another two days along the Vecht, through Utrecht, finally reaching Rotterdam on 26 June.

Arriving in Rotterdam

Learning things we wish we'd known before

The Hennie H then spent a few months in the Oude Haven, during which time we learnt a lot of things about it that we would rather have known before we bought it (another story) and doing extensive repairs and painting. It was eventually in September of that year that we sailed it down to Sas van Gent and since then, it hasn't really moved anywhere except up the canal and back between Terneuzen and Zelzate, the reason being too many problems and too many months out of action at the yards.

Being towed by The Wandering Snail from Zelzate during
'the troubles'

But this year, we aim to change all that. I won't say anymore now in case I jinx it, but watch this space. Or maybe not. The thing is, I might be absent for a while. If so, be happy for me because if so, I will be faring well.

My Nevereverlands

I've been reading a book this last week called Dutched Up: Rocking the Clogs Expat Style, and I've been enjoying it very much. It consists of a collection of articles and stories written by about 25 expat bloggers living in the Netherlands, and all the articles are about dealing with the Dutch culture as they have found it. Some of the articles are pretty critical and a few have almost had me up in arms in defence of my adoptive country; others are philosophical and others openly positive. But they are all valid because they are all based on real experience, and I've found them quite fascinating. But it got me thinking. What is it that I like about living in this rather special country where honesty is valued above diplomacy and where you doe maar gewoon; dan doe je al gek genoeg (just act normal; that's already crazy enough).

I've had my own bewilderment over Dutch culture over the years. However, I'm now so used to living here that I'm almost suspicious when I go back to the UK and South Africa and encounter what sounds remarkably like double-speak to me. It really does! I know it isn't and I haven't given up my English indirectness myself, but I've just got used to not expecting it from others. I love my Dutch friends and have a lot of fun with them; we laugh about my tentative requests and diplomatic denials that leave more room for negotiation than I ever intended. "What are you really trying to say, Val?" I've been asked more than a few times. "Why don't you just say what you mean without all this polite decoration?" "But I can't." I say, laughing. "It just won't come out." That said, I'm a lot better than I used to be and I definitely don't flinch anymore when a chance remark of laser-like directness catches me in the jugular or a response made with the bluntness of a sledgehammer knocks me off balance. I am used to it; I no longer take offence or creep off and lick my wounds because I know this is simply Dutch honesty and they genuinely do not intend hurt or harm.

So again, what are the pros and cons of living here? There are of course things I don't like: the weather for one, but then I don't think I'd like that anywhere much in Europe. South Africa has, for me, the perfect climate, and I hate the rain, wind and cold. I don't like the bureaucracy much either; it's a pain, it's frustrating and mind-numbing,  the Blasted Dienst  (Belastingdienst a.k.a. the Tax office) being the worst, but I don't think it's much more awful here than in the UK and probably not as bad as it is in France from what I've heard. Added to that, I certainly don't much care for the do it yourself attitude to healthcare here. These days, I have to have something really wrong before I'll venture to the doctor where I mostly get asked what I know about my own condition. There are other things too but all that aside, let's look at the good things, and they are plenty.

Dutch Skies are amazing

I love the Dutch landscape. Yes, I love hills too and miss the mountains, but here you can see forever and really stretch your eyes; the sky is as much part of the scenery as the land and the skies here are stunning even when it's raining. I love the trees along the dykes and the waving reed banks along the sloten (drainage ditches) and canals. I love the water everywhere; I really love that! The boats, barges, quaint bridges and huge commercial waterways alike are my soul food. The fact that river and canal traffic seems to take priority over road traffic seems totally right to me, and I never mind waiting even up to twenty minutes for a bridge to open and close for the boats and barges to pass through. If I'm late for work, well so be it. Everyone gets caught by it sometimes. Oh and did I mention I love the boats? More than almost anything?

Boats , bridges and sky in this one

What else then? Well, I am still fascinated by the biking culture. Being a late starter on two wheels (I only got my first bike ever at the age of 36), I am riveted by the skill of Dutch cyclists who seem to be able to perform impossible deeds on a bike. My favourite sight is that of young mothers cycling with a child on the front and one on the back (and maybe even leading a dog as well) weaving their way through the traffic as if it's the most natural thing in the world. But I've seen people carrying and doing incredible things on their bikes. It's as if when they're born, they whizz out of the chute on tiny bikes and never look back. Granted it's pretty safe here because of the huge network of cycle lanes that criss-cross the country, and of course it's flat, which helps tremendously. About the only hills within miles of Rotterdam are the bridges over the rivers.

Dutch bikes in Amsterdam

The skating culture is another thing. Phenomenal! As soon as there's enough natural ice to bear their weight, the Dutch rush to don their skates and head out to play. It just makes me smile. From tiny tots to grannies and grandpas, they're all out there. There's much less fuss about whether or not the ice is thick enough because a lot of the time even a big puddle will do and no one's going to drown in that. Then if the winter isn't cold enough for natural ice, they make their own by freezing over random pieces of ground, just so people can skate in the winter.

Dutch families skating on natural ice

The Dutch attitude to dogs is also something I appreciate immensely. They accept that dogs are part of the family and so you can take your pet pooch anywhere on public transport while many hotels accepts dogs and there are even restaurants where the family furry is allowed, water bowl and biscuits provided. We won't mention the pooh on the pavements though...

Lastly (for now, and also because I'm not writing a book here), I love Rotterdam. It's my city and although I get tired of the noise in the Oude Haven at times, it's a special and unique place to live. The city itself is alive and vibrant and constantly changing. It's quite a joke that anyone coming to Rotterdam might ask "What's that building over there?" and the Rotterdammer will say "I don't know; it wasn't there last week." I love walking through the market early in the morning, across the square behind the church and along the back alleys into the Meent, one of the busy shopping streets. When the city is waking up and the cafés and bars are opening, there is a special atmosphere of fresh expectancy. Oh and yes, I love the river (as you've probably guessed). It is the lifeblood of the city. If the Netherlands were a body, Rotterdam would be its heart and the river its main artery. Wonderful.

Again, there are other things, but I won't go on - not today, anyway. But all things being equal, I think you might say that when you balance them up, I'm pretty much okay with living here, don't you? The Netherlands has been good to me, this stray sort of South African English woman.

So to finish, here's a question for all of you...what is it you love about your home? Answers please in the comment box below and make them as long as you like...

My sneaky floor eaters

A few months ago, I was ferreting around in my little back cabin scraping up the rust of ages while wonder welder, Tim, was fixing some nice steel plates to the bottom of my barge to pre-empt any possible risk of my stepping through the hull and consigning myself and my home to a watery underworld.

However, what I didn't realise until I started this enterprise was that it wasn't the steel that was in danger of disintegrating; it was the wooden floor on which I was kneeling.

Unbeknown to me, a colony of woodworm, whose predilection for chomping their way through exotic woods of great worth and density (their version of caviar and rump steak) is well documented, had found their way into the hardwood floor of my cabin and had been merrily demolishing it. I say unbeknown, because the floor was covered with carpet, so the little varmints - or should I say 'wormints' - had been having an ongoing feast worthy of a Roman orgy without being detected. Until I put my foot through a certain patch of it, that is.

Well, I didn't really put my foot through it; there was the carpet to save me, of course. But I heard the awful crunching and splintering and realised that it was a lot worse than I'd thought. I'd seen a few little hillocks of sawdust on the steel of the hull and had treated the parts that I could see with cuprinol, but until I ripped up the carpet, I had no idea how far they had gone.

It was amazing. If you've ever seen a honeycomb that's what my floor resembled in this one particular area. Here's a photo of the plank I cut out.

Honeycomb wood

Rather dark, but the offending area

So now comes the tough part. Do I rip the whole floor out? Or do I hope that my now extensive anti woodworm treatment has done the trick of banishing them to worm Hades? Can I just replace the plank that was the object of their extreme attention? My idea is that if I then varnish the floor thoroughly, it might put them off returning. Or am I clutching at straws? 

Well, in the end, I'll have to do what I can afford to do, both time and money-wise.

So maybe it will end up being a compromise (sorry). 

Whatever the case, it's taught me an important lesson. Never cover unvarnished wood without making it easy to check it. Or rather, just never cover an unvarnished floor. Simple isn't it? 

I wish it hadn't taken me fifteen years to learn that lesson as the wormints have had a good many of those to chew their way through numerous planks and I still don't know the real extent of their burrowings. But (and I say this with fingers, toes and thumbs crossed), the rest of the floor feels pretty strong, and since no one but me goes into the back cabin, I'll probably take the chance. Well you would if you were me too...

That said, I now have another 'what if' scenario to add to my well stoked syndrome. But then I'll always find something to worry about, so it might as well be something worthwhile, and I think on this occasion it is. For the time being, the score is still woodworm 1, me 0. I think I'd like to at least make it a draw!

Our homegrown writing festival

This is just a quickie (really!) as a kind of thank you from me to the lovely writers, audience and ABC staff who made our own homegrown English Writing Festival such a success this last Saturday. It was an event that had taken several months from germination and nurture to fruition, but when it happened it was an inspiring afternoon from which I hope everyone left feeling it was worth their while.

Here's what I learnt from each of the other writers who spoke:

Jennifer Harvey : Flash Fiction

Jennifer Harvey, a prize winning writer who stems from Scotland, but writes and edits for an online story writers website, taught me that for a powerful and evocative piece of Flash Fiction (anything under 1000 words), the writer has to make careful choices about what information to leave out - in other words, how much of 'less' is 'more'.

Floris Kleijne: Short Stories

Floris Kleijne, who is Dutch, but writes in English for which he has won awards, taught me about not censoring my 'mental flatulence' (he did!). His message, delivered with flair and great humour, was that we should let our creativity bubble rise up and flow out unchecked. He gets his inspiration from being a participant in theatre sports and improv acting where the participants must accept any idea offered or block the story. You can always edit out the rubbish (stench) afterwards. Nice, hey?

Marinca Kaldeway: Poetry

Marinca, who'd just arrived back from a trip to the land of poets, Ireland, showed me that poetry doesn't have to be a lonely pursuit as online publishing has given her a feeling of community she never had before. She told us that her inspiration for her prose poetry comes from her own sense of longing, so it is very centred on self, rather than flash fiction short stories which are often not.

Olga Mecking: Blogging

Olga Mecking comes from Poland, is married to a German and lives in the Netherlands. She started blogging as a means of finding a community to belong to, and she reinforced this notion for me too, for as a blogger myself, I've found a great community in my blogging sphere as well. As a stranger in a strange land, it can be a marvellous way of making contacts and building a social circle on both the web and in real life.

Me on writing memoirs

As for me, what did I learn from my own talk? Well, for one thing, I should never bother to write a script because I never keep to it and I lose the plot all too easily. Ahem. No points to Val for structure and organisation. In my own defense though, I am a teacher used to working without script and just a basic plan, so I am more at ease in that mode. I have learnt that I won't write out my talks again...

But I did write a script and writing it helped me realise why I love writing memoirs. I started after being inspired by Peter Mayle's Year in Provence, and it was his stories about the people he lived among in France that appealed to me. For me, then, memoirs give me the outlet for my observations on the life, people and wonderful quirks of the world in which I live. I thought I'd written my last memoir, but now, I've learnt that I can just go on doing so as long as I have the will and curiosity for life to keep fuelling them.

As I said, it was an inspiring event and as the Dutch say, a very leerzaam or learnsome one too.

PS, thank you too to Jo (for the lovely photos), Mo (for the great questions) and to Ko(os) for being there for me (always), driving me there, paying the exorbitant parking bill, and helping me carry all the stuff around.