Filling in the gaps

Once again, I've let my blog slip. I can only say it's because I've just been too occupied with the changes to my teaching life to be able to focus on the internet in general and my favourite place on the web in particular.

So just to fill in a few gaps, I'll mention the few diversions we've had since we came back from Rotterdam. I will admit that apart from work, there hasn't been all that much going on and nothing as uplifting (sorry) as being on the slipway. Still, there's been a birthday and a weekend staying on the Hennie H to relieve the routine.

We arrived back at the crumbly cottage on Tuesday, 12 May after our two weeks in Rotterdam, and I spent the rest of the week catching up with work commitments, which was quite intense. So at the weekend I was thrilled by the arrival of my daughter and her boyfriend early on Sunday morning. They brought me Tommy, my very own moped, as a truly wonderful early birthday surprise. Tommy is actually a Tomos. He is what we call a snorfiets, which means he is licensed to run at a maximum of 25kms per hour. He can actually do 32kms, but I shouldn't push him to that anyway. As you might be able to see, I was very chuffed as I've wanted a Tommy for quite a while. So ideal for running to the shops, or taking a spin along the dykes.

These two photos below are evidence of my first ride out. I was a bit nervous, but I enjoyed myself tremendously. I've been out on him twice since, but more practice is undoubtedly needed. I'm currently scared of going downhill, turning corners, meeting cars, having to avoid people, bikes, horses, stray bugs and beetles...okay, just about everything. But I'll get there and I love it.

After Tommy's arrival at the house, the next stop was the Henny H where my daughter and her man had put up bunting and organised a birthday breakfast. It was all too lovely and I was deeply touched. Surprises like these always bring out my soppy side and I was quite overwhelmed. Of course, my grandpup came too and had to be part of the proceedings.

I am blessed with the most wonderful daughters, I really am. My eldest also treated me to a surprise visit on Mother's Day while we were in Rotterdam on the helling and brought me a handmade book she'd made and illustrated herself. They give me so much and are so thoughtful. If you're reading this, thank you my lovely girls.

Anyway, last weekend we punctuated the week's work with a sleepover on the Hennie H. At first we only intended to stay Friday night, but we liked being there so much, we stayed Saturday night as well. Even though the harbour is a mere two and a half kilometres from the house, it felt like a holiday and it did us both good. 

I should also add that our much loved English neighbour in the village has sold his house to a man who has bought it to let. Tim, the former owner, used to come over three to four times a year, and even then, it was just him and his dog. For the rest of the year, we had no neighbours on either side. However, the house on the other side of us is also being rented. Like Tim, the former owners were just occasional visitors. 

Now, Koos and I are not misanthropists as such, but we like our privacy and have got used to a quiet life. We definitely aren't used to full-time neighbours, especially Koos. Until Corona, we weren't together for half the time anyway, and once life goes back to normal, so will we.  However, for the moment not only have we had to get accustomed to living in each other's pockets, we now have a lively family of five on one side and a couple who like to live outside on the other. Escape is required and, luckily, the Hennie H provides the sanctuary we need.

This weekend, we'll probably go there again. There's plenty of work to do on board, and it's good motivation to get on with it.

For now, then allemaal, I hope you're enjoying the relaxing of some of the restrictions and you're all staying well. We're still having the most beautiful weather here. The forecast tells us it will continue for another week...just until lockdown is lifted. Then, when we have more freedom of movement, it will start raining again. Which of you mentioned Murphy? Yes, well, he always has something up his sleeve, doesn't he? 

Till next time.

The week(s) that was

It's been two weeks since I posted here, an omission for which I apologise. In fact, in my last blog I mentioned we would be on the slipway (helling) with my Vereeniging, and I said I'd be blogging about it, which I've totally failed to do. Why? Well two reasons: one, we had a lot of hard graft to get through and I was so tired every night I barely managed to read a page, let alone write one; the second reason was that the internet on board was hopeless. We usually connect via a harbour network, but for some reason it just didn't want to work on the yard, so all my online activity had to be via my phone. Well since my teaching is all online at the moment, you can guess what took priority. I'm afraid blogging didn't get a look in as a result.

Anyway, we've finished now and tomorrow morning at 07:00 we'll be sliding back into the water. To sum it all up, it was 12 days of sterling effort from Koos, who diligently attacked the waterline with a rotary steel brush attached to an angle grinder. It's been some years since the crud of ages was removed and it revealed a few distinctly dodgy spots, one of which signalled a quick repair job. Sadly, our friend Tim, who was going to help us with welding, has injured his back and couldn't do it. After a series of calls, it transpired there was no one available to help, so it was time to get creative.

While chatting to Tim earlier, I'd explained why I'd sealed the edge of a weld with two component epoxy. We were both extolling the virtues of this wonderful product and he told me his barge had stayed afloat for five years thanks to some judicious application of said epoxy to holes in its bottom. Eventually, of course, he'd replaced the steel and welded it all properly. After relating this story to Koos, we had the idea of applying a 'sticking plaster' of steel to the dodgiest of the weak areas with 'spot' welds (one at each corner) and then sealing the edges with epoxy. Voilà! Job done, thin spot protected and no welders injured in the process. Nor, thankfully, did I have to dismantle my interior to avoid the fanning flames of a weld gone wild (sorry).

For most of the week, while Koos was grinding, I was painting, working, and painting again, but today we finished up. We're pleased with our efforts and I'm hoping the primer I used on the waterline will protect it against the ravages of winter and our ever moving currents better than just blacking it would do. Time will tell, so we'll keep fingers, toes and thumbs crossed. As for everything else going on, well we barely noticed there was a crisis, we were so busy. However, over the weekend the sun was hot and the harbour and river were busy with boats. It looked a great way to socially distance yourself and your family to me. I just wished we could have joined them on the water too.

As always, here are a few photos to tell the tale.

Ready to go up

What the well-dressed worker wears on the yard

And the not so well-dressed

Family assistants

Bright and shiny again

A perfect derrière

My old lady basking in the sunlight

Have a good week allemaal. Stay safe, healthy and as happy as circumstances allow.

Knowing our boundaries, or rather our borders

As many of you know, the crumbly cottage is 'somewhere down south' in the Netherlands. In fact it's within squinting distance of the Belgian border and not all too far from my favourite city of Ghent. Although we can't see its gleaming, beckoning towers from our corner of the country, it's somewhere we're used to going quite regularly. So with the current lockdown and closure of the borders, we miss going into our favourite neighbouring country a lot.

The other day we did a bit of a drive around as a way of extending our horizons beyond the lake at the end of the field on the other side of the garden. Beautiful though it is, it's beginning to feel slightly samey. Anyway, to give the drive a purpose, we decided to inspect all the back roads we know that lead into Belgium. To our surprise, every one of them was barricaded with signs like the one in the photo below. 

How is it then, we wondered, that we see so many obviously Flemish cyclists speeding round our Dutch lanes? The Belgians like cycling in Holland because it's so much safer for two wheelers (or so I was told by some Belgians I met while waiting for a canal bridge to open). Even so, with lockdown closing every cross-border lane, it shouldn't be possible. The answer came when we found another lane with the same set up as the one in the photo, but which had been pulled open, probably by farming vehicles.

The thing is, in these areas it's almost impossible to keep the roads completely closed because they criss-cross the 'grens' (border) several times. The rural communities are obliged to follow these 'borderline' routes simply to get to and from their farms or homes. Add to that, there's the Belgians who live in Dutch villages and who go to work in Ghent and other towns in Flanders. It's all a bit too complicated to enforce complete closure, but they're doing their best. The main roads are policed and non-essential travellers are stopped, which is very odd to see after so many years of freedom of movement.

Anyway, on our short tour we had to turn around and retrace several steps to avoid any transgre(n)ssing (sorry 😏). Eventually, we managed to reach the pretty Dutch village of Philippine, where we unscrambled our brains by walking along this beautiful canal. Formerly a conduit right to the sea for fishing boats and goods too, it's now dammed up with no place to go and no boats to show. Its peaceful tree-lined way soon had us imagining we were back in Belgium again, on the Hennie H, and we reminisced about earlier travels on the Eeklo canal, just a few kilometres away. So near but yet so far.

And right by the canal on a dyke, we encountered this woolly crowd, totally ignoring the social distancing rules and enjoying the afternoon shade together. We tried to talk to them about their flagrant display of civil disobedience, but they just turned their backs on us. We couldn't blame them really.

We are now back in Rotterdam for the great Vereeniging lift out, which is due to happen on Wednesday morning. However, our friend, Murphy, has been at it again, and apparently today is the last fine day we'll have for the next two weeks... the precise two weeks of my hellingbeurt. Tomorrow, it will rain, and go on doing so for the foreseeable future. Well, I suppose the farmers will be happy, and so will the ducks, but I'll let you know how we fare in the good mood stakes. It's not what I was hoping for, I must admit.

Have a good week, allemaal and I'll post some pics of the Vereeniging's makeover as soon as possible.

Springing into summer

What glorious weather we've been having lately. It's actually quite hard to believe we're in the middle of a major global pandemic when all around us the blossom is flourishing and even my last year's geraniums are coming into flower. Summer feels as if it's beckoning enthusiastically. That being said, I have a feeling the farmers will be complaining about lack of water soon. We had a good shower on Saturday and it was cloudy and cool yesterday, but this morning the sun was shining brightly again. Am I complaining? Guess.

Sadly for me, I can't enjoy too much Vitamin D therapy as I'm so very busy with work. I know I've said it before, but it's quite a phenomenon that the current situation has meant I now have more teaching than I know what to do with, if not in the usual way. What's happened is that an online course I've been teaching for years in what is called an asynchronous environment (non-real-time) has suddenly become the flavour of the month. Students who can't attend normal classes or social events are suddenly finding they have time on their hands (no travelling, staying at home and no partying probably equates to several extra hours a day) and are looking around for elective courses to bump up their credits.

And so they've found this course I teach, which normally attracts about ten to fifteen students for each programme (one academic writing and one business writing). Even then, many of them drop out in the first weeks when they find out how much work it involves. However, with the current restrictions meaning they've got more spare hours than they bargained for, these students are flocking to do the courses. Instead of having just a dozen or so participants, my employer has just asked me what's the maximum I can cope with. Oh dear. I don't really need any more work at all and now this. Hey ho.

What's making it even more challenging is that I've got a lift out next week and I'll be busy scraping and painting my bottom between furiously correcting assignments...now there's an image to conjure. Koos will be with me too, but of course we'll be keeping our distance from everyone else. It will at least be the best and most natural place to wear a face mask.

There's not much I can say about the work itself without boring you all to tears, so I hope I'll have more interesting things to share next time, but what we have managed to do in the meantime is some more work on the Hennie H – well, Koos has, I should say, not we (unless I'm feeling royal). Now the engine's in place, he's closed the deck again with some nifty plates and bolts and is doing a magnificent job of finishing it nicely (pics coming soon). I've been lending my support by drifting round the side decks with a cloth and bucket of soapy water cleaning off the daily dusting of pollen. What else can a girl do when her other half has monopolised her sander and the electricity?

However, I have managed to finish painting the front door of the crumbly cottage and I've renovated my desk, which I'm rather pleased with, so all is not work; I've managed just a bit of play too. Here are some more photos of our diminishing world and some boaty ones to remind you of what I'll be up to next week.

The nostalgic harbour at nearby Sas van Gent

Beautiful floating history

History on a working canal

Moorings aplenty now

The bridge at Sas 

One very shiny green and cream door

The Vereeniging on the helling in December 2018. The future in my past

Have a good week allemaal. Keep your distance, keep well and I'll catch up with you again soon.

Titbits and pictures from the confines of our world

One of the ironies of this global crisis is that our world has suddenly become much smaller. No longer are we travelling to work, or even to go for a walk. Something we often did before was get in the car and drive across the border to a place we could take a walk, but Belgium is out of bounds to us now. Instead, what is happening is that we're rediscovering the very local world around us because that's all we have access to.

In the Netherlands, we aren't as locked down as many of the other European countries. I'm not going to get into the rightness or wrongness of this. There's already more than enough discussion about it and I'm in no position to know. I wonder if anyone is, really, given that it's a situation none of us has ever encountered before. In fact, I've cut down on a lot of the news I read because I just find it too distressing – so many lost, so many under extreme pressure; still, the point remains that we in the Netherlands can still go out and about as long as we keep our distance from others – 1,5 metres to be precise.

Just as a by the way, I was talking to a Chinese student of mine the other day who comes from Wuhan...yes...that place, and he told me they're lifting the lockdown there. When I asked him what he thought of it, he said: "I don't criticise anyone; I just protect myself. That's all we can do. Protect ourselves." What a wise young man. So that's what we're doing here too 'in our own little way' (thank you for that legendary phrase, Gary and Jill), and in our own little corner of the Netherlands.

But anyway, back to our diminishing world, we're very lucky here to have so many gorgeous walks close by and we're really appreciating how beautiful they are. The blossom is making a special effort for us this year, as are the birds whose glorious singing has stopped me in my tracks on more than one occasion. On one walk, I was privileged to listen to a complete concert from a blackbird sitting on the corner of a roof. Its full throated aria was worthy of a La Scala prima donna.

We also have the Hennie H within walking distance, which means we can at least be on board. Koos has resumed work on the engine, and I've started my annual attempt to stay on top of the paintwork. I say attempt because to date, I've never succeeded – not in the twelve years we've had her. Maybe this year will be my chance... (yes, I see you nod, that'll be the day).

The upside of working on board is that we get to chat to neighbours too, and because we've always done so from the decks of our own ships, nothing feels different. The Dutch talk at the tops of their voices as a cultural habit (friendly, noisy exuberance is one of their most likeable characteristics), so it's actually condition normal for them. Last week, Koos asked one of the nearby couples who live on board how they were were managing with social distancing: "I suppose you don't sleep together anymore?" he quipped. The neighbours laughed. "No," said the husband. "We take it in turns to sleep so we can keep a proper distance." Right. Legs and bells came to mind.

Here are a few photos before I start rabbiting on too much.

Video conferencing with my grandpup 

Pretty as a picture along the dyke

Path through the woods

And then along the creek

Blossom bursting forth

Our nature reserve borders a creeek

Reed island

Along the other side of the creek

Looking back

it makes a lovely walk

Village street

The ships still plough their way along the canal

On their was to and from Ghent.

A lovely day to start the clean-up job on the HH

Loads to do, but she still looks bright.

Have a good week allemaal. As always, stay safe and keep well!

Enjoy your enforced break...

Yes, that's what many people said when the university closed down following the government's directives and I was suddenly left as a teacher without a class (see previous blog post). But the crazy reality of the situation is that I've been busier than ever. Any thoughts of indulging in days of redrafting my work in waiting (as I now call it – 'progress' is simply not happening) have been pushed to one side as I've struggled to adapt to the new normal in the face of the Covid pandemic.

When we were given the task of switching to online lectures and classes, my mind went into overdrive as I tried to navigate my way through instructions for Teams, Zoom and Whereby. I was already using It's Learning, Canvas and Edmodo, but the new platforms I was being presented with (and resisting strongly) were for what I hate most in the world: sitting in front of a camera.

Avoiding the camera at the back of every group

From the age of about three, I've scowled my way through family photos, teenage angsty portraits and group snaps when I was at university. I was always the one practising avoidance tactics.

Still more extreme camera aversion

Then, blissfully, we went to South Africa, where the scenery was more interesting than me for everyone concerned, and of course I had two pretty daughters who loved being the subject of their father's photographic obsession. Exit stage Val and enter blissful oblivion for several long years.

Once back in Europe, though, digital cameras started appearing and I had to resume my ducking and diving all over again, an increasingly difficult task now no one had to worry about wasting film. Then Skype suddenly came to the fore and people wanted to talk on camera. Oh curses. Why on earth would anyone want me to sit and talk on camera? I mean, me? Luckily, I found an excuse for that too. The wifi on the boat was much too unstable, so we could only use audio. Result!

And so this is how I've spent a lifetime managing to successfully to evade the kind of screening I hate so much; that is, until now. The sad truth of the current situation is this: no video means no classes; no classes mean no work; no work... well, I can leave you to finish that one off for yourselves, can't I?

Last week, though, I plucked up the courage to have my first Zoom lesson online. And to my own astonishment, I quite enjoyed it. Chaotic, it undoubtedly was. My students and I couldn't make contact with each other at all at first: the blind leading the blind came very much to mind. But eventually, after numerous emails and messages had hurtled through the airways at rapid fire speed, we managed it, and then spent nearly an hour discussing the way forward for them. This coming week, we'll be repeating the process, at which time, I hope it will be somewhat easier to get things going. Then maybe by next month, when I have another new course starting, I'll be able to face the prospect with a little more equanimity.

So where was I before I started this? Oh yes. That enforced break...now just remind me. What was that supposed to be?

Have a good week, allemaal. Keep your distance, keep safe, and for heaven's sake, stay well!

Upsides

I don't think anyone's in any doubt about the critical nature of the current situation...even without the possibility of media hype, we know it's very serious. I've heard many people quote the mortality figures for normal seasonal flu, which I admit are much higher than I ever realised, but the point is it's seasonal and covers the whole period of winter from (probably) October through to March in the northern hemisphere. This particular scourge is condensing what we normally see in a period of several months into just a few weeks, thereby stretching medical resources and hospitals to the limits, and adding dramatically to the normal seasonal problems.

So yes, we need to be very careful. But it's hard, isn't it? Many people are out of work and are living in a very uncertain and precarious position. It's not just the risks associated with the virus that are affecting them; it's their livelihood that's at risk too. The danger is that we become not only anxious, but confused and depressed as well, so I thought that maybe this week I could focus on some of the positive aspects that I've seen coming out of this very strange time, because there are indeed some very good things happening.

Spring is here, a natural upside

On a local level, I've noticed people are being kinder and more tolerant to each other in all sorts of ways. It's inevitable that we have to cancel appointments and plans, but the level of acceptance about having to do this is really heartwarming. Just as an instance, I'd asked a tree surgeon to come and prune our tree at the crumbly cottage, where we are now self isolating. Bearing in mind I initially made the enquiry in January, it's taken a long time to organise, but first we had the terrible march of Ciara, Dennis and Ellen across the country, which meant he was otherwise occupied with more urgent pruning. Then the poor man sprained his ankle, so he couldn't come when he was going to, and now we have Corona.

So when he asked if he could come next week, I baulked. I'm really not ready to have anyone here yet and even though there's no real reason why he shouldn't, I asked for some leeway. I explained about being nervous of contact at the moment; Koos is in the high risk category and I have allergies that affect my airways. Luckily, he was totally understanding, which relieved me no end. There've been other instances of this too, each of which has given me such reassurance in cases where frustration and annoyance might have been the usual response.

Then there's the notices I see around the supermarkets: the call for us all to work together and keep this thing contained. 'Samen kunnen we het doen' (Together we can do it). I know it's just a little thing, but I find it lifts my spirits. We're all in the same boat, aren't we? On the other hand, you'd all chuckle if you could see me skulking round the aisles trying to avoid other shoppers. When I see anyone coming my way, I freeze, backtrack and duck into the next aisle, only to find I have to do it again because someone is browsing the shelves there too. Shopping has become quite an adventure. I can just imagine the security bods watching their screens and saying: "Aha, sit down, lads. Weekly entertainment time. Here's that old bat again again," and having a good chortle at my antics.

Apart from that, there are the work initiatives, which are actually quite exciting. It's been a big change to switch all my teaching to an online environment, and there will be more challenges to come. This morning, I had a virtual 'meeting' with my two daughters to see how to conduct an online class in real time. For them, of course, it's as easy as breathing, but for me (old traditionalist that I am) it's a big deal, but they made me laugh and showed me that it doesn't really need to be alarming. When I heard that in my daughter's last online class, one of her students was sitting in bed, while another had his little boy crawling all over him, I realised it would probably be a lot of fun. As for our management at the university, they are all being incredibly supportive of these changes.

Then there's the morale boosting on a more national level. One morning last week, all the radio stations across the country played 'You'll never walk alone' at the same time, and there have been evenings where people in the cities have applauded the medical and essential services the way they've done elsewhere in Europe. It's been very moving and a powerful way of giving a sense of togetherness through the need to be apart.

More signs of spring, although this is last year's a bit later

Individually, none of these things is huge, but they're all signs of a growing level of patience and tolerance among people, which can only be positive. Of course, you'll always get the bozos who think none of this applies to them, and the people who refuse to keep a distance from you in the shops, but I think that overall, the response has been rewarding and the general level of warmth and good cheer is increasing.

Add to that is the fact that on our highways, the speed limit has been reduced to 100kms per hour everywhere between 06:00 and 19:00, then even the roads feel calm and relaxed. The authorities sneaked that in without a whisper during the early weeks of this crisis, but I really like it, so that can't be bad either, can it? Oh and of course, Spring is here, which is a wonderful upside in itself as we are having some gorgeous sunshine filled days.

Keep well, iedereen, stay home and stay safe.

Teacher without a class

I was hoping I could skirt round the subject of the Corona virus that's been sweeping across the world, but it seems it's not going to be possible. The subject is dominating everything we do, so it can't be ignored. In fact, when I look back on my blog in years to come (says she with fingers firmly crossed), I will probably remember the first months of this year as some of the most dramatic I've experienced in my life, and for all the wrong reasons.

I have no photos that suit the subject, but this one fills me
with a certain calm, which seem apt right now

Having coped with what I call the 'winds and gales of outrageous attrition' that accompanied storms Ciara, Dennis and Ellen across our flatlands, we are now in virtual lockdown due to the spread of this awful virus that's claiming lives and making people, especially those of us in our later years, very unwell. I have to say we've never known anything like it. Ten or so years ago, we had the Mexican flu, which was also pretty nasty, and which I had. Since then, we've had SARS, Bird flu and probably another one I've forgotten. The thing is it's not unusual for new flu strains to cause a certain amount of havoc, but this one has been the most virulent and is likely to get worse before it gets better.

I'm desperately sorry for everyone who's lost loved ones and whose lives have been forever changed by it. Cafés, restaurants and bars have had to close, big events have been postponed or cancelled, and who knows how many people's investments and finances will crash as a consequence? On a personal note, as of tomorrow all my teaching has been cancelled following a government directive, and we are anxiously trying to find ways of keeping education going both at the schools and universities. Online classes are being proposed, but that fills me with trepidation as I have no experience of doing anything like that. This coming week is going to be interesting to say the least. I am, for the moment anyway, a teacher without a class.

Another tranquil Dutch scene

Of course, we are all talking about it constantly, which probably doesn't really help, but it's like picking at a pimple, isn't it? We know we shouldn't, but we do anyway. We laugh at playing footsie instead of shaking hands, and giving each other elbow nudges too; we make a big act about keeping our distance from neighbours, joking about our stand-offish behaviour. But in the end, the conversation always ends up on a serious note...it can't be otherwise, can it?

On the upside, there've also been some lovely and moving film clips coming from Italy where apartment dwellers, confined to their homes, have been singing wonderful Italian arias from their balconies. So inspiring. What it does show is how such a crisis brings communities together even when they have to keep apart, a special kind of paradox.

As for us, we are at the crumbly cottage and it seems we'll be here most of the time until the worst is over. Being in a rural area, it's probably the best place to be. The local shop is still open; we can still get fresh veggies, and except for the bizarre run on toilet paper that also seems to have swept the world, most goods are available – although I noticed at the nearby Lidl across the border there was no pasta or rice, but luckily plenty of wine! So at least if we can't eat, we can drown our sorrows in good bacchanalian style. I can think of worse things.

I'll be going to the Vereeniging in Rotterdam too as and when needed, but given the city's denser population, and my reliance on public transport when I'm there, I think I'll keep that to a minimum if possible. Just for now, anyway.

Keep well, iedereen. Don't take risks, and keep washing those hands. Till next time.