Four seasons in one week (plus a little bit of local history)

This past week has been both bizarre and typical in terms of April weather. I well remember when I first arrived in the Oude Haven that on one particular day we had all four seasons within twelve hours. Well, this last week has been the same and particularly last Sunday. I took the photo below on Saturday as I was walking along the river in Rotterdam. Despite being quite cold, it was a lovely day with big, clumpy clouds and not hint of what was to come.

On Sunday morning, the world had changed. I awoke on Vereeniging to rain beating a fast tattoo on the hatches. When I looked outside, though, it had morphed into hail, which was then followed by quite heavy snow. I was due to head south again and as I'd left my car outside the city limits to save parking fees, I could see I was in for a frigid walk to the tram stop a kilometre from the boat. It was just my luck that due to work on the tracks, our usual tram wasn't running. The slightly skew photo below shows how it was beginning to settle on the cars and streets. However, by the time I'd driven over the Maas and onto the southern highways, the skies had cleared and the sun was shining with intent. But it didn't last. 

For the remainder of my journey through Zeeland, I was dodging swarms of angry hail showers. Although I managed to do much of the drive in dry, sunny conditions, I saw clouds heavy with hail and snow all around me and the wind was both biting and strong.

The rest of the week has been dry, but still very cold for most of the day. I did manage an afternoon's painting on the Hennie H and smartened up her derrière. I have yet to see if my paintwork has survived the below freezing nights though as I had to return to Rotterdam for work again on Thursday. Tomorrow will tell! Some of you might have noticed Koos's crane on the rear deck. For more on that and why it's there, next week's post will reveal all ...

In my ongoing attempt to beat the Covid blues, I've been doing my daily walks. They also stop my joints rusting up and seizing, something of a danger for me when it's cold unless I keep them moving. One of my favourite rambles is around the old canal arms in Sas van Gent where the HH is moored.  The waterside walls in the photo above are, in fact, one of the old locks or sas from which the town gets its name; the settlement developed around the first sas built here in 1551. 

I was standing at the closed-off end of the lock when I took this photo. These days it's only used as a free swimming pool for the local children and a place where dogs like to nip in for a dip, but I'm glad it's still there and has been preserved. The town's original 16th and later 17th century locks have long been filled in. 

And of course, this photo is of the modern canal with one of the massive sea-going ships being towed from Terneuzen to Ghent. This one was accompanied by three muscular tugs. I stood and watched them until they'd passed ... a wonderful way to waste time.

Here's a map to put all the old arms in context. It's interesting to see how the canal has grown over the years and following the path around the old cuts makes a lovely walk. In fact the modern course is also wider and deeper than it was in the 19th century. It was expanded to its current size in the 1960s and of course there are no longer any locks at Sas. They are all in Terneuzen now.

I like the fact that the history of Sas is so tied up to Ghent's and one interesting titbit I've learnt is that originally, the canal from Ghent stopped at (approximately) what is now Sas because the Gentenaars weren't allowed to dig through a dike that crossed the waterway. It was only under Charles V (he of the Holy Roman Empire) that permission was granted to build a lock through the dike so that shipping didn't have to be carried over it and transferred to boats on the other side before completing their journey to Terneuzen. This transfer was known as 'Overslag' and today, there is still a village of that name that straddles the border. 

Finding out the exact course of the earliest canal is not something I've managed to do yet, but suffice to say, the Hennie Ha's home port owes existence to my favourite of all Belgian cities.

That's it for this week allemaal. Next week's post is going to be an interesting one so watch this space!

Rambling around Rotterdam

Last week, we had spring with a real bounce. On Tuesday and Wednesday, the temperatures were in the mid-twenties and we were shedding coats and jumpers with gay abandon. It was a short-lived joy, though. By Friday, the mercury had fallen to the early teens and overnight, we were down to low single figures. Even so, we had a lovely Easter weekend in Rotterdam as the photos below will, I hope, depict. I took them all when we decided to do a 'tour' of the harbours. The afternoon sun lacked warmth, but the cool temperature didn't stop people getting out and about to simply enjoy the bright day and the fresh air. 

Indeed, some even went so far as to have some watery fun. There's no accounting, is there? Well, at least the water they were sitting in was warm, but it must have been pretty chilly all the same.

Even when the temperatures are in single figures, there's
no stopping some people.

This little floating house here is one of two holiday apartments called Wikkelboat, and I noticed they have been fully occupied too over the Easter holiday. I think 'tiny houses' are incredibly cute, especially as these are tiny houseboats as well. I've added the link to their website to the name.

A tiny floating holiday home nestled among the boats
in the harbour, called the Wikkelboat

Our walk took us along the inner harbours of the city, which is where we often do our spuddles in the rowing boat and also on the Vereeniging. It's a never failing delight to see what is moored up along the quays of the Wijnhaven, whose name is derived from its former main trade, but that was in pre-war days.

The Wijnhaven, so called because wine was the mainstay of
the trade in this quarter of Rotterdam.

And at the end of the Wijnhaven is the largest of the floating museum collection in the Leuvehaven, quiet now because of the restrictions, but there are still plenty of people walking around and looking at the old craft from the quays.

Leuvehaven

As offshoots from the Leuvehaven, there are two other short harbours by the name of Bierhaven and Rederijhaven. In times gone by, the Bierhaven was also home to the companies trading in that all too popular beverage (beer), while its neighbour, the Rederijhaven was for the shipping companies (rederij meaning 'shipping'). The last harbour on our round is the Scheepmakershaven (literally ship makers) and this one leads us all the way back to the Oude Haven. I'm so pleased they've kept their original names and despite the modern high-rise flats, these harbours, which are now home to a collection of historic barges, still retain that feeling of the businesses they used to serve.

Bierhaven

Bierhaven

The Rederijhaven, also taking its name from its main function
which was home to the shipping companies (rederij)

Rederijhaven

For anyone who'd like to see where we were, here's a screenshot of the map showing the three harbours  we walked around.

Wijnhaven (at the top), Bierhaven,
Rederijhaven and Scheepmakershaven

And here it is in the context of the entire museum harbour complex. The Oude Haven is in the centre of the image.

On our way back to the Vereeniging, it was becoming quite cold, and I spotted this contented kitty sitting in the wheelhouse of one of the barges. She or he looks very happy and was probably conscious of the fact it was a much better place to be than outside.

Contented kitty

One of the big advantages about the curfew from my perspective (which is a very selfish one) is that there is no noise at night in our Oude Haven. What bliss it has been to be there at a weekend and sleep peacefully. Nevertheless, I hope sincerely that the situation improves soon and that the cafés and restaurants can get back to business again. For their sakes, I could handle a bit of noise now.

Enjoy the rest of your week, allemaal, and I hope the sun is shining on you wherever you are. We have snow, hail, showers and sunshine today, and that's for starters. It's blowing a gale as well. Happy days!! 

 

My podcast: for the record :)

 If anyone's interested, I did a podcast a little while back with Alan Parks on his show A Cup of Tea with Alan. The host, Alan Parks, lives in Andalucia, Spain and he does all these interviews from his home, which is completely off-grid. All the podcasts are with authors and he's done several other interviews with some great and very interesting writers, some of whom readers here might find interesting too. 

The connection on mine wasn't the best: an off-grid farm to a barge in Rotterdam doesn't always make for the clearest reception, but it adds a bit of interest! 

The link to the podcast is here: https://buzzsprout.com/1588849/8024785

Serious surgery of an arborial kind

My poor lime tree at the crumbly cottage has been surgically scythed, seriously sectioned and significantly sawn. Why? And was it really necessary? Well, given its proximity to the back of the house, and the fact it had grown substantially since we've been here, I felt it was time it had a trim. However, I didn't expect the cut to be quite so dramatic. 

In actual fact, it's taken more than a year to arrange it. I first made the enquiry to the tree surgeon in November 2019. The company concerned is Belgian and I think they work with quite a small team, so at first it was pretty difficult for them to find time to come and give me advice. We had a number of storms over the winter of 2019/2020 and they were very busy dealing with the (literal) fallout and then, of course, the pandemic threw everything for a loop. Eventually, we managed a visit in May last year in between lockdowns and a very nice man, one of the partners of the business, came and discussed the trimming with us. 

He said the tree was healthy and not likely to fall down, but he understood my concerns and agreed to come back in the autumn to do the job. We discussed methods and he drew us a diagram which gave us the idea that the tree would retain quite an elegant candelabra shape. He also told us it probably wouldn't flower for a couple of years, which would be sad for the bees as they love the blossom on the tree. I almost hesitated at that, but I hope I can provide them with more flowers in the garden instead. We talked about building them a bee hotel, but as the man said "it's not a hotel they need, it's a restaurant!" which made us laugh. In any event, they enjoyed a prolonged feast last May, for which I am thankful.

Anyway, the autumn came and went and we saw no sign of our tree man, so eventually I wrote and asked when they might come. Well, it seemed they were busy with storm damage again (we have a lot of those – storms, that is), so the job was once more put off until this year. Then, yes, you've guessed it, lockdown hit again, so I'd more or less resigned myself to having to wait another year when much to my surprise an email came.  Our man asked if they could come on March the 9th, and did we also want them to bring a shredder (hakselaar in Dutch) to chop up all the pieces? Yes and yes, I said, with some alacrity.

Well, they came, but it was two different men and they made short work of lopping all the branches off the tree to a much more severe extent than I was expecting. I even wondered if they knew about the candelabra plan, but by that time it was too late. Be that as it may, it was fascinating to watch. The tools the two men brought were scarily sharp and 90% of the cutting was done with small hand saws, which seemed to go through quite thick limbs like butter. The main man only used a chain saw to cut the top off where it was thickest, and even that was just a small, battery operated machine. Professional tools are deceptively and jaw-droppingly good.

 

While the one chap was up the tree, chucking the sawn-off branches into the garden, the other was carting them off to the shredder, another astonishingly powerful piece of equipment. It actually made wood chips of everything, which it spat out to form a huge pile in our passage. We still haven't managed to distribute them all yet, but quite a lot of them are now filling in a dip in front of the garden fence at the bottom of the dyke. I have a feeling the rest will find their way into the flower beds, but at the moment, they're tidied away in one of those big white bags.

And that's about half of them.

The tree now looks awful, but I know it will come back and I fully expect it to have at least some leaves on it by the middle of the summer. It is a prolific shooter so I'm not too worried about it, but I keep apologising to it as well as to the pigeons that have used it for their nests for the past several years.

As you can see from the photos above, the day was overcast and gloomy, so below are some sunnier photos of one of my walks last week.

Have a good week allemaal and keep well! 
 

A ripple in my routine

This last week has been a bit different from the usual routines that we've fallen into since lockdown and curfew have become part of our lives. Two events occurred to disrupt the pattern I've personally fallen into of work, walk, work and write. The first of these was a national event of some importance and a great occasion for me personally. 

We had an election on March the 17th, a day more commonly known for being St Patrick's Day. Mind you, there wasn't much of St Patricke's favourite colour about the voting results because the Green party here (Groenlinks) didn't do so well. That said, the Animal Rights party (Partij voor de Dieren), which is also focused on environmental issues, had a better showing and managed to gain two seats. However, the outcome was very much as predicted and Prime Minister Rutte is set to serve another term as head of the government, albeit with a different mix of parties in the coalition (probably).

So why was it an occasion for me, you might ask. Well, it's the first time I've ever been able to vote in a national election here and is actually my first vote since 1994 in South Africa – that momentous year when Nelson Mandela became president. So yes, 27 years (the same number as Mandela spent on Robben Island) since I've been entitled to cast my ballot. I even got a red pencil to mark the occasion – okay, everyone did, but I'm keeping mine as a souvenir! And yes again, it felt pretty good to walk to the voting station and have my say. The right to vote is one I value, given that it's been so long since I've had that right.

The other change in my routine was the start of a new course in what is today's face-to-face mode: Zoom. It's been a few months since I've sat in front of my computer screen and talked to students in real time. So far this year, all my courses have been asynchronous although they've been pretty intense and a lot of work. As a result, it was both refreshing as well as slightly nerve-wracking to be on the spot again and explaining things verbally. My students are lovely, though, and it all went well so I am looking forward to the coming weeks with them.

All that aside, I'm still doing my best to continue my daily walks. Sunshine hasn't been too plentiful of late, but when it comes out, I'm out there marching through mud and mire to maintain my minimum of 4kms a day.  The photos below are of my tramp through the puddles on the nature reserve near our canal on Friday.

Then yesterday, Koos and I discovered a lovely new wooded area to the east of the crumbly cottage. It lies on the Belgian border and is in what is called a water collection and extraction area. In Dutch this is called waterwinning. What this means is that the acres on which the woods stand are designated for 'winning' drinking water and irrigation from the ground. Throughout the woods there are deep channels that look like moats and it is from these and the water table below that our potable water is drawn. The woods and the water are protected but the locals are still allowed to enjoy the forest paths and walk there with their families and dogs. It was a beautiful discovery and I'm pretty sure we'll be going there again.

Belgian border post
Remember No. 1 in last week's post?

Koos with his personal prosthesis :)

 

A dry channel in the waterwin area

One of the water collection channels in the waterwin area

Looking into Belgium from the Dutch side of the woods
Note the Belgian border post seen in close-up above.

I'm itching to get going with painting on the Vereeniging and the Hennie H again, but despite the sunshiny photos, it's still pretty cold and so not good for paintwork. I know to my cost in both effort and money it's not worth trying to paint when the overnight temperatures are under 10C. Before it is properly dried and set, the paint can be badly damaged by the cold, which is what happened when I pushed my luck last autumn. I know. I'll just have to be patient.

Anyway, for now I'm busy enough. Have a good week allemaal and I'll catch up with you all again soon.

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

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

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

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

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

The Wilhelminatoren

Valkenburg from the Wilhelminatoren

Valkenburg was originally the stronghold of a family of the same name. It is the only castle in the Netherlands built on a hill (now there's a surprise, I hear you say), and even then is only on the foothill of the real thing, the top of which is where I took the photos above. The castle began life in the 12th century and went through several stages of building in the following centuries, mostly due to being sacked by marauding invaders and then rebuilt. However, its final demise as a complete fortification occurred in 1672, when the French King Louis the 14th conducted a long and devastating siege of Maastricht, using Valkenburg Castle as an outpost for fighting. Eventually William III of the Netherlands retaliated by destroying the castle to such a degree it would never be rebuilt. For the next few hundred years, the castle ruins were neglected, until in the early 20th century a foundation was set up to preserve them and keep them safe for future generations.  I must admit I found it really impressive to look up at it from the city and to walk around its perimeter walls, but from the top of Heunsberg Hill, it looks positively small. The Wilhelminatoren, however, which you can see in the first photo, looks impressive from any angle. It is a much later addition. You can read about it here with Google Translate's help :)

The castle looks impressive from the town

Beautiful, but not Dutch as we know it

The river Geul

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

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

Drielandenpunt. B is for Belgium. At the back it's Germany
and to the left is the Netherlands.

A German barrel organist

And as if to underscore its international flavour, the barrel organist above was German. I think he was actually standing in the Netherlands although I'm not completely sure, but that's the beauty of this place. It doesn't matter.

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

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

The container barge arriving

At the bottom

Starting her exit

Squeaking out under the road bridge

And off she goes, south into Belgium

Back home again, it's been a stormy week. The weather broke on Tuesday and by Thursday, the winds were howling. We had to go to Terneuzen, so we took a walk along the estuary of the Westerschelde. It's hard to tell from the photos below, but the wind was so strong I had trouble keeping to my feet. I think you can just see the white caps on the water.

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

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

Have a good weekend, allemaal.