So we left Gouda and travelled north for a while in the main “fixed mast” route (i.e. for yachts of whatever size which want to keep their masts up throughout their cruise to their sailing ground), but at the first junction we turned off onto the Oude Rijn, on a detour which would take us as deep into Dutch countryside as you could get. Our first stop was outside a house on a stretch of quiet canal with little or no commercial traffic. We asked the lady householder if it would be OK to stop and she said she was sure it would be fine. It turned out that she was Dutch born, now living permanently in New Zealand with her young son, and was just visiting her mother.
The mooring turned out to be a little noisier than expected, due to the roaring traffic on the canalside roads – mopeds, motorbikes, cars, lorries, tractors etc, etc. but it was safe and otherwise undisturbed – or at least it was until 2a.m., when the drawers and wardrobe doors started to pop open one by one with a whoosh. We knew at once that it meant we had gone aground – again!! and the boat was now listing to port sufficiently to release the stops.
The river level had dropped, but Alex decided that 2am was not the time to start the engine and try to pull us off. So after an inadequate night’s ‘sleep’ and a rather tense early breakfast we reversed off with, as it turned out, no difficulty at all and we were free! (Yes, yes, we know – ‘never reverse’ – but in this instance we knew the water behind us was deep!)
Next we turned into the Grecht Canal which was the smallest we have been on so far; design size 5m x 30m (we are 4.8 x 19) so a tight fit in locks and through bridges.
It was a pretty shallow throughout but very quiet and rural, with dead straight, parallel drainage channels going off from the main canal every 10 or 20 metres. Water, water everywhere. On the map it looked like someone had been doing coarse buttonhole stitching (in blue) all up the canal. After some hours of this gentle plodding we longed to find somewhere to stop for the night, but every available spot, suitable or otherwise, had been taken. Eventually we stopped on a very flimsy café mooring and for the price of two cups of coffee (and an ice cream pancake!) and a long chat with the proprietor, we discovered that the local sand and gravel supplier, not 100 yards away, was closed for the annual two-week holiday and his normal barge traffic would also not be arriving. Our informant assured us that Herr de Rooij would probably not mind if we moored on his wharf. He did not, and we did!
It has taken us well over a week since our last posting from Dordrecht to find internet access – one of the disadvantages of the country route! In fact, while we were moored on the de Rooji’s wharf, we cycled five miles to the local village and asked there in the café for directions to the library. Having eventually found the library, we discovered it was due to close in 5 minutes and didn’t have internet access anyway, but they said they thought the café we had just left, did!!! By this time we had also found a shop, were loaded up with groceries and just couldn’t face dragging this heavy load back to the café.
Gouda 23/28.07.08
At the touch of the key, the customary cloud of blue smoke issued forth and the Gardner 6LX burst into life. The even thrum was music to their ears!! A quick request on Channel 74 and the bridge would be opened in the next 10 minutes – perfect timing for the engine to warm up and the ropes and fenders to be removed. Thus the continuation of the voyage of Riccall began after a stop of three weeks (!!!) at the beautiful and beguiling Dordrecht.
Our last sightseeing must was Dordrecht’s Grote Kerk (abbey?) with its 275 steps leading up to the top of the highest landmark for miles around – albeit it Pisa style, leaning by some 2½ metres at the top. You could really feel it too as you climbed the steps – easier in one direction, a really hard pull in the other! The view from the top was amazing, showing in graphic detail how Dordrecht had originally been an island, reclaimed from the rivers Oude Maas, Noord and Merwede to form the historic heart of the present day city. The temptation to spend even longer there was incredibly strong, but onwards and upwards we must go.
The journey to the outskirts of Gouda was uneventful, even if most of it was on a tidal stretch of river, but eventually it was nice to get into the tranquillity and security of a non-tidal canal. We moored for the night on moorings which we later realised were reserved for vessels using the lock – but we managed to overcome that concern! Did feel a bit guilty though as the “big boys” went slowly past looking for that last space, which we had snaffled.
The mooring seemed as rural and quiet as you could hope for. In the field next to us was an array of cockerels and hens, kids and goats, Shetland ponies and horses, turkeys, geese and sheep with lambs, in a kind of menagerie someone has set up at the very end of a lane.
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At least it was a rural idyll until the following day when the local yobbos decided that the spot beside us was a good place to park to play their obnoxious rap music from their seriously HUGE car music systems – mostly in Dutch but with the unmistakeable “mother f….r” on every other line!
We decided to move on and managed our best yet in terms of lack of achievement – 1½ kilometres took us 3 hours!! – including difficulty turning round to set off because of a constant stream of boats, large and small, heading for the festival, and then later mooring up against very strong winds.
We had decided against trying to moor in Gouda itself this time, as there will be about 180 historic sailing barges taking up all the available space during this special weekend. We were assured that if we turned up as an historic English barge unannounced and unbooked we would very probably be allowed in, but we decided that we would feel such “outsiders” that we would give it a miss and try on the way back from the north, when the place would be empty and we would be hopefully be welcomed with open arms!
However, we are now on official free moorings, unlimited time and 20 mins by bike from Gouda central where we can go to see all these historic tjalks in their original setting.
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The scene in Gouda is amazing – full blown sea shanty stuff, with demonstrations of how the old machinery used to work, how the people lived, and in one place three old guys in clogs frying battered fish on little wood burning stoves – 2E per stuk (piece) for our lunch – and several groups of guys in striped singlets and clogs barging up and down the canals singing sea shanties. For those who know the Hull Sea Shanty, Gouda is the mother of all sea shanties!
There were people in clogs talking about their old barges, and people (in clogs) in big barges and little tiny fishing barges and even toddlers in clogs. In fact, you could hardly move there were so many people in clogs – hence the expression “everything was clogged up” I suppose. (Alex) (Bet you saw that coming! - Louise)
Alex tried smoked eel but Louise couldn’t fancy it (slimy, slippery stuff). Alex thought it was OK but it is eaten from a sheet of paper with fingers – just impossible to get rid of the smell from your hands afterwards despite the water with lemon wedges provided for the purpose of washing.
And yes – we did buy some cheese!
In the evening and back at our mooring, as we watched the next batch of tall masts going through the opened railway bridge, we came across our first and so far only other English boat in Holland. Rob and his son Michael not only come from Yorkshire, but from Harrogate, and not only that, but from Cornwall Road - just 200 yards up the road from our own Cornwall Road house! So we shared a bottle of wine that night on their yacht and gave them some stores when they dropped by the next morning before setting off back to England.
We are ourselves now setting off from Gouda to move north towards Amsterdam but just when this blog will be posted is open to question as usual!
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