I misinterpreted this sign. I was sure it meant what it said, the smell from the sheep behind it was evident. But apparently it just warns about heavy traffic of commercial vessels.
You're not a sailor, you're a yachtie!
Roel "Buck" Bakker uttered those now famous words on the phone, as I was doing my best to explain our 3-week delay in trying to make the required 900 miles from Helsinki to Amsterdam for our reunion. Buck has been a close friend since 1993, when we were driving pedicabs in Cairns. During the years, I've visited him many times and the last time I saw dear Bucko was at our (that's Ansku and me) wedding in Helsinki last year. Ever since we left Helsinki, we've been in a hurry to get to Amsterdam. Our plan was early July arrival, the deadline was July 19, the last weekend before Buck, Nicole, Max and Tom would go on their holidays.
Buck was not wrong, I am a bare-footed yachtie, not a sailor. I was more than happy to enter the Dutch canals from Delfzijl on the 16 July. We had little or no idea about the traveling time through the 120-mile "mast-up" route to the capital of Holland. I was reminded of the problem of average speed. (You aim at a 5kn average speed over a 100-mile passage. Half-way, you realise that you've only averaged 2.5kn. At what speed must you now travel in order to reach the original target? Answer in the bottom of the page.
The weather was crappy - at least would have been out at sea. We were happy, very happy, relieved. We'd had nothing but head winds so far and now we could finally keep moving regardless of the wind. I have long resigned from buying any cruising guides because they are full of wrong information and must and must-nots that are taken from different rule books but have no correlataion with reality. I succumb in buying a 40-page booklet called Staande Mastroute. The basic data was there and we needed to be sure we don't take a wrong turn in the massive network of canals. Only one route exists with all opening bridges, allowing yachts to travel inland from the north coast of Holland down to near the border of Belgium. We opted to exit the canals from IJmuiden - about 15 miles west from Amsterdam.
The houses and cow paddocs were sometimes clearly lower than the water level in the canal. Occasionally a lock would raise or lower us up to 2meters. Some locks were open on both ends. The control of the water level and managment of the whole canal-system remains a mystery to me. Like so many things in this weird and wonderful world.
Oh yes, the canals...
The canals are a weird and wonderful experience to anyone who haven't done them before. The first thing I noticed - the thing many of us have read in the books, but never actually seen - was the oddity of the canal being higher than the land around it. Yep, about one third of the whole country is below sea level. Thousands of cows are chewing grass from what used to be the ocean floor, or perhaps better, the tidal shallows of the North Sea. It was the low lying area and the sometimes severe storms of the ocean that made the Dutch feel a little uneasy about seaside life. So they said: "To hell with the bastard North Sea" and built enough dams to keep the whole foaming, salty shit out where it belongs - away from flooding their rivers and back yards. Well done!
After 3 hours of motoring alone, we caught up with seven other yachts, waiting for a railway bridge to open. After that, much of the traveling was done in the same fashion as cars do in the city traffic; one after another with the line spreading out and then packing up again in traffic lights (opening bridges). We reached the town of Groningen early evening and though we were keen to continue, the bridge operators were not. We pulled in to the edge of the canal at the city, Stationsweg 1003. In fact, we had our own mail box. One of many large house boats had perhaps gone for repairs and left their address behind.
Stationsweg 1003, Groningen. Punch that in your google earth and get an idea of where we were. The town's mexican restaurant was divine and the town itself full of the Dutch charm, church bells and chimes, cobble stones and bicycles.
We rushed on in the still rainy and miserable weather. Aliisa's propeller shaft was getting in the habbit of vibrating, again. The old problem which started when leaving Cape Town January 2006, was back again. I had tightened the engine bolts and the problem seemed gone, but now we could motor quitely at 4.6kn or again at 5.6kn. The latter was already pushing Aliisa's stern down and creating waves. Why is the engine not aligned?
Not nice, but I rather take it in the canals than in the North Sea. After a few days we were starting to run out of dry jackets. All my old ones were a bit ... old ... you know the kinda rain jacket that gets wet on both sides...
Dutch imagination was not limited to the design of their wonderfully stylish houses. This opening bridge would occasionally come rushing down and smash a boat like a fly-swatter does a fly. Just kidding.
The lake was a trap..
Eventually the last possible weekend together with Buck and Nicole arrived and despite all our efforts, we were not in Amsterdam. Fortunately Buck and Nicole knew a faster way to travel. A bicycle would have been one, but their car was EVEN faster. We met them in a tiny boat harbour, so shallow that we had to push hard to plow our keel all the way to the jetty. It was time for a Dutch picnic; bread, spread, pate and rosé. Lots of rosé.
Yes, it's true. They call them Akwadukts and it's almost a bridge full of water. The highway, which is lower than the canal, takes a further dip down under the boats.
If I only had a better lens and camera... Occasionally the view of the paddocs and trees was broken by a sail moving in the middle of things.
We invited Buck to sail with us across the two large(ish) inland seas - IJsselmeer and Markermeer - to Amsterdam. The forecast was shit and the weather turned out to be straight from the Devil's ass. 30-40kn squalls together with rain followed eachother. The 15-mile crossing of the 3m-deep freshwater lake become a task and a half. The waves were not monstrous but they were tightly packed and steep. Aliisa was washing her anchors in the deeply green water. In fact, it was not funny. Annina had seen all this before and quickly retired in the aft cabin. Bucko did his best but eventually had to do the technicolor yawn, the liquid laugh, before finding himself horizontal in the saloon bunk. I was left to fight the four-hour battle. I was soaked, but at least the water was fresh. When we finally arrived in Enkhuizen - a town at the locks at the dyke seperating the two lakes, I was ready to quit this ongoing torture of fighting the fucking weather which was always against us. The sky was hanging down grey and there were more thunder storms lining up our way. The forecast was for local hailstorms and more of the same for the next three days.
We parked Aliisa in a pen at the 700-berth marina in Enkhuizen and called Buck's wife Nicole. She came to resque and we continued in the only sensible way, in a car on the road, to Amsterdam. Annina was rushed to a hot bath with more rose wine, while I tuned the big flatscreen TV into Formula one. We took a break from boating and didn't return to the boat until the sun returned to the sky.
This was just the beginning. At the end I dared not take the camera out of its case into the mayhem of rain and breaking waves. IJsselmeer.
Buck had one of his worst days in a while, but agreed to fill in the guest book. In the meantime, I was busy changing filters. The engine nearly stopped with the violent motion shaking all the shit off our 26-year-old keel tank.
Amsterdam, at last
Having been there two years ago, I knew it pays to get in early into the Amsterdam city marinas. The same is true in most places during the summer season, but in Sixhaven marina, the place is not full until arriving yachts are forced to reverse out. Number of berths? Dunno. How much standing room in an Indonesian bus?
Sixhaven marina, opposite the Amsterdam central station. This time the car-traffic goes under. The symphony of bow-thrusters started each morning, as the overfull marina was purged out the gates.
Holland's best: crispy fries with thick mayo. We skipped the "coffeshops" now that I've quit smoking for good.
Amsterdam is canals. The city has 100km of them, creating over 90 islands which are connected by 400 stone bridges. Take some rosé wine in your dinghy and hit the town.
The city's new slogan: Iamsterdam. The clever continuation of the idea was the slogan of the 2008 Gay Pride event: "We Are". Yes, we all are and here in my favourite city we can all be. This week iAMsterdam!
And next weeks slogan is: I fight the English Channel, the ambassador of shit weather, the lord of the low pressure.
