Netherlands/Belgium Trip - Willemstad      21st - 22nd June:

21st June

Re-entering the Oosterschelde in the Morning Light

    We arose early to a still day, overcast but warm. I sauntered back from the shower block and noticed a blackbird on a bench, chirping out his distress call with great gusto. The marina cat stood on the path by the bench, totally disinterested.
    One by one, more bleary-eyed, intrepid sailors raised their heads above their cockpits. I fell into conversation with the Dutch chap from the boat in front. "Have you been to the Deltaworks Expo at Neeltje Jans?" I asked him, hoping to gain an opinion on how good it was. "I have never been there. In fact I have never been to the far end of the Oosterschelde before," was his disappointing answer. His boat was immaculate, varnished to within an inch of its life. The chap gave us a gentle push off as we cast off our mooring lines in order to catch the 9am opening of the ring bridge. We were drowned in smiles and "Tot ziens" by the chap and his wife as we slowly swung out from our berth and headed towards the bridge. The Dutch are a kind, helpful, happy race.

Inside the Dark Depths of the Krammersluizen

    We were part of a convoy of four vessels heading up the Havenkanaal, occasionally dropping speed as we came across any of the morning rowers who were zipping down towards Goes. Passing through the sluis into the Oosterschelde was painless, and soon we were motoring under skies that occasionally allowed glorious sunshine to tunnel through and bring us joy.
    There was plenty of commercial traffic in this stretch of water, large barges steaming away with a purpose. Numerous pleasure craft and the odd stationary vessel brimming with fishermen turned it all into an ad-hoc regatta. We weaved our way through hidden channels, and took the opportunity to do some sailing when a breeze piped up. Wind turbines rotated lazily in the almost still airs.
    Soon we were passing through the Krammersluizen, which separates the salt water of the Oosterschelde from the fresh water of the Volkerak. The locks were part of the Deltaworks project and officially opened in 1987. The locks for inland shipping are 280 meters long and 24 meters wide, so they are suitable for large pushers. A second lock for pleasure craft was opened in 1994. Because of the need to prevent an exchange taking place between fresh water and salt water, the locks are technically complicated. The locks are therefore designed so that no salt water flows into the Volkerak and just a small amount of fresh water enters the Oosterschelde. The operation simply applies a fundamental law of physics, denser salt water sinks to the bottom of a lock while the less dense fresh water floats on top. By deploying a complex system of pipes and pumps, salt water from below is pumped out, or from above fresh water is pumped out, depending on the destination of the ship.
    We slipped out into the Volkerak and enjoyed a superb sail up the channel, pestered only by packs of large barges. A white smudge along the shore revealed itself to be a very large lamentation of swans in the shallows. Skeins of geese skimmed over the blue water that sparkled in the sunlight. The wind came in gusts, occasionally pushing us at over four knots over the ground. Of course, with the fresh water we now suffered from clouds of small flies.

Waiting for the Volkerak Sluis to Open

    Then, out of the blue, a group of eight red fighter aircraft shot over us in triangular formation - quite spectacular as they followed the Volkerak. Perhaps there was an air show in the vicinity. Earlier we had seen a large aircraft closely hugged by two smaller jets, as if the latter were being refuelled in flight.
    At the eastern end of the Volkerak, the Volkerak Sluis allowed us access to the Nieuw Hollands Diep. The first two inland locks were put into operation in 1967. It soon proved to be of insufficient capacity, with long waiting times as a result. In 1977 the complex was expanded with an additional lock for inland and a separate recreation lock for yachts. In addition, even an inlet sluice constructed. The waterway is an important link in the Scheldt-Rhine Canal, providing the only shipping route between Rotterdam, Antwerp and Germany. The locks are the largest inland locks in Europe and on the basis of passing tonnage (over about 240 million tonnes), the largest inland locks in the world. We were now becoming quite proficient at passing through locks, this being the seventh on this trip alone.
    Once in the Diep, a glance over our port side revealed the Haringvliet stretching out towards the horizon. For us, a quick turn right took us into Batterij Jachthaven in Willemstad. It was one of those large impersonal marinas, fairly busy, and with a challenging tight s-bend at the entrance. We figured out why in a short time. Wash from the constant flow of barges passing by the entrance had to be quashed somehow, though the s-bend was not totally effective. Indeed the Nieuw Hollands Diep was almost like the M25 with a constant stream of barges travelling in both directions, sometimes three abreast. A large oil refinery was located a short distance up the Diep, which explained the large number of tankers ploughing their way along the waterway.

Large Cargo Passing by Batterij Jachthaven

Armchair Fishing

    Meanwhile, inside the marina, a chap was pootling about in what appeared to be an inflatable armchair. He was fitted out in a wetsuit and flippers, the latter he used for propulsion. He was fishing, and using an electronic fish finder to boot. The chap gave us a friendly wave, then disappeared out into the Diep. Once he was out of the way, large mullet swam about with huge grins on their faces. I took the ropes from a German boat that had just arrived, and had a quiet joke with him about the diminutive fishing boat that he had just passed as he entered. "Ah, I think he is downsizing, eh," he said in impeccable English, with a wry smile on his face. Who says the Germans have not got a sense of humour?

Me and Rex Looking Over the Hollands Diep

    We strolled over the Ulzicht punt into Willemstad town, noting that all the food shops, all two of them, and the bakery were closed, and would be closed the following day too. Such is life. To console ourselves we took up temporary residence in a restaurant by the quayside. I rapidly became aware I was under-dressed for this establishment, but hey, my money is as good as anybody else's. As we waited for our food, Rex inadvertently washed me down on the spot with half a litre of beer. You see, not only is he fluent in sixteen languages now, he also tries to gesticulate like the Italians do, and occasionally his hands get out of control. Fortunately it was a warm evening and I soon dried out. The food was freshly prepared and delicious. Rex and Meryl had some confusing words between them over a kumquat she had pinched off the side of his plate. Sometimes I just don't understand how people can fall into arguments over the most trivial of things. I kept out of it. We had to shop around for a bank to arrange a mortgage to pay for the meal.
    The evening was rounded off with one of Rex's "Sorry, I Haven't a Clue" CDs, always good for light-hearted humour, and then we collapsed into sound slumbers.

22nd June

Aerial View of Willemstad. Notice the 7-Pointed Star Fortifications

    Not a cloud in the sky. Whoopie!
    Showered, boat and passage planning checks completed, we sauntered off to discover the delights of this small, pretty town, passing all the Dutch women busy washing and polishing their boats on the way.
    Willemstad was a small historical town in North Brabant, a province in the southern part of the Netherlands. It was well placed, lying on the Hollands Diep, close to the Haringvliet and Volkerak, it could control passage through these three stretches of water, hence the reason for its fortifications. The town was described as an unaffected example of 16th century fortification architecture, and as such had been placed under the care of the Dutch building preservation service.
    In the midst of the sixteenth century, it was decided to create one of the last big polders in the north-east of the North Brabant province. At the end of 1564, the polder was complete and a town was founded in the extreme north-west corner of the polder. The surveyor, who fixed the ground plan, had consulted earlier ground plans which showed how towns in the provinces should be built at that time. However, for whatever reason, many towns were not built according to the original plan. Willemstad was an exception to the rule and was built to the plan as originally designed. This new town was at first named Ruigenhil (Rough Hill). The street map for Willemstad had remained the same. Since the town was strategically situated at the border of the provinces of Holland, Zeeland and North Brabant and at the confluence of three waterways, in 1583 it was decided to build walls around Ruigenhil. Fortification engineer, Abraham Andriesz, received orders to plan for the walls. The works were constructed line symmetrical around the old street plan. The existing access road was flanked by two bastions, and in the wall the land gate was built. Because of modern weapons, old medieval stone walls were no longer an effective protection for a town. The stone walls with towers were gradually replaced with lower earth walls, on which artillery could be placed. In the walls, at regular distances from each other, defensive works, the bastions, were built that were shoved to the outside so that the entire wall could be covered by canons and muskets. This arrangement of the bastions with five points and bended flanks was the most easy to defend. The new fortifications were completed by Adriaan Anthonisz. In the second stage, these fortifications were even expanded with two bastions outside the dykes, which were for protection of the harbour. The seven bastions were named after the seven provinces of the Dutch Republic: Groningen, Overijssel, Friesland, Utrecht, Zeeland, Holland and Gelderland. The net result was a town completely surrounded by a city wall in the shape of a 7-pointed star completely surrounded by two concentric "canals", one of the most attractive examples of the old Dutch system. In 1584, the town of Ruigenhil was granted to William of Orange and from then on was called Willemstad (William's Town). The town received city rights in 1585, but to me it was still a very small town.

Binnenhaven

Stadhuis

d' Orangemolen

    A short hike brought us to the Binnenhaven, which sat between the Gelderland and Groningen bastions. The first building we passed was the old gatehouse, a simple building, but also one of the oldest buildings in town. Markings on the walls indicated extreme flood levels in the past, probably more of a danger to the inhabitants than human enemies. A couple of girls collared us as we passed by, handing out leaflets on Fort de Hel, which lay about 2 km south of the town. Their English was not up to explaining more about the fort, but we bore it in mind.
    A large formal looking rectangular building stood a short distance past the gatehouse, Het Arsenaal (the arsenal), a reminder that this was a fortified town. Ordered by Napoleon, Het Arsenaal housed a small detachment of French (and later Dutch) soldiers, as well as their armoury.

Missing Clog?

    The Stadhuis (town hall), a majestic building, dominated the Binnenhaven area. During the Renaissance, relations within society changed. It was no longer the church being built in the town centre, but the town hall, which was symbolic for the shift from clerical to secular power. On the small green in front of it, parents showed their gleeful children rabbits, hens, donkeys and other domesticated animals which had been assembled in an assortment of stalls and pens. A horse and covered cart stood patiently; the very same excited kids would soon be having a ride too.
    Walking by the Binnenhaven with Rex admiring the boats, we headed up a slight incline and passed the d'Orangemolen (of orange windmill, I guess a reference to William of Orange). Behind it we discovered another yacht harbour, much smaller than the Batterij Jachthaven, and probably cheaper. We said we'd bear this in mind if we had to stop here again.
    It was from here that we picked up a path that traced the top of the old fortifications, and skirted the Gracht or moat that surrounded the town. We meandered around Bastion Overijssel. Like many of the bastions, evidence of military activities still survived, such as old canons. And, as with a lot of the Netherlands, signs of military occupation from more recent times were visible; the same bastions had been converted into bunkers by the Germans during World War II.

Thatched Roofs

    The path eventually brought us down to Landpoortstraat, a main road which cross the moat and headed out of town in a southerly direction. Ah, this should take us down towards Fort de Hel I thought. In our naivety in thinking the Fort would be of historical significance, we agreed to walk the 2 kms or so down to the Fort. I stopped a passer-by, asking the gentleman if we were on the right track. "There are two ways you can get there," he said. "Carry on down this road, walk straight through Helwijk, and when you get to the dyke Helsedijk, turn right and follow it all the way to the fort. Or, you can turn right here, then left, right again, then cross the fields." I thanked the kind chap profusely. The latter route to the fort seemed less intuitive for getting there and would perhaps be a better alternative for returning. On this basis we headed down the road to Helwijk.
    We strode down through leafy suburbs, passing beautiful houses in front of which neat, manicured gardens reigned supreme. One bungalow even had a close-cropped thatch roof. Was it combed daily? The ditch that hugged the road was home to a pair of moorhens with their four young, and a swan with eight signets. Soon we were out in the pancake-flat countryside walking past fields full of wheat and potatoes. Cyclists after cyclists passed by, none wearing helmets, and none ringing bells. Rex always kept an eye out for me and yanked me out of the way when these velocipedrics shot by. He would then replace his eye. Apart from a single jogger, we were the only people walking.

Fort de Hel

    We passed through the quiet village of Helwijk, and followed the man's instructions by turning right along Helsedijk, which acted as the southern boundary to the village. Narrow strips of land separated the dyke from the village, most of which were homes to Shetland ponies and donkeys. To the south of the dyke, rich agricultural land stretched as far as the eye could see, with the main A29 highway slicing it in two as it made its way across North Brabant to the Volkeraksluizen before touching Zeeland and then crossing the Haringvliet to South Holland. Large paddocks and ménages lay on this southern side. We gazed down into one field admiring four huge black horses that were plodding behind their "carer" in anticipation of a fresh consignment of hay. In the corner a gaggle of geese strutted lazily under the glaring sun.
    Reaching a small rise in the dyke, we strolled up it and found it advertised as Fort de Hel. In 1748 this fortification was built of earth - a battery to support and defend Willemstad. It was part of the Southern Water Line, the historic Southern Frontier, which ran from Zeeland Sluis Grave to Nijmegen. This defensive frontier comprised a series of fortified towns, forts, redoubts and flood plains. In 1812 Lodewijk Napoleon ordered an expansion of a brick tower, complete with platform for cannons. The fort was now a protected cultural monument. From early 1994 the fort had been hired from Willemstad to the Friends of Fort Hell Foundation, whose purpose was to restore and maintain the fort. What remains of the old fort was the original earthen hill fortification with the brick tower. A small moat lay just to the north of the hill. A sizeable chunk of land was attached to the fort. This had a zip wire over a pond, part of an activity service they offered, together with an archery range. The rest of the land was peppered with an assortment of odd looking military artefacts, and a plentiful supply of multi-coloured mock rockets, all rather peculiar.

Koepelkerk

    We entered the old brick building expecting to find it brimming with historic artefacts; no such luck. Apart from a few old prints on the walls it could have been any old building. It did contain a cafe though, very welcome considering the heat. We ordered coffees from the young girl who was serving, she seemed to be the only person working at the fort. Besides us, an elderly couple sat drinking their beverages at a nearby table.
    Whilst sipping our drinks, the young lass came over to us, presumably to chat. We soon discovered that our Dutch was better than her English; very odd for a country where most youngsters speak fluent English. The old couple, who were Dutch, then quizzed her over her lack of ability to speak English. "Did you not learn English at school?" they asked her. "Yes, but I have forgotten," she explained. The old couple seemed deeply insulted that their fellow country man, or should that be country girl, could not converse in English, shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads. Blimey, you'd never find that situation occurring in Britain.
    Coming across a wardrobe of old uniforms and hats in the cellar, I donned an outfit, took up a musket, and took the fort single-handedly. No competition really.
    A shortcut across the fields got us back to Willemstad far quicker than it took to get there, and there were no cyclists to contend with, just a motorist who stopped to ask me if he was travelling in the right direction to reach the Volkeraksluizen. I confirmed it was in my best Dutch, and he happily carried on.
    The d'Orangemolen was now rotating, and the Koepelkerk (domed church) was busy with a children's art exhibition. The octagonal plan church was surrounded by a shady cemetery which itself was surrounded by a ditch. Its construction was finished in 1607. This was the first Protestant church in the Netherlands. It was not an enormous church with a huge tower, nor was it cross-shaped and had no fine sculpture-work surrounding it. It was simply a house of prayer, without any distractive items. If we had carried on along Hofstraat, we would have come across the Mauritshuis, but we turned up Voorstraat instead, the main thoroughfare in the town.

Sunday Fair

Sailing Clog

    Compared to earlier in the day, this was now brimming with people. It had been completely transformed and was now full of stalls selling all manner of teas, sweets, smoked eels, bric-a-brac and other countless things which might have been treasures to the throngs. A group of sturdy horses stood in pens, one with a young foal, and a blacksmith patiently demonstrated his skills on each horse in turn. One old chap was supposed to be making clogs, but he was too busy eating and wandering around chatting to the women. A woman in traditional costume got children involved in rope-making. Other groups stood around in local costumes, and a large group of children in traditional garb played out children's games that were commonly found in my grandparent's day: skipping, rolling hoops, walking on stilts and generally enjoying themselves. The horse and covered cart was now doing brisk trade, full of bright eyed children smiling and posing as they passed mam and dad. The whole spectacle was a pleasant, unexpected surprise. Whole armies of people had come from far and wide to enjoy the sunny Sunday fair.
    We had a pleasant evening in a local hostelry near the town hall. Rex had ordered his meal in impeccable Dutch as usual, and the waitress just smiled at him and replied in English. We fell into conversation with the couple on the next table. The man, a charming character, urged us to spend all our money in the Netherlands while we were here. The Dutch have a wicked sense of humour.

Streets of Willemstad