Netherlands/Belgium Trip - Ostend      6th July:

Mercator

    Scudding dark clouds over a monotonous grey shy foretold of rain to come. A fair breeze whistled through the dock area. One of the Geordie chaps was up early servicing the engine on his boat. We had decided that, as 35-45 knots of wind were forecast for the Wednesday and 25 knots plus on the Thursday, the weather had clearly broken and that to delay until the following Friday or Saturday would be far too risky. So we reluctantly made the decision to leave the following day, when the forecast was for lightish winds through until the Tuesday. In preparation for our journey the next day, we topped up with water and Rex carried out some final passage planning.
    With a sceptical glance at the sky, we set off walking to town, receiving a large honk along the way from a tram for invading its territory. Taking a short-cut through Maria Hendrikapark, we reached the Mercator Harbour just as the wind piped up and rain was imminent. Skirting the harbour, we took a long look at the Mercator, a rigged barquentine. The former sail-trainer was moored as a floating museum. Built in Leith, near Edinburgh, for launch on April 7th, 1932, she was designed to race as well as function in an ambassadorial capacity before World War II. Indeed, with a full crew of 150, and with a total length of 78.4m, a beam width of 11m, and 15 sails with a total area of about 1,600 sqm, the ship achieved a top speed of 13 knots. She actually won one important race from Oslo to Ostend in 1960 and competed in the Torbay-Lisbon and Brest-Canary Islands races in the 1950s. Pre-war cruises took place for 7 most adventurous years, bringing back a Belgo-French scientific expedition from French Oceania and the remains of the "apostle to the lepers", Father Damiaan, from Molukai Island, near Honolulu, in 1936.
    We didn't linger, the skies were turning ugly. We marched up to take a peek at Sint Petrus-en-Pauluskerk (Church of St. Peter and St. Paul), an impressive Roman Catholic Neo-Gothic church built in 1905. The massive bulk of the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul was the most memorable thing about the Port of Oostende, it dominated the area around the harbour. Despite looking like an ancient Gothic church most of what was left today was built at the beginning of the 20th Century, and was a good example of how to build a modern church without making it ugly. Behind the massive twin-towered facade were parts of the original 16th Century church, the Pieterskerk, which was destroyed by fire on August 14, 1896. All that remained of the Pieterskerk was the impressive brick tower called the Peperbusse, which stood nearby and dated from the first half of the 18th century. King Leopold II enthusiastically made plans for a grand new church - so enthusiastic that many suspected he had started the fire in the old church himself. Construction on the new church began in 1899, based on the plans of Bruges town architect Louis de la Censerie. It was completed in 1905. The Church of Peter and Paul was inaugurated on September 4th, 1905, in in the presence of King Leopold II and other prominent people. But the church was not consecrated until August 31st, 1908, by Waffelaert, Bishop of Bruges. All the original stained glass windows were destroyed in the World Wars. The current glass was designed by Michiel Martens (1921-2006). The windows depicted Belgian kings and queens and Saints Peter and Paul.

Church of Peter and Paul

    The heavens opened with great gusto, forcing us to seek refuge in a cafe in the Wapen Plein, a large square now doused in a watery spray with a few brave souls sheltering under the impressive bandstand in the centre. A kind man in the cafe offered us his table and he took up residence at a smaller table; the kindness of strangers.
    We fell into conversation with the cafe owner, as you do, and Rex went into one of his usual linguistic forays, emulating the Italians by sweeping his arms about. In no time at all he had knocked a full glass of latte over Meryl. The owner was quick to respond and pointed Meryl in the direction of the toilets. Meanwhile many pairs of male eyes were eying Rex, who made a cut-throat gesture to acknowledge he would be in for it. Knowing smiles came back, and not a word had been spoken. I never knew Rex was so proficient at sign-language too. Even the good humoured owner could see the funny side. So did Meryl when she eventually returned to the table. A fine mist cascaded down onto us from the awning above as the floating oceans in the sky dissolved into torrents.

Monuments by Church of Peter and Paul

Peperbusse

    
    An old chap, dressed in black and wearing a bowler hat, sat on his own by an internal door. Whenever a customer failed to close the outside door properly, he would unwind like a coiled spring, march to the door, slam it shut, and resume his position. He resembled a cross between Oddjob, the henchman in the James Bond film and novel, Goldfinger, and Hercule Poirot.

Clear Skies at Last

    We couldn't hide in the cafe all day, so we did what the British do so well, and walked in the pouring rain past the Groente Markt nearby, nothing to write home about, and Mijn Plein, an open-air car park and temporarily a swimming pool. On the sea-front a Disney World had been created out of sand. How long would it last in this rain I wondered. Towards the docks a section of the sandy beach had been cordoned off and scaffolding was being erected. In ten days' time Status Quo would be playing here. A small fish market was doing brisk trade, an informative place since all the fish types were labelled, thus allowing us to put body types to names on menus.

Model Ship in Clubhouse

    A small ferry service ran across the harbour from the fish market, and since we could walk up the far side of the docks back to Duonita, we thought we would go for it. Finding somewhere dry to sit on the craft was a challenge. A dad sat with his three children adjacent to us, and his little girl kindly shifted her place so that I could sit closer to my dynamic duo mates. So sweet I thought.
    Another very loud family joined us. They had obviously just visited the small fish market since they carried plastic bags out of which they tore what appeared to be strips of dried fish and began noisily devouring it.

Cheers from Rex

    The ferry ride lasted the whole of two minutes, and we were deposited in stinging rain on the far bank. On a dry day we would have been tempted to visit the Napoleon Fort by the shore, but we were wet and bedraggled and just wanted to return to our boat. As we started walking up through the dock complex, all the other folk who had alighted just jumped in their cars and drove off; folk parked for free here and the ferry was free too. We plodded through rivers of rain, and down a long covered warehouse area that was used by fishing fleet owners to sell the fruit of the oceans to traders. Large monochrome photos hung from the rafters of this thoroughfare, portraits of men, young and old. Perhaps they were generations of fishermen. One old chap sinisterly staring down at us looked positively evil.
    We splished and sploshed our way back to the boat, and dripped our way inside trying to find places to hang our wet clothing up, and then don dry clothing without getting those wet in the process. We were in a sorrowful state. As with all true Brits, Meryl decided the best policy was to put the kettle on, and on cue in this hour of crisis, the gas ran out. Joy of joys, changing the gas bottle in the pouring rain. But the mission was achieved, and the hot drinks were most welcome.
    Towards evening, the low weather front slid past us and at last we started to see clearer skies. We enjoyed our last evening meal together in Ostend in the little clubhouse at the yacht harbour where we were berthed. It was sad that our journey was coming to an end, and we reflected and chatted about the good times, and pondered on adventures to come another time.