Netherlands/Berlin Trip - Numansdorp      1st July:

Dutch Boat on the Volkerak

    Arising before 7am, the skies were blue but the heat had not yet made its presence felt.
    We were invited aboard Sean's boat, a Westerly Konsort Duo 29 similar to Rex's. Sean had acquired it a few years back. Its previous owner had grown too old to sail her, and eventually passed away. The boat had then lingered for five years before Sean bought it. He had lovingly restored it into its current immaculate condition. I found it interesting to see how another owner had stamped their own mark on their boat, and came away with an idea or two for Rex's boat.
    But we had to move on. In a short while we were back in the Oosterschelde and motoring under the Zeeland Brugge. Due to the low tide, we had a couple of metres to spare.
    We then proceeded along an identical route to the one we had followed the previous year. Now we encountered commercial traffic and endless streams of large barges. Passing the turn offs down to Krabbenkreek, we came across a couple of trawlers, one dragging the shallows for mussels. In soaring temperatures we motored along passing groups of cormorants diving for their lunch.
    The Krammersluizen carried us from the salt water system of the Oosterschelde to the fresh water system of the Volkerak, and presented no huge delays to our progress.
    The Volkerak had changed very little, still a home for myriads of swans, and guarded by an endless army of wind turbines.

Barges on the Volkerak

    
    After a short wait at the Volkerak Sluis we accessed the Hollands Diep and motored across the stretch of water to the other side, taking a fond backward glance to Willemstad which we visited last year. At the far side of the Hollands Diep, we picked up a narrow canal inlet that brought us to Numansdorp.
    The town that has existed for over 350 years owes its name to Mr. Numan. It was founded in 1642, and then it didn't have an official name, even though the locals called it Buitensluis. In a meeting it was decided to call the village Village of Cromstrijen (Dorp van Cromstrijen). But Dijkgraaf Vos, the chairman of the meeting, believed the village should me named after the first Ambachtsheer, Gerard Numan.
    The old harbour master, a taciturn chap, gave us a choice of boxes, and we picked the one to suit Duonita's width. In no time at all we were all boxed up on a pontoon that seemed to stretch forever.

Numansdorp Marina with Boardwalks Stretching Right Down the Canal

    A few food staples were required, and despite the heat, we walked into town. Numansdorp seemed to be a fairly modern town, basically a one-street town. There were no historic buildings to catch our attention. What was intriguing was the layout of buildings along the street. To begin with we encountered the usual collection of grocers, butchers, bakers, hair salons, cafes etc., but as we progressed along, grand residential buildings started to intersperse the business premises.

Downtown Numansdorp

    We entered what seemed like a supermarket, but found it sold no milk. A lady kindly pointed out that it was not a typical supermarket, and explained where we would find a proper supermarket. The real supermarket was heaven, not from a shopping viewpoint, but it was air-conditioned. Bliss!!
    We returned to the boat with our provisions, where it was 34 degrees inside the cabin, with all the doors and hatches open! We could not seek shelter from the heat there. Rex devised all sorts of arrangements that deployed the sail cover over windows to keep the heat out. Finally he conjured up an excuse to return to the supermarket, just to linger in the chilled air.
    We stopped off at a small bar to top up our fluid levels and escape the heat. Two pretty girls were serving and they explained to us that since the doors and windows were wide open, it was pointless switching on the air-conditioning. We had already worked that one out ourselves. The brief respite from the sun was nevertheless welcome, and it gave Rex an opportunity to polish up his linguistic skills with the girls.

Grebe Hen on her Nest

    A large restaurant/bar overlooked the marina, the Schippershuis, where we had a meal. It seemed to be the only lively place in town. Pelotons of cyclists whirred past, all kitted out in bright, colourful shirts. A couple sat down at a table in front of us, and hearing our conversation, the chap, about my age, turned around and jovially said, "There are foreigners everywhere." I immediately responded, "Including Scots too," having noted his Scottish accent. He beamed back. Later on, I heard his wife speaking to the waitress in excellent Dutch. As they were leaving, we had a short conversation with them. The chap had worked over here and the couple are now settled in a nearby village. On mentioning that we were heading off to Dordrecht in the morning, the fellow told us he had lived there for a while, and that was where he met his Dutch wife.
    On our return to the boat, we walked the length of the boardwalks acting as a long pontoon. A small workshop for the use of boat owners was available by the walk, complete with work bench, vice, pillar drill etc. An excellent idea I thought. Between the boardwalk and the canal bank, many grebes paddled and dived for food. There were a number of nests floating, with ever watchful hens sitting on their eggs.
    In the cabin, we had every hatch and door open, but it was still like a furnace. For a long while we were content to sit in the cockpit sipping chilled water from the fridge, watching Venus slowly sink below the horizon. It took me a very long time to drop off to sleep.