Netherlands/Berlin Trip - Alkmaar      15th July:

Accijnstoren - Alkmaar Harbourmaster's Office on the Noordhollands Kanaal

    I heard rain through the night, and the morning start was a damp, miserable affair. It was a fair walk to the shower block, and I had a shower getting to it, and another shower on the way back too. Sounds of the incessant convoys of invisible aircraft heading overhead to Schiphol boomed eerily out of the low, grey clouds.
    After breakfast, Rex temporarily took leave of his senses, and frantically started to scrub the outside of the boat in the rain. He had often commented on the obsessive behaviour of the Dutch who lavishly spent hours cleaning and polishing everything, especially their boats, and now here he was, cleaning his in the pouring rain. The Dulhuys really had an effect on him. We gently calmed him down with a mug of coffee and sat him indoors in a corner where he suffered a gibberish moment or two regarding keeping the British end up; echoes of Kenneth Williams sprung to mind. Perhaps he was not so mad after all, and this had been an excellent ploy to hide the cleaning gear.

Moriaanshoofd

    While Meryl had internet access, not always an easy achievement in marinas, she hastily did some calculations concerning when she would briefly return to the UK, and the return to join us again later. During that period, Rex and I would have a chance to do "proper sailing" as Meryl called it. Being smart, she booked a return ferry ticket between the Hoek van Holland and Harwich. All she had to do now was print the tickets. Rex had craftily stored a printer on board, and we soon had it hooked up to Rex's laptop. It worked to a fashion, but it would not print black. After a bit of jiggery-pokery, and doing things to a printer cartridge that you are not meant to do, we had Meryl's tickets printed out. Rex was so delighted to have got the printer working, that he gave me a big hug, or was it because he knew Meryl would be leaving us for a while after all. I suspect it was because of the printer.
    With the rain showing no clear signs of abating, we headed up the Noordhollands Kanaal to Alkmaar. As we passed meadowland it was hard to tell if it was lush or not, the whole landscape was bathed in a dull grey mist of incessant downpour. A rain-sodden canoeist we passed gave us a brave smile. Even the ducks on the canal seemed hacked off with the torrents.

Stadhuis

    We came across only a handful of motor craft on our journey, and a few barges. As we approached the outskirts of Alkmaar, a man-made mountain reared up high on the left bank. In the gloom it was hard to make out what it was. "A rubbish tip", suggested Rex, but there was no cloud of gulls wheeling above it.
    We had identified a marina, the only one according to one guide we had, close to the city centre. After negotiating three bridges to get to it, we arrived and tried to locate the visitor's pontoon. No likely candidate was visible. We slowly motored up a cul-de-sac, a busy road to our left, a line of boats to our right. One "helpful" chap told us to go up to the end where a bridge would be opened for us to enter the marina. Warily we motored on, there was no bridge to raise. Rex skilfully did a U-turn in the narrow channel and we slowly motored down to the entrance of the cul-de-sac. Perhaps I could jump off and enquire. On reaching the entrance, a policeman marched out of the nearby police station, and shouted across to us that there was nowhere to moor here. We took the hint, and slowly moved away from the cul-de-sac. We quickly assessed our options: (a) return to Akersloot, or (b) move upstream for about 15km to the next marina - well out of town.

Waag

    I suggested Rex drop me off ashore and I ask around to ascertain if there was somewhere we could tie up. By good fortune, as I stepped onto the quayside, a Good Samaritan was passing. He understood our problem immediately, and gave me a very detailed description of how I could find the Accijnstoren, the harbour service for the city, and hence the harbour master. Brilliant! He was a kind chap, most interested that we had sailed from England and enquired of our route through the Netherlands. He was totally intrigued. The fellow gazed up at the sodden sky. "The weather will change for the better tomorrow," he promised. He was a thoroughly decent, helpful chap, and I thanked him profusely.
    Soon we were retracing our steps through a couple of bridges, and easily located the harbour masters office, now that we knew what we were looking for, the Accijnstoren or Excise Tower, built 1622. We tied up to the quayside just below where a small ferry beavered away. This quayside was formerly the enclosed harbour of Alkmaar, and as in much of Europe, the city had its own import duties. (The abolition of internal tolls and excise duties was a prominent demand of 19th-century liberalism). The Excise Tower was, despite its form, essentially an office building. The square brick tower has stone bands, and is capped by a balconied wooden bell tower (for a tocsin, or alarm bell). The tower is not on its original site: it was built closer to the houses, Because the narrow quay was an obstacle for the increasing motor traffic, the entire tower was moved outwards in 1924, by sliding it on rails. I went along to the Accijnstoren to find the harbour master, nobody was at home, but fortunately a Dutch sailor pointed her out to me as she pushed her cycle around while doing her rounds.
    The stout lady with a ruddy face and warm smile gave our boat a quick look over. "I can move you over there around the corner, but there is no electricity. Or if you want electricity, I can let you through the bridge into the Luttik Oudorp," she said. I opted for the latter, and off she went to open the bridge for us. Another boat reversed into the Luttik Oudorp in front of us, and as we passed by her as she stood by the open bridge, she shouted across to tell us that we must turn Duonita around in the small canal we were entering. For some reason all boats had to moor pointing the same way; perhaps we could all make a quick escape if Alkmaar were invaded.
    We found ourselves in an attractive small canal within the old city. After a tricky three-point turn, we picked a mooring place between a couple of boats, a bit of a tight squeeze, but with help from the crew of an adjacent boat we were soon tied up.
    Eventually the harbour master turned up on her bike, a helpful lady. "Make sure your money is safe if you visit the cheese market on Friday," she pointed out. We learned pick-pockets were a nuisance on those days. We booked ourselves in for three nights.
    I did a brief reconnoitre of the facilities, on the way noticing the bizarre feature of a caravan inside the front room of a B&B on the corner (experience outdoor camping in our front room sort of thing). We then took a stroll into the old city via Langestraat, a busy street flanked by shops and bustling with people. Along this street we encountered the Moriaanshoofd, and immediately past it the Stadhuis. The street was brought to a full stop at the Kerkplein dominated by the massive Big Saint Laurens Church. Nearby we discovered the Court of Sonoy. As we returned back along Luttik Oudorp to Duonita, we stopped off at an art shop. The young fellow who owned the shop was trying to make his way through life selling modern, large-scale paintings, much of it a matter of taste, sadly not my taste. He did have an intriguing portrait of Jack Nicholson, but his offers of reduced prices did not entice me.
    In the evening we returned to the Waagplein, where a choice of popular restaurants surrounding the square gave us much food for thought. We opted for one and enjoyed a delicious meal. My daughter Sally had sent me a text in the morning, asking that I drink a toast to her mam. Rex, Meryl and I toasted her in the evening; it was 11 years to the day since Rosie's passing.