Netherlands/Germany Trip - Volendam      14th June:

Halve Maen

    I met the couple of chaps again on the Dutch boat. Dad was gingerly pouring a can of diesel into his fuel tank. "Did you sort out your VHF radio?" I asked the young man. "No, we now have a new aerial, cable and radio, and together they do not work. We will sail around to the dealer where we bought the system and get him to look at it. We won't sail to England until we get it fixed." Rex walked up and joined us. "You need a radio for ship-to-ship communication," he piped in. "When we sailed down past the Frisian Islands a NATO warship demanded that we change course. They had the guns, so we did as they said," he laughed. The two Dutch men joined in the laughter too. They were clearly up to their necks, so we left them to continue with their preparations.
    The heavens emptied themselves upon us, so we waited for an anticipated break before heading to Volendam. Lo and behold, the anticipated time elapsed, and the rain immediately stopped, and we slipped our lines, filled up with diesel and ventured out onto the Markermeer.

Weed in the Markermeer

    As we headed down towards Volendam we started to encounter large patches of weed. The weed was attached to thick strands which were up to 2m long. This was the weed the German sailor had warned us about in Hindeloopen. It accumulated around our propeller and noticeably slowed the boat down. Periodically we had to reverse in order to shake off the weed.
    We were grateful for the warm sun that now started to bathe us. Soon we approached the entrance to the Gouwzee which nestled between Marken and the mainland. We had passed this way on our sail to Monnickendam four years earlier. A large, white training ship loomed out of Volendam as we approached. We altered course to avoid it, but as often the case, whatever deviation change we made, it too altered its course to maintain a collision course. Eventually we slid past each other 20m apart. We were not sure what function the vessel was performing; all male and female personnel on board were wearing white sailor uniforms and hats. I tried to shield Rex's eyes from the sight lest he get ideas.
    We glided into the large, modern marina which offered excellent facilities and was very much family oriented. The buildings by the marina were all brand new. As we took a stroll into town, we noted a small complex of identical terraces had been erected adjacent to the marina to provide accommodation to the myriads of tourists.

Brand New Tourist Accommodation

Eel Seller

    As we rounded a corner we stumbled across a gaggle of three elderly ladies, two of whom were posing by a statue while the third was trying to line them up for a photo with great difficulty. "Would you like me to take a picture of all three of you?" I asked. "Oh, yes please," they replied in German. Soon I had snapped a few photos of them draped around the statue, and managed to drag Rex into the group shot as well. "You are beautiful," one of the octogenarians said to me. I was somewhat taken aback, there was no easy answer to that. Hmmmm .... she should have gone to Specsavers. I gave her a hug, uttering, "Dankeschön." Then one of the other women told us she had visited the Isle of Wight. With no comment at all about the island, she burst forth with, "I did not like the English breakfast. The eggs were floating in beans, which all swam inside my stomach." "Not all people eat a full English breakfast," I stated. "We eat healthily and eat cereal and toast." "Oh, I don't like toast," she answered, "but I like your brown bread." The woman, who had complemented me on my beauty, then launched into, "I like toast with your marmalade." We discussed the English breakfast at length. "Isn't it amazing," chirped Rex. "here we are, two sets of people talking away about breakfast. We are not discussing Donald Trump or Brexit, just breakfasts." We all laughed, the German ladies adding that they too found Brexit boring. We parted the best of pals.

Long Hike Down De Dijk Cobbled Street

    We continued our walk, passing a parade of shops straddled between more brand new accommodations and the marina. One such shop was a chandler. In Rex marched to see if they sold British ensigns. "We do," said the enthusiastic assistant, who led us to an area stocked with many flags. "What size would you like?" she asked. Rex nearly fainted, not only have they ensigns, they have them in various sizes too. He quickly recovered, and his twitching hand grabbed a packet which specified the size he was after. We left the chandler's with Rex smiling like a Cheshire cat. I wondered if I should take him to a bar for a treble whisky after that sudden shock, but he seemed on cloud nine anyway.
    We walked along the top of a dyke, De Dijk, which soon transformed itself into a cobbled street with houses on either side. The houses gradually became shops and the street became more crowded. Eventually the cobbled street opened up into a parade in front of the small town marina. A couple of trawlers lounged in the marina, and a small ferry furrowed its way back and forth between the town marina and Marken, jam packed with tourists of all nationalities.
    Volendam is a fishing village well known for its characteristic, authentic houses; best explored on foot, The old quarters of Volendam, Het Doolhof, full of maze-like streets, has attracted painters and artists from far and wide for centuries.

Rex Chats to a Smoking Partner

    However, as we continued along the parade I soon had the impression this was Holland's equivalent of Blackpool. Cafes, bars, restaurants, junk and tat shops, kiss-me-quick shops, food stalls littered the parade. We were not impressed. We marched the full length, and marched back even quicker - amazing for Rex. This was an out-and-out tourist trap, lacking in charm or character.
    Retracing our steps past the modern tourist developments, we found tables set up outside them overflowing with bottles. And almost opposite from where we were moored, a large group of German men had hung their flag from a balcony, and their bellies over their belts, and were slowly drowning in beer whilst chanting some unintelligible song. Oh joy!
    Once back on board Duonita, Rex excitably tore open the box containing his brand new ensign, like a child who has just received a present. Then he went totally silent, a novelty for Rex, ashen, and his jaw was touching the deck. The ensign was actually a Union Jack. He snapped out of his gormless expression, slid into a fury of blue language in both English and Dutch, before collapsing into a nightmare ridden slumber.
    We found a local bar in the evening, well back from the glittering tourist drag in the Het Doolhof. A band of local young men sat around a table putting the world to rights while British music filled the room. A restaurant by the town marina provided sustenance in the evening, affording us a splendid view across the water front, and also an excellent people watching vantage point.
    Heading back to Duonita, we passed by a pool/darts centre close to the chandler which immediately brought a touch of the tremors to Rex. I dashed in to use the toilet in the centre, and on my return found Rex having a chin wag with a young fellow by the doorway. "I am learning to sail now. I have had three lessons over the last three Wednesday evenings," he informed us. He whipped out his phone and was soon proudly showing us photos of the vessel he was being taught in, a botter. "It is hard work," he told us, "and we have at least three in the boat to sail her." He was amazed when he found there was just us two geriatrics sailing across from England. One of his mates came out to join us, and soon the pair were telling us how impossible it was for young people in Holland to get on the property ladder. "I'm still living with my parents," said the newcomer. "It costs several hundred Euros per month to rent property around here." We assured them it was much the same in the UK.