Netherlands Trip - Durgerdam      24th June:

Marken Lighthouse

    Sadly Meryl would be leaving us today. It didn't look as though the sail down to Amsterdam would be a pleasant one, given the wind would be on our nose all the way. And the sail back across the North Sea certainly didn't appeal to her. So, she was catching a train to Amsterdam, and later catching a flight back to the UK. Meryl helped Rex and I prepare the boat for the next stage of our journey, and all too soon she had to take her leave. We exchanged hugs, said our farewells, and then she was gone. She had been good company and fun, a sound, knowledgeable travelling companion with a spirit of adventure, and we'd both miss her on the remainder of our journey.
    We made our final preparations, slipped our mooring, and soon we were passing through the lock that separated the Ijsselmeer and the Markermeer. Then it was a five hour slog into the teeth of the wind.
    Other yachts came and went as we rocked and rolled on our southern passage, and occasionally large barges passed us by, their cargo decks almost at water level. The large bay in which Hoorn sat floated behind us, and Volendam and Edam lay to starboard. Off Marken, a small island off North Holland, skeins of geese flew in formation towards the south east. Tall, urban conurbations started to appear on the eastern horizon.

Rounding Vuurtoreneiland

Rex the Ferryman

    The sun made an occasional appearance, turning the usually grey waters into a beautiful emerald green field where its rays swept over. White horses foamed across the mere, whipped up by a chilly wind.
    As we neared Amsterdam, the channels became more congested as shipping lanes converged, with large barges hogging the main channel, forcing yachts such as our own to keep outside of the channels. Planes periodically sped across the sky on their preordained flight path into Schiphol airport.
    Eventually, we rounded Vuurtoreneiland just south of Hoek van't Ij at the southern end of Markermeer, and after a few buoys, we veered off up a channel towards Durgerdam marina, the last marina before Amsterdam proper. We slowly edged our way in, looking for a pontoon marked off for visitors, but there were no signs to be seen. As we gilled about with perplexed faces, an elderly man leapt out of his vessel and beckoned us across to the pontoon on which he was berthed. We edged alongside, and he kindly took our ropes. Soon we were safely tied up, and had an opportunity to chat with the chap. He explained to us that the harbour master's office was across the marina, and we needed to use the ferry to reach it.

The One and Only Street of Durgerdam

Den Oude Taveerna

    We later inspected the ferry, and found it to be an enchanting little hand-operated cable ferry, you just pulled yourself on a floating pontoon across the marina via a cable wound onto a winch.
    The harbour master was ever so welcoming, and explained where in this one horse village we could find something to eat. "You can borrow two cycles if you'd like to visit the farmer's market. It is only 5km away," he added.

Rex is Always a Fan of Tea

    We set off to explore the charming wee village of Durgerdam. Whereas most of the Netherlands seems to be two-dimensional, Durgerdam was almost akin to one-dimensional. Durgerdam consisted, for the greater part, of a long row of exquisite small houses at the edge of a narrow road on top of the old Zuiderzee dike. Because everything in Durgerdam occurred at a slow pace, there was still that unique feel of a centuries-old Waterland harbour village. Behind the dike, polders stretched to the horizon.
    It was from this small village in January 1849 that Klaas Bording and his two sons set out with a sled over the frozen Zuiderzee to fish through holes cut in the ice. Sadly, they were cut off on an ice floe, and then drifted around the Zuiderzee for two weeks, where they endured a bitter struggle with the bitter cold and lack of food and drink. Only the youngest son returned to Durgerdam alive.
    In the evening we dined at the one and only restaurant in the village, the 1760 Den Oude Taveerna, a rustic building with old artefacts and memorabilia hanging from ceilings and walls. The food was acceptable, but a rip off; being close to Amsterdam had this effect I guess.
    The waiter told us that the hotel attached to the restaurant attracted many visitors from America and the UK, usually when there was a large sporting festival in the city. The village did have transport limitations - the last bus was at 8pm.
    On our return to the boat, when we were afloat on the hand-cranked cable ferry, I pondered on how quickly I could sprint to this quaint mode of transport, operate it, and cover the final 100m to the toilet if I got caught short. Hmmmm ......