Netherlands Trip - Harlingen      21st June:

    The morning was a haze of doing my clothes washing, refreshing the boats fresh water supply, and a little extreme clean of the boat. Whilst all this was going on, a young lad silently drifted past Duonita in a solar-powered boat.

Solar Powered Boat

    I arrived at the harbour master's office to get the key for the laundrette, only to discover he did not start until 08:30, and it was now 07:30. When I did catch him he apologised for already having some of his hand towels in the washing machine on an express wash, and thus would be done in 15 minutes. "I'd be grateful if you could transfer them to the tumble dryer when they are done, then you can have the washing machine," he said.
    I agreed, and asked him if I should pay the 8 Euros for the facilities now. He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, then with a beaming smile said, "It's alright Dave, you can have this one on me."
    "What, are you sure?" was my blurted response.
    "Yes, you have been here many nights so don't worry about it," he replied. That was very kind of him I thought.
    Later in the morning we headed off to a doctor's by the Noorderhaven for Rex to make an appointment. "09:50 tomorrow morning," was the receptionist's prompt response. After a quick shop, followed by a salad lunch, I toddled off to return the laundrette key to Wilhelm.
    He was in the communal canteen chatting with the bridge operator. I learned he had been busy in the morning attending the large garden at the entrance to the marina. "It used to be a car park with room for twenty cars. People on the boats could drive down with all their equipment and park for free," he informed me. "Then the Board of Directors decided to turn it into a garden."
    "I'm the only paid person in the marina," he continued, "all the rest are volunteers."
    "Are you a volunteer?" I asked the bridge operator, who I discovered had no knowledge of English.
    Wilhelm answered on his behalf, "Yes, he operates the bridges, weeds the paths, helps with the garden etc. We have many volunteers. Most of the boats here belong to Harlingen people, and most of the owners help out with the volunteering. But they have lives of their own, so it is not always easy to get help. The canteen here is open to marina users on Friday evenings from 9pm until no more drinks are being bought, and that has to be run by volunteers too."
    "Is the Board of Directors taking a fair share of the proceeds from the marina?" I enquired.
    "No, they are all volunteers too: a teacher, a shopkeeper, an engineer etc."
    "So what happens to all the money that you collect?" was my next question.
    "A lady volunteer takes it all and places it into a bank account. Then if our engineer needs a new boiler say, he sees her and she writes out a cheque for it."
    "We have 108 berths here, and most of them are rented by the year by Harlingen people. They pay 23 Euros per metre length of the boat, plus 40 Euros for being a member of the marina," he added.
    "That's cheap," I said. "Rex has found a cheap marina at Amstelmeer where he intends leaving the boat for a while."

De Stenen Man

    Wilhelm interjected, "The rates I mentioned are purely for Harlingen people, the rules are that berths for a year are only available to Harlingen people. However, if someone from outside asked if they could keep a boat here for say three, six months or whatever, we could negotiate a price, but it would probably have two zeroes at the end of it."
    Rex and I took a long stroll in the afternoon along the promenade from the ferry terminal. A group of lads were jumping into the lock from quite a height. The lock keeper was not amused and reprimanded them, to no avail. In a short space of time two policemen rode up on their bikes and proceeded to have lengthy conversations with the lads. That seemed to do the trick.
    We walked past the recently built Harlingen Haven train station, obviously built to accommodate the huge numbers of folk using the ferry terminal, and gazed down at a row of beautiful white cottages festooned with Hollyhocks, which looked out across a busy ring-road, the rail track and the towering promenade, also constructed at the same time as the train station. At one time they would have had a more pleasant view.
    The promenade brought us eventually to a dyke, the Westerzeedijk, that stretched far to the south. A vast sandy beach lay between it and the Waddenzee that was far out. Families and groups of youngsters frolicked in scattered groups across the expanse, some even venturing into the sea. We walked along a paved way which stretched along the base of the dyke, passing a monument, "de Stenen Man", The Stone Man. After the All Saints Flood on 1st November 1570, a large portion of the dykes around Harlingen were damaged. The then town holder of Friesland, Caspar de Robles, organised the Frisians to restore the dykes. Westerzeedijk was completed in 1575. Over the course of time the statue acquired the functionality of a stork. Mothers-to-be made a habit of sending their children to the seaside, with the message that, if they walked three times around the stone man, a brother or sister would soon come along. This became a tradition.
    Not far past the monument stood an isolated cafe/restaurant that offered a magnificent view across the expanse. Obviously we had to take a seat, enjoy a beer and take in the view.

    We ambled back to the boat, passing several buildings that had small plaques laid into the pavement just before their doors. Each plaque presented details of a Jew who had lived in that building during the Second World War, and had been led away from the building to their fate. Back at the boat I watched the young lad catch more fish, then we just watched the world go by for a while.

Plaques Recording Jews Who Had Lived in a Building Before Being Led Away by the Nazis

Landing the Fish

    But the pangs of hunger struck, and we headed to Voorstraat for some food, before stopping off at de Lichtboei for a nightcap on our way back. There was no room outside today, so we took a seat inside at the bar. Rex admired greatly an old sepia coloured photo on the wall of a group of fellows sitting around a large table playing cards, with a group of onlookers standing behind them clasping their beers. All the faces in the photo were happy, smiling faces. Rex was besotted with the picture.
    The woman who served us asked where we were from since she detected a northern accent. Indeed she asked if I was a Geordie. "No, I came from the north-west, Cumbria," I answered.
    She then launched into a conversation which she conducted in fluent Geordie. "I was with a Geordie for four years," she said. "In the 80s, Holland desperately needed skilled workers, particularly welders, and Britain was closing down its shipyards. So, a lot of Scots and Geordies came over here to find work and never went back." She learned of Rex's back condition, and then strongly recommended a chiropractor, Pieter Bard, indeed she was full of praise for him. Chatting away in this bar was a very pleasant way to wind up the evening.