Netherlands Trip - Leeuwarden      26th June:

    A beautiful day greeted us this morning, a welcome change from the previous two days. Cotton wool clouds slid along on a gentle breeze, and the day already had some heat in it. I tarried for a while on the stern of Duonita, watching a grebe lazily drifting past our stern with three chicks on her back.
    Rex and I enjoyed our cereal in the cockpit, and agreed on the next plan. Tomorrow the winds should have alleviated sufficiently for us to take our leave in the morning, and head down the narrow channel to the Kornwerderzand Sluis. I would have to do most of the grunt work; I had no problems with that, I needed the exercise anyway. South of the lock on the Friesland coast there were plenty of stopping places such as Makkum, Hindeloopen and Stavoren, which we had visited in previous years. In addition, on this stretch of coast was Workum, which we had never visited before. As our plan evolved, we decided to visit Workum, then later head to Lemmer before departing temporarily from the Ijsselmeer through the Ketelbrug. We could then head up the Ketelmeer and enter the narrow channel which passes behind Flevoland.
    This narrow channel starts off as Vossemeer, then becomes the Drontermeer, the Veluwemeer, the Wolderwijd, the Nuldernauw, the Eemmeer, the Gooimeer, before entering back into the Ijsselmeer at Muiderberg. Sadly, the 12.5m fixed bridge, the Hollandse Brug at Muiderberg presented an obstacle to us, and we knew we would have to return to the Ketelbrug. The advantage of being in that narrow channel is that we would be fairly sheltered from the winds predicted. Once back in the Ijsselmeer we would head over to Amsterdam and make our next call there, depending of course on Rex's back.
    My plan today was to return back to Leeuwarden and follow a trail that would take me past many wall decorations featuring facing bricks, ornaments and wall paintings. This did not appeal to Rex, he preferred to have a lazy day (an effect of Diazepam combined with copious amounts of alcohol). He intended to spend all day scaring all the cats, dogs and children away.
    Soon I was walking in the direction of the Wilhelminaplein, following a trail from a leaflet I had picked up on an earlier visit. Some of the decorations were easy to spot, others much more difficult, and some had obviously been removed with a blank space indicating where it had once been. The guide was not particularly accurate, and at times outright wrong, but that created an interesting challenge for me, and I had collected enough photos for a portfolio which was good enough for me.

Just a Small Selection of the Wall Signs on Display

Oldehove, the Leaning Tower of Leeuwarden

    A gallery that Rex and I had located the last time we were here, which had been shut then, was now open. Naturally in I went. It contained a mixture of abstract and more representative art, the latter mainly streets scenes of Leeuwarden. Some were triptychs, which when hung gave more panoramic views. One such triptych contained ten such paintings, resulting in an almost aerial view down a main street, which also allowed the viewer to see all the way to the horizon. The paintings were all acrylic with very bold colours. The artist's abstract paintings did nothing for me at all.
    The artist, an elderly chap with Albert Einstein hair style, and wearing scruffy clothing liberally coated in colourful paint, was at the back of the gallery painting another 2mx2m abstract painting which was laid out horizontally across a table. We had a chat of sorts, but his English was as bad as my Dutch.
    The representative paintings were in high demand, as evident from all the red circular stickers on them indicating they were sold. I learned from the man that these typically sold for Euros 2,000 each. The ten piece triptych had been bought by the city's administrators who would be collecting it soon. He loved his abstract paintings, "They come from my heart," he told me. I thanked the man in my best Dutch and left him to carry on with his current creation from the heart.
    I took a gentle stroll, ending up at the Oldehove, the Leaning Tower of Leeuwarden. It seemed to be leaning even more out of kilter than when I saw it four years earlier. When I was done, I savoured a coffee in Wilhelminaplein before heading back to Harlingen.

Nieuw St Anthony Gasthuis

    In the meantime, Rex had tidied the boat (had he had a wild party while I was away?), and had done a few jobs. Since being under the influence of Dutch mariners, he had become a domestic God. Ah, his back must be getting better I thought.
    We returned to De Lichtboei for the last time. While Rex was outside lighting up for the umpteenth time, I got chatting with a fellow in the bar. I discovered he had lived in Harlingen all his life, and was now retired at the age of 71, though he didn't look it. He had two daughters, one living in Belgium and the other in Germany, each having two sons.

De Lichtboei

    He had trained initially as a ship's carpenter, then after three years he ran an off-licence for a few years, before working for the local newspaper, where he rose to overall manager. He now lived a short bike ride away, as did his Yugoslavian girlfriend. I thought it best not to bother pointing out that Yugoslavia is no longer an entity.
    Rex and I chatted with him for a while in a mixture of English, Dutch and German, covering a multitude of topics such as sport: football, kaatsen, cricket and rugby. Wishing to change the subject, I asked the man if he had seen the Maoris perform the haka by the Stadhuis yesterday. He hadn't, but he and Rex burst into an impromptu haka in the pub, much to the amusement of everybody else, apart from Rex's back. The bloke mentioned that Harlingen would be having another Octoberfest this year. The previous year the voluptuous Heidi behind the bar had dressed up in an enormous fluffy dress. Heidi spent a while trawling through the photos on her phone until she found a selection giving a flavour of the festival in the pub, and yes, she did have an enormous fluffy dress, but there again she is a rather large lady.
    After drinking perhaps too many beers with good company at the bar, we headed for our final meal at our favourite restaurant, the Eetcafe Nooitgedagt. The tall young chap who greeted us presented us with drinks on the house. "Your English is excellent," I complemented him, always a useful opening gambit.
    He laughed, "I'm half English, my father came from Burnley."
    The fellow we had met here the other night joined us at our table for a drink and chin wag. He seemed to spend his day visiting the yacht that he commanded, and ate there, or he would be out cycling. When time permitted he would stay either at his house in France, or the other in Majorca. Being a captain on a private yacht must pay well I thought. I quizzed the chap on how he had made the leap from sheet metal working to captaining large private yachts.
    "When I left the sheet metal work, I backpacked quite a lot and gradually got interested in the notion of being afloat. Folk said I should try and crew for some boats, and by crewing I gradually gained the experience and through fortuitous contacts, I migrated to larger boats. The owners who I take around the world aren't really interested in sailing, they just want to get to the next port to strike a deal. What is essential in this game is you demonstrate to the owner that you are in complete control of the vessel."
    We shared stories and laughter with the chap before making our final farewells with the staff of the restaurant, and headed back to the boat, apparently having paid nothing for the drinks at the restaurant.