At 9:20 a solitary swimmer ploughed up the haven as we started our engines. Once our lines had been slipped, we edged our way down to the Engelenburgerbrug, calling up en route the bridge operator on VHF 74 to request an opening at the 09:30 slot.
The reply was swift, "The bridge will not be opening at 09:30, we have a technical problem."
"When do you expect the problem to be resolved?"
"I have no idea at the moment."
The chap I was speaking to sounded harassed, so I left him to it.
We had no option but to return to our berth. Once safely moored, I headed off to see the harbour master, and found him deep in an animated conversation on the phone. He acknowledged me and indicated he would see me shortly.
Meanwhile, the elderly chap from Dorset turned up to see the harbour master, and I explained the situation to him.
"Oh dear! Can you drop the mast?" he asked.
"Not an option I'm afraid. We would have to get a crane to lift the mast off; not a viable option," I replied.
He had just seen his sister off on the train; crumbs, I had presumed she was his wife. She was going to fly back to the UK. He had intended getting his boat down to Goes, and leaving it there while he flew back to the UK at the end of July. He was now considering whether to leave it in Dordrecht instead, and was going to raise the possibility with the harbour master.
Just then the harbour master summoned me. Of course, he knew why I was there since he had observed us leaving our berth and then returning to it. He too was in the dark as to when the bridge would be repaired. "It does not happen very often," he added. Hmm… first the Middelburg swing bridge and now the Engelenburgerbrug. Last year it had been the Haringvlietbrug.
 Catharijnepoort (1652) |
 A Tragic Reminder Outside a House |
We traipsed up to the laundrette, and waited for a young woman to retrieve her wet washing. She put it all in the driers for the two sets of machines. I watched with interest as she proceeded to clean out the drier filters. They were totally clogged with black fibres.
"Good grief, what were the previous users drying?" I enquired.
"It looks like a wet cat," she replied cheeringly.
We each loaded up the two washing machines on identical programs, and went for a hike up through town in pouring rain. Boredom was setting in. On our return we expected to be able to just transfer our washing across to the two driers. Sadly, that was not going to happen; the young woman's drying still had 1hr 20mins to go.
I returned just before the 1hr 20mins was up, but it was another 15 minutes before the young woman turned up. She emptied the driers and I started transferring my washing first. To my horror it was sopping wet; it had not been spun. Of course, Rex's on an identical program, had spun, so that went straight into his drier for a 1hr 22min dry. I was mystified at how identical machine settings had ended up with different results.
The young woman advised I get the harbour master. He came immediately, grasped the problem inserted another token, and put my washing back on a rinse and spin program - another 44 minutes to be wasted waiting for that to complete. Then I had the embarrassment of watching the harbour master mop up all the water I had spilled off my soppy washing. He refused to let me clear up my own mess.
After the final spin, I dumped it all in the drier for a 1hr 55min dry. Rex, meanwhile, periodically checked his drier, and removed clothes that appeared to be dry. Eventually he ended up with just two pairs of trousers still drying. We agreed I split my load between the two driers. I returned later, only to find some cheeky person had taken all my still damp clothing out of one drier, dumped the gear onto a surface, and placed his own kit inside. I was now fuming. After counting to twenty, I put all my stuff in with Rex's trousers.
We first started the wash/dry exercise at 14:30, and called a halt to it at 20:15, with damp clothing strewn around the boat to dry out. I was livid at having wasted almost half a day on this boring exercise. We trudged through rain (it rained all day) to a local Italian restaurant, sank a few beers to numb the pain. We enjoyed the food, and the minor entertainment was provided by a couple who returned dishes back to the chef. The female of the couple, who had a face like a slapped arse, seemed to delight in making the poor waitress cringe. The female needed to spend a day washing and drying in the marina; that would give her a whole new perspective on life.
We vowed to make an early start in the morning.