I watched a flock of birds shoot up north across our path. At a higher level silvery planes were already scribing their lacy contrails across the pale, blue sky. And then, the magical moment when the sun gradually plops himself above the horizon like a glowing red ball before he starts his slow ascent into the heavens. I totally adore that moment.
 Daybreak on the Way to Belgium |
As the sun climbed higher, we skirted a huge anchorage just off Ostend. We were now 24 nautical miles offshore.
The second set of shipping lanes we needed to cross were the "coastal motorway" that was utilised by most shipping heading along the continental coast line . These lanes are always busy, yet we lived to tell the tale.
A few hours later we were entering a long channel into Nieuwpoort. The channel contains the River Yser. The river rises in French Flanders (the north of France), enters the Belgian province of West Flanders, and flows into the North Sea at Nieuwpoort. It is the only river in Belgium that flows into the North Sea. I waved to a few people watching and perambulating along the bank of the channel, but only a few waved back. Welcome to Belgium.
We glided up to the visitor's pontoon, and I assumed my usual duty as ship's mediator and headed off to the harbour masters office. It was 12:33 when I reached it; the office was shut 12:30 - 13:00. When it did open, I had to wait an age until a suitable break occurred in the endless stream of phone calls pouring into the office. At last, a taciturn official attended me. "Have you been here before?" he asked.
"I haven't, but the captain was here in 1997," I replied.
"Is he alive or dead on the ship?" was his sharp retort. No, neither Rex nor the boat were registered on their database, so I furnished him with all the details. He then spent another age trying to locate a berth for us. I had no idea what the issue was since the marina boasted that it was the largest in northern Europe and they would always find room for a visiting craft. After many sharp intakes of breath and curses from the chap, he allocated a berth to us though he was not sure when the owner of that berth would return. I made an executive decision and took the berth.
The border control officers found us while we were devouring a hastily cooked late breakfast. "Take your time and enjoy your food, and when you are ready, walk across to the building 30m past the harbour master's office. Ring the bell at the door and we will come and let you in," was their warm welcome; a total contrast to that of the harbour master. In a short while, after the usual scanning of passports, checks on paperwork, banter etc, we were free to officially enter the European Union.
The remainder of the marina appeared to be a shop that now served as a dumping ground for sails, fenders etc, and the marina bar that was closed 9 - 18 June; call us lucky.
 King Albert I Memorial |
 Rex in Classic Pose, Ugly Fisk Market Behind |
 Note the Precise Beer Strength |