Netherlands Trip - Amsterdam      11th June:

Navigation Light Bracket on Duonita

    I was up shortly after 5am; an urgent call of nature. Traffic was already flowing down the street a few metres from our stern, and one chap was about to cast off his lines; he must have arrived late the previous night.
    Measuring up what was left of the bow navigation light, I made copious notes that I would need when we searched for a replacement light.
    Then at a sensible time I dashed off to buy provisions, bade farewell to the lady and her husband who helped us when we arrived, and we slipped our lines under promising skies.
    We soon cleared the next two bridges, motored along by the Bierkade, and then headed south. Large numbers of houseboats lined the Zeglis bank, in various states of decay. Soon we were drifting through pleasant countryside. The idyl was occasionally shattered by cries of grief from Rex as we encountered the inevitable bridges. A Norwegian boat resembling a longship tagged along in our wake.

Norwegian Boat Tailing Us

    On reaching Akersloot we chose not to cross the Alkmaardermeer lake, but follow the canal that skirted its northern and eastern sides. On this delightful canal stretch quite a few dinghies were sailing down the canal, full of youngsters with sailing instructors. Occasionally, a boat would be coming our way.
    More bridges and curses brought us to Wormer, where the Bijdam Watersport chandler, that the lady at Alkmaar had advised us about, would be found. We soon spotted it, and we discovered the only access we had to it was by entering a small but deadly cul-de-sac. It was a challenge to enter the cul-de-sac, especially with the wind wanting to smash us into the quay side. We managed it, but did not relish the nightmare we would have to face extracting ourselves out of it. We skipped across a road to the chandler's and were soon peering around rather small premisses. A woman asked, "Can I help you?"
    "Have you got navigation lights here?" I enquired.
    That question was obviously beyond her ability, and she called to an unknown spirit in a backroom. A wizened small man sporting a grey beard appeared. "How can I help you?" was his greeting.
    "Do you stock navigation lights?"
    Soon we were peering at four small navigation lights, probably only suitable for small motorboats, but not for larger fearsome ocean-going yachts such as Duonita. However, the chap kindly advised, "There is a much larger chandler at Zaandam, Dekker Watersport, who will probably be better equipped." We thanked the man for his endeavours and advice.
    Extracting ourselves out of the small cul-de-sac was an awkward task. The wind was pushing us onto the quay, and with a boat behind us we could not try to reverse out. Somehow we had to spin the boat round by 180 degrees whilst avoiding the wind's attempts to smash the transom-hung rudder on the quay. I leapt ashore and pulled the bow away from the quay, and by slowly working my way around a piece of private land, I managed to spin the bow around by 90 degrees whilst keeping the stern well clear of the quay. Then I leapt aboard and Rex shrewdly used a mix of engine and bow thruster to continue the spin. He skilfully swung her round and we extracted ourselves out of the cul-de-sac. Admiral Michiel Adriaenszoon de Ruyter would have been impressed.

Zaanse Schans

    We continued our journey through more bridges, Rex becoming a shadow of his former self by now. But there was a silver lining to this dark cloud, we were suddenly confronted by the Zaanse Schans, a group of beautiful, colourful windmills on the port bank bank. It is a collection of well-preserved wooden windmills, barns, houses and museums, built in the typically Dutch wooden architectural style, from all over the Zaanstreek, and were relocated here from 1961. The site aimed to recreate the feel of a living and working community that dated back to the 18th and 19th centuries.

Viking Longship in Pursuit by Zaanse Schans

    When we reached the pretty town of Zaandijk, we and the Norwegian boat had to gill about for ages in a large basin known as De Kuil. The basin was surrounded by large factories, one a Tate & Lyle plant. and opposite it the Royal Duyvis Wiener complex, the leading manufacturer of cocoa processing and chocolate production equipment, founded in 1885 in the heart of the Dutch cocoa industry. Indeed factories were strewn across both banks, the aroma wafting across the water ranging from sweet chocolate to a bitter, almost burnt smell. The whole affair stretched for over a kilometre.

Royal Duyvis Wiener Complex

    Eventually the Coenbrug opened for us and we escaped down the Zaan. A road bridge, a rail bridge and another road bridge later we reached the final lock, the Wilhelminasluis. By now, we had a Dutch motorboat gilling about with us as well as the Norwegian boat. After an age the lock opened, and after another age the Gedemptegracht road bridge over the canal opened to allow a working vessel to escape up the Zaan. We naively assumed the road bridge would stay up to allow our flotilla of three boats to enter the lock. To our astonishment, the road bridge closed. An era later it reopened, we all entered, tied up, and yet another age later the lock gate at the far end of the lock opened, the Wilhelminabrug road bridge opened, and we all escaped and went our separate ways.
    We headed straight for the Marinapark Houthaven, with the hope of tying up for an hour while we marched off to Dekker Watersport. The wind was highly problematic and making mooring onto a hammerhead pontoon difficult, but we persevered and managed it. Then a big chap bounded up to greet us.
    "How many nights do you want to stay for?" he beamed out.
    "Just for an hour or so if we may. We need to visit Dekker Watersport," I replied, pointing to where we wanted to get to.
    "You can't do that, you'll have to moor over there," he said churlishly, pointing to a short pontoon across from the marina. It was pointless arguing; we just crawled across to the short pontoon and tied up the best way we could.
    Once the boat was safe, we hiked across the Oude Haven via the Spiekeroog and walked down to Dekker Watersport, which turned out to be a fairly substantial chandler's. Rex was like a child in a sweet shop in this treasure cave. A very helpful assistant took us to the navigation lights section, and we were soon able to select a large, sensible light. I persuaded the chap to open up the box so that I could check the measurements of the unit. He kindly lent us some callipers, and to my amazement a recess at the rear of the unit was 23mm wide, This would fit nicely over the bracket on Duonita which was 22.5mm wide; a superb fit. We purchased the unit, and returned to Duonita happy bunnies.

Properties on the Zaan

Desirable Residence on the Zaan

    Back on board we made haste down the Zaan and into the Noordzeekanaal, and proceeded towards Amsterdam. Time was pressing, so I called ahead to the Amsterdam Marina to ensure we had a berth for the night; the harbour master's office closed at 5pm.
    We reached the marina at the same time as a boat from Ipswich was trying to enter. A difficult task lay before us when trying to moor up; we had to contend with a strong gusting wind and a cramped box. With sheer ingenuity Rex managed to squeeze us in without damaging the boats on either side of us.
    Once berthed and fees paid, I repaired the autopilot connector that I managed to break, and then we set off in light rain to find food. Loetje at the marina was ram-packed with a queue outside, so we strolled up to the NDSM ferry terminal area and found a restaurant, Van de Werf, we could shoehorn ourselves into.
    Now with broadband access available, I was able to catch up on emails etc. I was saddened to learn that a good friend, Jeanette, had recently passed away. She and her husband Peter had taken me and Rosie under their wings many years ago when we were new to Ipswich. A sad loss to the world.
    The loud din in the restaurant brought me back to earth; it too was packed. Apparently there were parties and conferences in the area, accompanied by copious amounts of alcohol and competitions to find who could shout the loudest. Despite all this, the food was fine, and by the end of the evening we moved to a quieter corner where we could hear ourselves speak, and played draughts.
    The walk back to Duonita was cold and damp; it was summer after all.