Belgium and into Holland

23rd August, 2011 (Sally)

The three days after the family left us we spent in Gent{Ghent] depending on which school of thought one belongs to. It has some interesting museums, not only for the displays but also the architecture where they have built inside one: a town house; and in another: an old convent, very light, airy, modern interiors yet still retaining the integrity of the original buildings. The Castle of the Counts, is worth a visit. Situated in the centre of town one would think it was there to protect the townsfolk, until you notice that all the cannon face not outward to the enemy but inside to dominate the town and tell them in no uncertain terms that "Might is right." Apparently the city at one time tried to retain its city state and as a result they got a castle that garrisoned 1,500 soldiers. It also displays the most gruesome collections of medieval torture instuments including a guillotine complete with sack to collect the lopped off heads. A good history lesson for the grandsons. One should not go past Gent without a visit to the cathedral to view "The Ghent Altarpiece" painted in 1432, famed as a very early oil painting but also renowned as the art work that has been stolen the most times. After viewing it I chanced to find in the local bookshop the story of its adventures; or misadventures. Intriguing reading.

Just out of Gent, 80kms from Antwerp and another 80kms to the sea, the river Schelde is tidal so we arose early to be at the first lock to travel downstream on the outgoing tide. Not the most exciting scenery, but with the current running we made it almost to Antwerp, stopping at a riverside quay 20km upstream as the tide turned before carrying on to complete the journey next day. An adventure in itself negotiating the big lock into Antwerp Harbour, two large commercial barges, one oil tanker, a hotel barge, another smaller work boat and then little us squeezed in at the end only to emerge out into the enormous stretch of water full of huge, busy traffic that is just one of the harbour basins of Antwerp. It was a relief to pass through a couple of raised bridges into the peaceful seclusion of the pleasure boat harbour.

We stayed for a week in Antwerp, a city that is often overlooked by travellers, but one that we would highly recommend. The city centre is abuzz with cafes and restaurants, and in true Belgian style they are busy from early morning to late at night. The old warehouses on the waterfront have in many cases become trendy cafes as well and right beside our mooring was a spectacular new city museum, with the tenth floor a terrace with panoramic views over the harbour and city. Two of the floors are devoted to the developement of the port from 1500 to present day, wonderful old paintings and maps plus plenty of models of ships past and present. On Friday we attended a lunchtime organ recital in the cathedral and found to our delight that we were in the midst of a truly wonderful exhibition of paintings. Prior to the French Revolution various guilds maintained their own altars in the cathedral, and they all were adorned with paintings and sculptures by the best artists of the era. Under French rule many of these masterpieces disappeared, some ended up in Paris, others went to the new museum in Antwerp while others were sold. While the Art Museum in Antwerp is being renovated some of the paintings, 14 in all, have been brought back temporarily and are being shown for the first time in 200 years in their original settings in the cathedral. A very memorable experience.

Another memory we will take away is the three hour harbour cruise where we got up close and personal with the workings of a very busy modern port. Ships from all corners of the globe, off-loading fruit from Africa, granite blocks from Brazil and India, coal, wheat; a wharf with 6,000 old cars going to Asia; and millions of containers. We had almost finished the tour when we stopped to allow an 800 tonne floating crane to pass through a lifting bridge before us. Do you have any idea how big that is? We were on the third floor of the cruise ship and it dwarfed us. All this was in preparation for the next day when we farewelled Scott, welcomed aboard Pat and Paul Pritchett from Christchurch and left Antwerp via the port. At least we had some idea of what to expect but as long as you keep right out of the way everything goes very smoothly. From the busy wharves it was a short distance and we were in Holland — flat fields, dykes and windmills.

The next day we took the advice of one of the locals we had met in Gent and left the canal to take the 'so-called' prettier route through the wide estuary of the Oosterschelde. This is a huge tidal estuary, [35,000 ha] which since a disasterous flood in 1953 has been controlled by the Oosterscheldekering, a huge buttress dam with sliding gates built right across the mouth to the North Sea. Unfortunately for us there was a strong crosswind blowing that day (about 15 knots), fine for the sail boats and cruisers but not good for a flat bottom barge like Sable. We rolled and sloshed our way across the open water; glasses went flying at one stage, cupboards and drawers slammed open and shut and our water bed looked as if it was going to roll out of its frame. Pat said it was reminiscent of the recent earthquakes in Chch. Fortunately Paul is an experienced sailor so he provided the moral support for Tony, I retired below and after all the glasses were safely transferred to the sofa and chairs lay on the lounge floor and waited for calmer seas. It took ages but we eventually made it through the last lock into quiet waters and safe harbour at Bruinisse with the welcome sight of the friendly harbourmaster to guide us into our berth. The whole estuary is renowned for its mussel and oyster farms so it was a quick trip to the quay-side fishery for a bag of the freshest, tastiest mussels and a large gin and tonic for all. When we left two days later it was fine, clear and no wind at all so a much calmer ride to the pretty but very popular town of Willemstad. So many boats, six deep in the inner harbour, ranging from the very modest to the "gin palaces" that require a wardrobe to match. Lots of old genuine barges too, lovingly restored with masts and sails in place. It would appear that everyone in Holland owns a boat and if you want to strike up a conversation just ask them about their boat, especially the older ones. It was our first chance to take the bikes and ride out into the countryside. Pat and I had a lovely ride along the top of the dykes looking over farms and fields until we came to the huge locks that control the commercial traffic going through from Belgium to Rotterdam. It is such an interesting sight that they have built a viewing platform overlooking the three gigantic locks. We sat there for an hour watching the constant stream of barges, the largest was 135m x 17m wide and carried 6,600 tonnes of fuel and it only half-filled one lock. I can see that cycling in the countryside will be something we will do often as there are well marked and well maintained and very well-used bike trails everywhere — most wider than French country roads.

Dordrecht was our next stop, Holland's oldest town with a historic harbour full of old ships, restored or part restored. All the old warehouses have been renovated into smart appartments with the gantries that hauled the cargoes to the higher floors still in place. It was at Dordrecht that Pat and Paul left us to travel to Ypres to visit the WW1 battlefields, and we welcomed again Kristy and Matt for a brief stay-over on their way home from two weeks in USA. We took them onto Gorinchem another pretty town where we moored close to the centre. They walked into town one night to sample the night life and introduced themselves to some of the locals, an intersting experience for both cultures. What a wonderful holiday they have all had, and I suspect the travel bug has bitten hard. We now have had on board 10 of our 12 grandchildren, could be a bit of pressure on the remaining two.

We now are on the smaller waterways of Holland, a few cargo barges but nothing like the huge ones that were on their way to Rotterdam in the rivers; and hopefully school holidays are over so we may not have as much competition for a berth. At the moment we are moored at Vianen, you won't find that on a map, but it is the headquarters of Kabola, makers of our heating system and we have progressed from a repair and service to the existing one to a full replacement. If our previous boiler was a Bentley the new one is the Rolls Royce. Holland's winter weather may just stretch the former, ten-year-old one too far. So far we have found Holland much as we expected, the countryside is flat!!!, dykes are prominent, and windmills are prolific. The towns are neat, everything that can be painted is painted — and repainted every year by the look of it — so different from the shabby weathered look of France, people are very helpful, friendly and all speak excellent English so we are having no trouble making ourselves understood. However I am resorting to the dictionary before and after every trip to the shops, some words are similar to the french but most are literally Double Dutch. The markets are full of Indonesian food. I plan to try and decipher the ingredients to try a few recipes but at the moment still struggling with the basics. All good fun and what travel is all about. New experiences, new recipes and when all else fails log onto Google.

In Flanders Field

30th July, 2011 (Tony)

Our passage through the 5.7 km Riqueval Tunnel was a bit nerve-wracking. This is the tunnel that the Germans seized early in WW1, filled with barges and used for an ammunition dump and later, hospital. It begins just beyond the bridge that Sally wrote about in our last newsletter. The relatively narrow bridgehead over the top was of enormous strategic importance as the canal cuts through a deep, long, hand-dug channel for many kilometres both north and south of the tunnel. Squeezing two large armies through a 5.5 km crossing would have been a nightmare. It took American help with their large machinery and drilling equipment to force the Germans to evacuate the tunnel and it was a miracle that the tunnel survived. The town of Bullecourt straddles the summit above the tunnel. It was practically demolished in one of the last scenes of combat in the days before the armistice was signed in November, 1918. The tunnel was the brain-child of Napoleon who turned the first sod in 1801. Because of its length and the difficulty to sink ventilation shafts exhaust-emitting engines are prohibited. Once upon a time men dragged barges through, then donkeys were employed. But since 1906 after the advent of electricity tugs using a huge electric winch pick up and re-lay a chain to tow barges and pleasure boats through the tunnel; one way at a time. The journey takes two hours and vessels have to line up in order of size behind the tug. In front of Sable was a large commercial barge, and behind we towed a smaller pleasure craft. The skipper of the commercial insisted we needed only one line and that it should be hooked to his port stern bollard. I assumed he knew what he was doing and kow-towed to his greater experience. Mistake! As we feared, it was impossible to keep Sable on a straight course and her port stern scraped along the left-hand side of the tunnel relentlessly. Thankfully, after a couple of hundred metres the second mate on the tug lept off onto the footpath and wandered back to check that all was in order at the tail of the queue. He immediately recognised our predicament and asked me to start our motor and advance to slacken the tow rope and ordered the commercial skipper to move our line to his centre bollard. From then on it was much easier to keep Sable away from the walls but the commercial continued to scrape the whole way and as soon as we emerged we were pleased to moor up to the bank for the night and down a calming tipple.

We stayed several days in Cambrai another large town completely destroyed in WW1 but largely restored in quaint Flemish style. Throughout most of July afternoons were whiled away in front of television, glued to the Tour de France. What a fantastic outcome! However, we managed a sortie on the motorbikes to explore the countryside around Cambrai one rare, sunny, afternoon. Whilst most of France seemed to be baking in sunshine, in the north we barely have seen the sun all month. Perhaps this dull, cloudy, drizzly weather is typical of the Benelux countries. Final French port of call was Valenciennes, a lovely, lively city full of students and young people revelling in their summer holiday festivities. There we picked up Scott and Matt — the advance party ahead of the impending family invasion. Gillian and the girls were soaking in London, and later Paris, for a few days after the family had spent a fun-filled couple of weeks in Ireland. Next day we set off down L'Escaut, spent an extraordinarily windy night pinned to a seawall virtually on the border and then passed without ceremony, or notice, into Belgium. Or perhaps we were noticed, for the police stopped by as we were fuelling up to tell us our tyre fenders were illegal in Belgium.

Canals in Belgium, for the most part, are serious highways for transportation of every conceivable cargo. There are few barges here. They use ships — huge vessels, rarely less than 120m long and often 10 to 14 m wide, many are sea-going. Stay clear! At Tournai a kindly resident who obviously spends most of his retired days watching the river traffic came down to show us how to lock our ropes onto the cleats on the quai to prevent Sable being swept away in the wake of a passing ship. We were grateful for his advice as we tossed about alarmingly all night long. Sally thought Tournai was a nice city — I thought it was the pits. We enquired at the big lock down the river about the possibility of slipping up the Canal de L'Espierre to Roubaix, back in France, to collect Gillian, Kristy and Paula. We were assured it was ok and they would arrange for a lock-keeper to lift us through three locks into France whereupon the French would take over. We entered the narrow canal and waited at the first lock more than two hours before the lock-keepers arrived. They then informed us the first lift-bridge in France was out of service and we should go back. Despite the lock-keepers' insistence that the canal behind us was wide enough for Sable to do a U-turn it took three vain attempts to convince him otherwise. No option other than to go up through the lock where we easily completed our U-turn and back down again and out to the Escaut once more. The girls took a taxi from Roubaix and we met them four hours later at Bossuit where we were pleased to get off the Escaut and into the canal to Kortrik; through a massive lock that I estimated took thirteen million litres of water to lift us the 9.5m into the Flemish sector of Belgium. Belgium hasn't had a proper parliamentary sitting for more than ten years because they can't agree on the language that should be used. But in Flanders, almost without exception, everyone can converse to us in English, which is more than can be said for the French speaking Wallonians.

Kortrik is a great city with attractive street scapes and busy shops. Unbeknown to us we arrived on the eve of Belgium's national day. No kind of celebration was evident — the whole town was dead. So it was just as well we hired a car the night before to tour the WW1 battlefields. With hardly any traffic on the road we set off to visit Messines, Tyne Cot cemetery, Paschendale, and Polygon Wood where the Australian 5th Division Memorial is situated. We also payed our respects at the grave of Sally's great-uncle, Alan Bisset, killed in action 20 October,1917 at Vlamertinge, near Poperinge. By mid-afternoon all seven of us needed some spirit-lifting comfort which we acheived by way of a feast of crepes and/or waffles and icecream at a cafe in the square at Ypres. We then walked the ramparts of the city before filing into the large crowd to observe the moving playing of the Last Post at the Menin Gate. Next day Scott and I drove to Fromelles where on 19 July, 1916 the Australian 5th Division lost 5,553 men. I have long been fascinated by the well-documented story of Fromelles and the discovery in 2008-9 of 250 bodies buried in mass graves at Pheasant Wood. Peter James and I visited Fromelles in 2008 just as the archealogical investigation was about to begin but was hampered by bad weather. So it was poignant to return and see the new cemetery (picture).

To Gent. This city rocks! One day is not enough to celebrate Belgium's national day here. We arrived to find a ten day festival in full swing. The streets and quaysides thronged with crowds in party mood. A number of stages around the city centre featured bands and musicians of all genres belting out their tunes before admiring fans. Restaurants and bars did a roaring trade with every available spare piece of space filled with tables and chairs that were constantly occupied day and night. Suddenly it was all over and it took two days to dismantle the stages and clean up the mess. With Gent in introspection and last day together we took the family by train to Brugge for the day. The market was buzzing in the square when we arrived but by the time we'd had lunch it was all stashed away into semi-trailers and off to somewhere else. Every day Brugge is packed with thousands of tourists. It's so busy and so crowded what can one do, except sit down at a street-side bar and sip and survey. Kristy, Scott and Matt are off to USA and Gillian and Paula are on their way home. It has been a wonderful couple of weeks. When we recover we'll head to Antwerp, one of the busiest ports in the world. Now that's scary!