All alone in the Netherlands

Hello and welcome to the latest blog from The Olivia Rose Diaries on June 9^th 2023.

One thing that has struck us as we cruise around the Netherlands is how many houses there are. We knew that it was a densely populated country but hadn’t expected that the smaller rivers and canals would pass through mile after mile of residential areas. Almost every waterside property has its own mooring, no matter if it’s only big enough for a canoe. We have spent hours being very nosy and gazing into people’s sitting rooms and gardens as we cruise past, commenting on how tidy everything is, how the gardens are beautifully designed and maintained and how every single house seems to have spent a fortune on garden furniture. We see the occupants eating their lunch, enjoying a coffee seated on their comfy garden chairs under a pergola, or indulging in a lazy morning breakfast in their dressing gowns.  There is no doubt that the Dutch people embrace the outdoors. At times it feels intrusive but we always get a wave and a smile as we pass so they must be used to it. It is  fascinating but at times we both long for a few less houses and a few more open spaces.

‘I’ve just found the perfect place for tomorrow’s cruising,’ said Michael one evening. ‘Something completely different.’ He sounded very pleased with himself.

After twenty years together I have learnt that certain seemingly innocent-sounding phrases should come with a warning sign attached to them. He had been peering at the chart for the last half an hour but now started to fold it away. This was another signal, for those able to read it, that he thought the matter had been decided, which of course it hadn’t. I stretched out my finger and pinned the chart down before he could make another fold in it.

‘Show me,’ I said.

‘I thought we could find a way through these lakes at Nieuwekoopse Plassen, rather than using the obvious route on the Oude Rijn river. It might be a bit tortuous, maybe a bit narrow in places and there’s one bridge which might be a bit low, but it will be much less busy and hardly any houses. Quiet. Peaceful. Just the sort of thing you like.’

‘There’s too many ‘ifs, mights and maybes in this plan,’ I said. ‘I’ve already looked at that route and I think it’s for boats that are smaller than us.’

‘Why don’t we just go and look at it? We can ask the lock-keeper at the entrance point if it’s suitable for us. If he says no, we won’t do it.’

And so we duly arrived at the lock the next day.

‘Spreekt u Engels?’ I asked the man in the hut who operated the gates.

‘Nee.’ He shook his head.

That stumped me. So far everybody had spoken at least some English. I resorted to hand signals, indicating our boat and the length and width of it, pointing at the worryingly narrow ribbon of water on the other side of lock and asking if it was ok for us to go through. He rattled off all sorts of probably useful information in his native tongue, quite unperturbed by the fact that I wouldn’t understand a word, and then shrugged in a non-committal sort of way. Before I knew it the lock gates had opened and Michael had driven us out.

‘I’m none the wiser and you’ve just gone through regardless.’ I glared at him.

‘If we were too big he would have stopped us. The fact he didn’t means we’ll be fine.’

There are times when Michael’s logic is irritatingly difficult to contradict.

Ahead of us the narrow ribbon of water became even thinner. Water lilies and yellow iris flowered along the edges, an endless green and watery world of reeds stretched out as far as the eye could see, and the sky was eggshell blue.

‘There isn’t room for two boats to pass here,’ I said. ‘If it gets much narrower I’ll be able to touch the banks.’

‘Let’s hope we don’t meet anybody coming the other way then.’

‘And there’s definitely no room to turn around if we need to.’

‘Why would we need to turn around? Isn’t it beautiful?’ Michael waved an expansive arm around us and grinned in delight, like a young boy on a Swallows and Amazons adventure.

I am naturally cautious and Michael needs to push the boundaries every now and then which means I feel out of my depth for a while but usually come out the other side knowing it was the right choice. I’ve noticed this year that these moments of unease in new situations seem to be lessening in intensity, or perhaps I am just becoming more fatalistic. Whatever the reason, he was right. It was beautiful and that was all I needed to think about.

The bridge at the far side of the lake was indeed too low for us, so we had to take down the windscreen and the bimini (which is the awning for the boat) and Michael had to duck down low as he steered from the top deck but we got through with inches to spare and found an idyllic mooring waiting for us on the other side.

We were so beguiled by these lakes, and the tiny network of channels that fed into them, that we stayed two nights, each time on a different island. Usually when we moor up, we immediately begin to think about what we should see, where we should go, do we need to get the bikes out or can we walk? I don’t know where this pressure to fill every last minute comes from and there are times when I stand back and can see that we need to slow down. As both of our islands were so small it took less than a minute to walk around them we found ourselves in the unusual position of having no such decisions to make.

Instead I lost all sense of time as I perched on the back steps and idly watched the wind filling its cheeks and blowing hard across the water, sending the ripples scurrying for cover. The immaculate gardens had disappeared and nature had been allowed to run rampant: honeysuckle clawed its way triumphantly out of a dense, intertwined bank of shrubs and spindly trees next to our mooring. As the blooms reached the sunshine they opened and the wind blew their sweet perfume over me.

After dinner we sat out on deck and admired the fishing skills of a small group of terns as they dived into the abundant peaty waters, nearly always coming up with a tiny fish, the scales glinting silver in their beaks. For the first time since we had arrived in the country we would be spending the night completely by ourselves. The day boats had all gone home, there wasn’t a house in sight and this little portion of paradise was ours and ours alone for a few precious hours.

‘Would this be a good time to remind you that I said this was a good idea?’ asked Michael

‘You could, but it might sound a bit smug.’

We watched the sky turned orange and then turned in for the night, blissfully alone in the Netherlands.

And that’s it for this week. I hope you are enjoying this trip as much as we are. We didn’t know quite what to expect from the Netherlands but it is proving to be full of surprises.

Take care.

MJ