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4

An Essential Addition to Dutch Waterways Cruising Kit

Our week began quietly enough. We enjoyed four delightful days parked in a peaceful car park overlooking a tranquil lake, wondering why no other motorhomes shared such an idyllic space with us. We decided that the one tonne maximum weight limit at the beginning of a narrow lane leading to the car park via a wooden canal bridge may have had something to do with it.

The first of a dozen crossings over the wooden bridge petrified me. Our Hymer weighs five and a half tonnes. Were we being irresponsible and foolish foreign motorhome owners? Was there a real risk of us crashing through the bridge into the clear water of the canal beneath us to die a horrible death surrounded by Dutch carp? More to the point, would our insurance company cough up if they discovered we crossed a bridge designed to carry less than twenty per cent of our weight?

Each of the next three or four crossings were buttock clenchingly exciting. We’d drive slowly to within a hundred metres of the narrow bridge, check to make sure that there were no oncoming vehicles blocking our route, and then accelerate as quickly as possible towards the canal crossing. A racing start in an underpowered motorhome is not terribly impressive, but we still managed to negotiate the bridge at a respectable 30kph, hopefully spreading our weight across the bridge and avoiding an early start to our summer cruising plans.

We were a little more relaxed after seeing two Chelsea tractors – large urban four wheel drive prestige cars to non English readers – on the bridge at the same time towing fully laden horse boxes.

We relaxed completely when we realised that a comedian had carefully removed a number from the sign. Like most of the other bridges in this area, the correct weight limit was a far more respectable twelve tonnes.

Without a care in the world we continued to cross the bridge without worry until, on our fourth day at the car park, Cynthia noticed a sign prohibiting overnight stays in motorhomes. She spotted the sign shortly before a rare Dutch police car drove slowly into the car park, paused briefly next to us, and then drove sedately away. We decided that, if the police weren’t going to bother about the rules, nor would we. Not that we could stay much longer anyway.

Our water pump failed and was replaced at a motorhome service centre in Narbonne in January. Since then, the water pressure hadn’t been very good, but over the last ten days it fluctuated between poor and abysmal. I could spit faster. And then, on Tuesday morning, the water supply failed completely.

I no longer had my tool box with me. We transferred it to the boat along with a handful of other non essential items the previous week. Not that the absence of a tool kit would ever make much difference to me. I lifted the inspection hatch above our one hundred litre water tank, eliminated the only possible remedy I could think of by establishing that the tank was still almost full, prodded the corroded wiring running from the tank, and then gifted Cynthia with the wisdom of my diagnosis. “I think the pump has gone again. We need to have it replaced.”

“Why would the pump fail again so quickly?” asked Cynthia. She pointed at the corroded wiring. “Couldn’t that have something to do with the problem?”

I once successfully changed a plug on my kettle, so I considered myself a bit of an expert with electrical wiring. “No, that’s not it. The pump has failed again. Replacing it is going to cost us another €100 we can’t afford!” As usual, I was stressed about money.

My good friend Google showed me the location of Hymer dealers with service centres in the Netherlands. I phoned the closest. A guy told me that he would love to help, but the earliest appointment was in a week’s time. However, he had a suggestion. He told me that anyone with half an ounce of common sense could fit a new water pump. He obviously didn’t know me. I would love to have half an ounce of common sense. I decided to look elsewhere.

The next guy I called was similarly busy. In fact, he told me that everyone in the motorhome industry is booked solid at the beginning of the touring season. He warned me that I would be lucky to find anyone prepared to replace the pump within a week.

Fortunately, there are service providers who offer an efficient and structured service and do everything in an orderly manner, and there are those who are chaotically flexible and determined to help those in need. My third phone call was much more positive “We’re sixty kilometres from you but, if you can’t find anyone closer, we’ll fit you in.” I think we pulled onto his forecourt before he put the phone down.

The claustrophobic service centre was bedlam. Dozens of motorhomes in varying states of disrepair were wedged into a handful of workshops barely large enough to house them. There was just enough for the uniformed fitters, so there certainly wasn’t enough space for an eight metre motorhome.

We were asked by the owner to park on the industrial park access road in front of the workshops with the promise to “send a fitter to look at your pump as soon as one’s free.” I could see how busy the guys were, so we settled down for a lengthy wait.

Within an hour we were on our way again. The service was first class. Within seconds of lifting the water tank inspection hatch, the fitter diagnosed the problem. “These wires have corroded, so they’re not making contact.” Maybe I’ll think twice before giving Cynthia my expert opinion in future. After a blur of snipping, stripping and crimping, the fitter had new fittings attached to a new block, and had also resolved the issue with the poor water pressure we’ve endured for the last four months.

We now have galley and bathroom taps and a shower head issuing jets of water powerful enough to strip paint, and a cassette toilet flush strong enough to lift either Cynthia or me off the seat if we are foolish enough to press the flush button while sitting down. And the magical cure for our water pressure woes? The French fitter had installed the pump with the positive and negative terminals the wrong way round. That’s what you get for having work done in the afternoon in a country where two hour lunch breaks with wine are normal.

We stopped for the night at a small and empty car park on quiet coast road next to a deserted beach close to Schoorl, and enjoyed a long walk along the water’s edge. We missed the boat which dumped an industrial quantity of bubble bath into the sea, but the dogs enjoyed rolling in the windblown foam.

Blowing bubbles at the sea side

Blowing bubbles at the sea side

Although we’re not back on the water yet, we’re very close. Fitter Jos has completed all of the repairs and alterations, apart from fitting our second fridge. We hoped to have a duplicate of the original sixty five litre fridge fitted, but that particular model is no longer available. A similar alternative model will be installed this weekend, and then we’ll be free to roam the Dutch network for the next four months.

We’ve taken advantage of the delay to shop for a few essential accessories, although ‘essential’ has been the subject of some debate.

High on Cynthia’s list were a pair of life jackets for Tasha and Florence. Bassets aren’t the most active dogs, which I suppose isn’t surprising given their stumpy little legs and elongated bodies. Unsurprisingly perhaps, they aren’t very good swimmers.

Tasha has already had several surprise encounters with England’s murky brown canal water. She struggled to come to terms with a towpath which would switch sides depending on where we were moored, so she always tried to jump off the boat on the same side. Sometimes we caught her in time if she was heading for the water. Sometimes we didn’t.

She didn’t wear a life jacket during the eleven months she was on the English waterways, so an unscheduled dip was something of an ordeal, especially if she jumped in at night. A brown dog in brown water on a dark night is tricky to find, especially if the dog in question ‘swims’ vertically with just the tip of her nose above the surface.

Tasha always wore a Ruffwear harness. It didn’t help her swim, but at least the sturdy handle enabled me to drag her forty four pound bulk onto the boat before she sank like a stone.

The English waterways, especially the canals I usually cruised on, were placid and shallow, so I knew that she wasn’t going to be swept away by a strong current. The Dutch waterways are in a different league, so we need to take more precautions. We also need to consider the logistics of getting Florence back on board if she falls in.

Florence is a shadow of her former self. When Cynthia collected her from the Pennsylvania  kennel where she was used for breeding, she was a very unhealthy 105lb. Thanks to a strict diet and regular exercise, she’s now 65lb. Sixty five pounds is still too much to lift three of four feet from the water to the gunnel and then either under or over the lifeline.If she falls in she will need to be directed to the back of the boat to the swim platform.

This process, coupled with the time needed to bring a boat moving at five or six knots to a stop, takes time, time which a poor swimmer simply doesn’t have. A life jacket is essential for the dogs’ safety.

We drove to Gouda to the Netherlands’ largest Ruffwear dealer, had them fitted with a Float Coat each, and then began a very frustrating twenty four hour period of our motorhome adventure.

We have been very lucky with our overnight stops so far, partly because we always aim for rural locations, and partly because of the time of year. We began our tour last October, the end of summer and the beginning of unsettled and cooler weather. The weather at that time of the year discourages many people from spending time in the great outdoors, which means that we often have parking areas all to ourselves. Now that we’re blessed with warmer weather, we’re also cursed by other people trying to enjoy it with us. Especially during public holidays. Last Thursday was Ascension Day in the Netherlands, and it was HOT!

We stopped for the evening on a vast and mostly empty car park close to a dozen connected lakes north east of Gouda, and then settled down to a peaceful early evening sitting on a lawned area to read quietly and watch the water fowl… until a pair of morons with single digit IQs turned up in hot hatches with speakers the size of telephone boxes.

We endured half an hour of bleeding eardrums, and so much bass that we were vibrated off our seats, before admitting defeat and driving to the opposite end of the car park. All we had to contend with then was the continuous roar of Schipohl air traffic thundering into the sky.

Thursday, Ascension Day, was top up day. We’re pretty good at avoiding paying for camp sites these days. Our previous paid top up, six days earlier, had been at a marina fairly close to Leiden where Julisa is moored. Moorers at the marina pay a €20 deposit for a facilities card which can then be preloaded to pay for metered potable water and showers. We paid to stay in the marina car park for a night, paid a deposit for our facilities card, loaded it with enough money for several weeks’ worth of water, and then left the marina the following day without returning the card. Now, if we’re in the area, we pop in to top up our drinking water and to dispose of our grey and black water. Each visit costs us €1.

Three days later, we topped up our potable water tank from the public toilets in a lakeside car park. I also very carefully emptied our cassette into one of the toilets. As the process requires a great deal of care, and a degree of unpleasant cleaning up afterwards, it’s not an exercise for the faint-hearted. But it’s free, and that’s what counts.

Water is always our highest priority. We can manage six days away from facilities with our two toilet cassettes, but four days at a stretch with our water. Our Gouda car park didn’t have public toilets, so I searched the area thoroughly for businesses with outside taps. The Dutch are more than happy to let us top up if we pay them a few euros, especially if charming Cynthia does the asking. I’ve discovered in the past that, if I ask, they’re more likely to retire quickly and think about calling the police.

After drawing a blank, we decided to drive to the coast to (a) find a campsite which would allow us to use their facilities and (b) find a more peaceful place to stay for the night than a favourite haunt of Gouda’s brain dead young men.

We drove to a likely looking campsite on the outskirts of Den Hag, which was probably a mistake on a public holiday, especially as the weather was good. The coastal area was similar to England on a bank holiday weekend; nose to tail with frustrated car drivers, searching in vain for somewhere to park close to one of many overcrowded beaches.

After a painfully slow drive through Den Hag to the campsite, we endured another painfully slow drive through Den Hag again after the staff at the overcrowded campsite refused to allow us to top up. They kindly gave us the address of another campsite, on the opposite side of Den Hag, which they suggested would be able to accommodate us.

Something was obviously lost in translation. After half an hour of frustratingly slow driving we arrived at the address to find that we were out of luck again. Rather than a rural campsite, the address was an urban multi story car park.

Half an hour later, we found another campsite. I sent Cynthia on the charm offensive hoping that she would be more successful than me. I watched through the windscreen as she chatted to a large and severe looking Dutchman. From his stern look and shaking head, I guessed that we were out of luck again. Fortunately I was wrong. Cynthia just had a problem communicating our needs. The Dutchman thought we wanted to stay for the night. We couldn’t. The campsite was full. As soon as he realised that we only wanted water, he was all smiles. Ten minutes and four euros later, we were fully stocked for another four days off grid. All we needed was somewhere pleasant to park.

If you are ever thinking of visiting the Hook of Holland, especially on a Dutch public holiday, here’s a word of advice. Don’t.

We have never seen so many people, and so many police. We saw more police vans, cars, bikes, dogs and men on that one day than we have ever seen in the Netherlands. Pavements packed with thousands of holidaying teenagers probably had something to do with it. We left, quickly.

Three hours after setting off from Gouda to look for water, we were still driving. We caught a ten minute, eleven euro ferry at Rozenburg, this time keeping a careful eye on our bumper, unlike the momentary lack of concentration on the lake Constance ferry which cost us €1,000 in repairs, and then drove along what we hoped would be quiet coastal roads looking for a pleasant place to park by the sea.

Any space larger than a bicycle had a vehicle parked on it. Our day wasn’t proving to be much fun at all. The seaside loving Dutch were out in force. Much as we like the Dutch, we didn’t want to be anywhere near them.

Our luck changed when we crossed the border from South Holland to Zeeland on the N57 on one of a series of concrete causeways connecting the Netherlands southernmost province’s coastal islands.

From the main road Cynthia spotted a peninsula surrounded by sparkling blue water and white sailed pleasure craft. A rough track lead to a deserted lawn like area opposite a busy marina filled with tall masted sailboats and coastal cruisers.

We enjoyed an idyllic afternoon relaxing in the hot spring sun, watching dozens of weekend sailors tack across the vast freshwater bay beneath us. The icing on the cake was our solitude. Several hundred metres away, families picnicked and frolicked on a narrow sandy beach, but we had the peninsula all to ourselves. Apart from the occasional quiet plop as a lone angler cast his lure, all we could hear were the waves which gently swirled around the peninsula rocks… until we climbed into bed at 10pm.

By then the area was deserted. Acres of empty space surrounded us, enough space for hundreds of people to share without interfering with those around them. Why, then, did two Dutch guys in their early twenties race along the dusty track at a speed not normally seen outside Brands Hatch, skid to a halt fifty feet from us, and then set up a football pitch between their car and our rear bumper. For the next hour they stood far enough apart to necessitate shouting at great volume while they kicked the ball between them. I was so angry I nearly sent Cynthia out to give them a piece of my mind.

We moved further south the following day, edging closer to the second of Cynthia’s essential purchases. It’s a 2.4 metre long sailing dinghy, which she wants to use as a tender for Julisa. She argued that it’s an essential item of safety equipment if we ever break down far from land. I kept quiet, but I think that if we’re ever out of sight of land in our little cruiser, it will be me breaking down, not the boat.

From the photo’s we’ve seen, the dinghy appears to be in very condition. She also appears to be solid wood and therefore quite heavy, which is a bit of a problem.

The view from our bedroom window last night

The view from our bedroom window last night

The dinghy is at a marina near Ossendrecht close to the Belgian border, 120km south of Julisa’s mooring at Leiden. We’re going to view it tonight in the vain hope that we can fit the dinghy on the Hymer’s bike rack. I think that one of two things are likely to happen if we try. The most likely is that the weight of the dinghy will rip the lightweight bike rack from its insubstantial fittings. The best outcome there would be that the bike rack parted company with the Hymer as soon as we tied it on. A rather more serious result would be losing it doing 90kph along a motorway packed with holiday weekend traffic.

If the bike rack and its fittings are strong enough, which I seriously doubt, the excessive weight on the Hymer’s 2.4m overhang could lift our front wheels off the ground. Either way, our journey home would range from extremely unpleasant to catastrophic.

The alternative solutions are to either take Julisa south to the dinghy on coastal waters which she isn’t designed for, or ask the owner to deliver the dinghy to Leiden, and hope that, if he agrees, compensation for fuel and a two and a half hour round trip isn’t going to cost more than the dinghy.

While we contemplate our logistical problems, we’re parked at Berghsluis, overlooking another quiet coastal marina. As we sit quietly in the sun, one of us ocassionally glances at the water, points and says, “Look, that boat’s about the same size as Julisa. We’ll be doing that next week!”

We’re both very excited now.

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I enjoy writing newsletters which, I am often told, are very useful to anyone considering living an alternative lifestyle either afloat on the English or Dutch waterways, or leading a nomadic life on the road in the tiny living space offered by a motorhome. The downside is that adding content to the site, maintaining it, and answering dozens of emails each week takes a considerable amount of time. I invest up to twenty hours every week on the site and, over the course of the year, many hundreds of pounds. I can’t afford the investment in either time or money without a little help. If you are in the fortunate position to be able to afford a small financial subscription or one off donation to help with the site’s running costs, please click on this link to find out more. If you are one of the generous souls who already support the site, thank you!

Cynthia says…

“Hooked on Holland”
Once again, this past week has been a wonderful smattering of exploration and enjoyment of much that Holland has to offer.
On Monday our problem with the water pressure hit an all time low and we knew we had to do something, so we did some research and found out about a place in North Holland not too far from our beloved Bergen, where the big dunes and forest are located.
We made the 1 1/2 hour drive there through beautiful tree lined country roads flanked by farms galore.  When we arrived in the small town of Winkel and drove up to the facility, we found the parking lot crammed with campers and motorhomes and pretty much figured we would be camping out there for awhile.
Weren’t we surprised when Peter and helper came right over and discovered the problem straight away.  After no more than 15 minutes and €15 we were out the door with the best water pressure we have ever had—-and we found out they can do our habitation check and maintenance duties as well in the fall.  Once again, another reason to fall more deeply in love with Holland!
We continued on to Bergen for a bit of bio food shopping at our favourite place, then on to our beloved restaurant near the forest and dunes.  Paul treated me to lunch then we hopped on our bikes and rode into town to purchase two more comfortable bike seats along with a tire pump and small tool kit.
We love the beach at Camperduin, just another 10 minute drive up the coast and so decided to go there and enjoy some beach time with the girls.  Unfortunately a lot of the beach was somewhat dirty which we hate, but the girls love.  I don’t even want to know what they were eating!  But no one got sick and they loved their freedom.
We needed to buy life jackets for the girls and I had found a place online that had a shop near Gouda.  I love Ruffwear products and knew we wouldn’t be disappointed with their canine float coats, so we had made a reservation to go to the warehouse and have them fitted out.  We were not disappointed—these items are pricey but worth it and guaranteed for life.  You can get them online at Amazon, but we were running out of time and it was nice to be able to make an appointment and get the proper fitting and not have to pay the postage.
We decided to head south for the coming long weekend because I was lucky enough to find a website that had sailing dinghies for sale.  I knew pretty much want I wanted and low and behold found one that fit the bill.  I shall report on this next week, as we are going to see her tonight.  If all works out, she will be another dream I have had for some time, as I used to own a similar boat back in the ’70’s when my first husband and I lived on a sailboat in San Diego.  I loved my solo sailing sojourns and can’t wait to pull the tiller towards me again!
We spent a couple of idyllic days on a small island that is just south of Rotterdam surrounded by water and boats coming and going.  And except for two young men playing ball outside our window for several hours until it was too dark to do so, we had peace and quiet.
Saturday morning we decided to head further south to our favourite Westenshcouwen.  We were one of the first vehicles in the parking lot at 8:30 AM but by the time 10:30 rolled around the place was packed.  And it was the hottest day we have experienced thus far.
Paul was a dear and decided I shouldn’t cook, so he treated me to a sumptuous lunch at our special ZeeLust restaurant.  We sat in the shade outside and a soft breeze made the time extra special.  And the girls were a dream—just lay next to us as quiet as could be…..with the occasional (and rare for us!) “pomme frites” (french fries) finding the way into their waiting mouths.
After lunch we were able to find some shade outside the Hymer and sat and read until it got cooler.  We had talked about taking a bike ride but wanted to wait until it had cooled off a bit.  By 5PM the temperature had dropped about 15-20 degrees so Paul set up the bikes and away we went, and were lucky to discover yet another beautiful forested venue with bike and hiking trails that led to curvaceous sand dunes along the way.  We were smitten—yet another great Dutch find!!
It was a good week, and the best news is that on Monday (as in tomorrow) we will be making our way back to Leiden to pick up Julisa.  We couldn’t be happier:-))
Stay tuned for our next newsletter and all the news about our much-anticipated transition……

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Paul Smith
 

After six and a half years living on a narrowboat on England's inland waterways, Paul and his wife Cynthia now wander Europe by motorhome during the winter, and on the Dutch and French waterways in the warmer months on their 32' Dutch motor cruiser.

Comments
  • Alan Cranford Monday,29 May, 2017 at 6:37 pm

    Paul:
    I wish you would add one more “catagory” to your subscription list… a single payment of any amount a reader would wish to contribute.
    Today is Memorial Day in the USA – the entre world seemed to shut down for a sunny three-day weekend! I spent most of the day enjoying auto racing via my computer being logged into UK sites…. Today we expect 104*F as the high – hope our new airconditioning is truly “energy efficietent” – supposed to be 20% cheaper to run…. we shall see!
    Hope you get on your boat today…. and will soon be off cruising the Netherlands water ways!
    Alan

     
    • Paul Smith Tuesday,30 May, 2017 at 8:44 am

      No, bo boating yet Alan, although I am sitting in the boat working. We’re still a fridge short, so we’re trying to decide whether to hang around at the boatyard until it arrives, or driving off in the Hymer again to do some more exploring.

       
  • DeannaSharratt Monday,29 May, 2017 at 8:14 pm

    Hello Paul and Cynthia!
    James No 194 is having a ball at the Crick Show (well to be fair the beer and music is the main pull). We’ve been moored here since April and are enjoying the location. She (yes we call her she too) is doing with no major issues since we purchased her. We had an experienced boat builder aboard today and he said we have a brilliant boat! Praise indeed.
    Big love from Crick x

     
    • Paul Smith Tuesday,30 May, 2017 at 8:46 am

      I’m delighted that you’re enjoying cruising Deanna. Are you moored at Crick full time now?

      James is a first class boat. I still have twinges of regret selling her. If you ever think of selling, please offer the boat to me first!

       
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