Radio silence for a perfect day

Sorry about the silence in August.

I didn’t just have my head in the clouds, but the whole of me plus a change of clothing, a yoga mat, three bottles of hot chili sauce, a handful of spice mixes, a box of homemade cookies, a hand printed Last Emperor shirt and a kayak paddle went up up up and away on an adventure in the infinite blue.

The Midnight Express was left to languish in airport parking in Duke City. I crossed my fingers as I set the locks and took the airport shuttle, hoping the computer brained ka’a wouldn’t give in to its gleaming gangsta nature by breaking bad while I was briefly elsewhere. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. For which I am truly grateful. Duke City is rumored to be the car theft capital of the country.

After a few hours of flying west and a day or night or some decidedly sleepless mixture of the two, flying north east, I found myself cast into the bedlam of a truly mind boggling baggage claim hall. Hint flying into the EU with a kayak paddle - aka “odd sized baggage” - might seriously delay one’s extracation from one’s airport of entry. But I prevailed, floated on a following tide through customs, to find my ride waiting patiently, oh so patiently. For which I am oh so truly grateful. We headed out into a heatwave in search of a safe harbour.

I spent the first forty years of my life classified as European by the government of the country of my birth which, incidentally was not in Europe nor even under European rule at the time of my birth. Now I have finally set foot on European soil for the first time ever. With nary a drop of Dutch blood in my veins, but two years of university level Afrikaans Nederlands language studies some fifty years ago, and ten minutes last month of skimming the Dutch component of my public library’s free language learning app (I have a low boredom threshold and the over simplified gamification aspect irritated me) the Netherlands was my first European port of call. This lifetime.

Above are two of my host’s boats. The blue kayak is a rescue in a somewhat disheveled condition. Alongside it, the liveaboard might or might not be called Pilar (after Hemingway’s boat), and is currently under repair.

The main cabin sleeping area was all torn up during my time there. If one is going to tear one’s shelter apart, a summer heatwave is probably the best time to do it. The galley with its impressive, high end coffee equipment was still (more or less) functional, though.

I should probably use the term putting foot on soil loosely when creating a narrative around my first experience of Europe. I spent a lot of my time in the Netherlands on water. My host had arranged accommodation for me on a series of boats in a small recreational boat harbour or marina (Woudhaven) on a canal alongside a lake (Alkmaardemeer) in what is maybe a nature reserve.

Or maybe it was an island. Whatever one wants to call it, I was accommodated in a loose community of liveaboards and summer sojourners. I felt strangely at home.

I’m a bit vague as to the description of the land aspects not only because I can be especially geographically challenged in built up areas, but also because I struggled a little with the scale of things in the Netherlands. I am accustomed to big countries, far horizons and a lot of open space around me, whether land, water or sky.

In the Netherlands my first impression was one of crowdedness, flatness, control and order, with everything on a very small scale, everything very regulated, recorded, tracked. Constructed. I had to shrink my gaze, bring it in. Look near. Forget far. Forget empty. That’s not to say there wasn’t beauty. Just a paradigm shift in terms of scale.

Above is a sunrise view of three of my host’s boats. Pilar the liveaboard is in the middle ground left, an orange touring kayak alongside, and a sit-on-top kayak which is used as a scaffolding barge for external re-construction work on Pilar and is generally, in my opinion, treated really badly. If I had had more time, both this little sit-on-top and the blue kayak would have been cleaned and loved a little. But then I’m a bleeding heart when it comes to rescuing neglected and unloved vessels.

My first two nights were spent on Moana, a pristine little short term rental boat in a quiet, slightly stagnant backwater of the marina. Though to be fair, maybe all the water in the marina or the canal (did I know the difference?) was slightly stagnant - see elsewhere for comments about heatwave and crowdedness. So many boats strung out like beads in a necklace of the canal system.

Moana was very well maintained and, in spite of the name (a dubious thankyou, Disney) had not a whiff of Hawaii about her (until I stepped aboard wearing a traditional Hawaiian heirloom wedding bangle). The whole of Europe was sweltering under a heat wave when I arrived. Neither I, nor my host, could find a way to open the little vessel’s portholes so I slept aft, with the cabin doors wide open and offered my body up as a buffet for all the blood sucking creatures of the world. Mosquito nets or insect repellent are not things which one thinks to bring on a Netherlands interlude.

Electricity for the marina is provided by solar panels, some of which are just visible on the left of the above image. Beyond that lush vegetation, incidentally full of gnats and stinging nettles, amongst other things, is a lake. I believe it is called Alkmaardemeer.

Gently rocked in my watery berth, I went to sleep and woke to the splashy, quacky sound of waterfowl.

I might just have died and gone to heaven.

It was a short walk between my berth on Moana and my host’s moorage. Wild roses were covered in magenta pink blooms and brilliant scarlet rose hips.

Of course I am up and about at first light.

The opalescence on Alkmaardemeer goes all the way to infinity and back.

The whole world is briefly the inside of a conch shell. I am held, suspended inside the sound of the pū, the conch. Let the ceremony begin. Buyani!

On the first morning I do my early morning pranayama and some balance asanas on the small aft deck of the Moana, loving the bouncy feel of water not land beneath my feet. I could so get used to this living on a boat thing,

My host’s outdoor lounge area on land also served me well for early morning yoga asana practice, complete with some minor distraction of gnats and mosquitoes. Bloodsuckers love me. Sometimes I think they are my trainers in drishti - they challenge my focus and concentration, hone the infinity, the indifference in my gaze.

After a leisurely chai and coffee and maybe breakfast, on the first morning we took the kayaks out on the canals for a bit. I chose the sit-on-top because it was hot and sunny now, the opalescence all gone so it seemed like a good idea to sit in the water. It proved to be a somewhat reluctant vessel compared to my host’s touring kayak, which, with his Swift touring paddle raced easily far ahead of me. I should probably have picked the blue kayak for better maneuverability and speed, but really we were just paddling (somewhat stagnant) man made canals, inland waterways which were once magnificent major trade routes, for the sake of paddling.

We were just dipping paddles. Looking. Listening. Wondering. Wandering.

Paddling is still a sacrament, no matter the time of day or the vessel or the place.

It was a perfect way to start that day which marked a special person’s half century. Our half century together. Happy Birthday my Darling (not so) Young One. Thankyou for sharing it with me.

The song in my junk attic head that morning, becomes today’s Recommended Listening (wherever you get your music)

Perfect Day

Lou Reed, 1972

Just a perfect day, drink Sangria in the park

And then later, when it gets dark, we go home

Just a perfect day, feed animals in the zoo

Then later, a movie too and then home

Oh, it's such a perfect day

I'm glad I spent it with you

Oh, such a perfect day

You just keep me hanging on

You just keep me hanging on

Just a perfect day, problems all left alone

Weekenders on our own, it's such fun

Just a perfect day, you made me forget myself

I thought I was someone else, someone good

Oh, it's such a perfect day

I'm glad I spent it with you

Oh, such a perfect day

You just keep me hanging on

You just keep me hanging on

You're going to reap just what you sow

You're going to reap just what you sow

You're going to reap just what you sow

You're going to reap just what you sow