Babsi and the Baltic Sea

Our Baltic sea sailing trip was a great success. We chartered a Bavaria 34 'Limited Edition' named BABSI for seven days out of Wendtorf Marina with Nancy, and Nigel and Moira Spragg as able bodied crew. Of course I was the bad tempered, Queeg-like captain. (I got all the strawberries.)

BABSI

We sailed from Wendtorf at about 1100 and headed out to sea bound across the south-western Baltic (Ost See in German) for Bagenkopp on the island of Langeland, Denmark. The wind was (yes) on the nose at about 18 knots and it was a lively sail for the first couple hours. It was also the week before Kieler Woch (Kiel Week), and there were many fabulous boats going the opposite direction. We had clouds of spinnakers going by heading south, and we saw many beautiful classic sailing ships bound for Kiel as well. The 35 mile crossing was colourful and interesting. I found it strange sailing in water so shallow. Leaving the marina at Wendtorf meant following a narrow bouyed channel until we were more than a mile offshore. Even when we were many miles offshore, the water was still only 15 metres deep.

Bagnekopp was another shallow bouyed channel entrance. The interesting thing about the marina was the unique system they had for finding a berth and paying. I was wondering how we would find a spot with the language barrier. I thought we would have to call ahead on the radio, ask for moorage, and then get assigned a spot, just like around Vancouver Island. That was not the case. You simply take your boat into the marina, find a slip you like, and tie up. Once there, you pay at a machine (like a parking lot), and the machine gives you a plastic card that gets you into the showers, bathrooms and laundry. The machine requires that you place a deposit on the card. When you return the card at the end of your stay, the cost of the services (including electricity and water) you have used is deducted from your deposit. It was very slick!

 Bagenkopp sunset

The town of Bagenkopp was classic Scandinavian style houses, built close to the cobbled roads. There was a bakery (of course) and a general store with some groceries. Everything was closed by the time we got there, but we did enjoy exploring the village.

For Sale!



The next day we left early (after eating fresh Danish pastries for breakie) for Aeroskobing on the island of Aero. We took the long way, south of the island, because there didn't look to be enough room in the shallows north of the island to sail properly.

The entrance to Aeroskobing was another long bouyed channel, but the bouys were very confusing. (remember they are the opposite to Canada to start with) They were not lit, and they looked like they had been there since WWI. I was glad we had found the place during daylight. Unlike Bagenkopp, where we found a side tie berth, in Aeroskobing we had to tie our stern to the jetty with our bow tied to two pilings. The boat was sort of suspended in an X between the four lines (kind of like a Med moor). To get on and off the boat you climbed over the stern. This type of mooring is only possible where there is no tide. The facilities at the marina were accessed the same way as at Bagenkopp, with a plastic card.

Aeroskobing bills itself as the most carefully preserved classic town in all of Denmark. It was fabulous to walk through. We spent all evening walking the streets and looking at the fascinating old cottages, some dating from 1600. Of course we visited the bakery and the grocery store and stocked up on local interesting food stuffs. (That means pastries) The Danes don't use the Euro; they still have their own currency, the crown or 'krone' in Danish. The exchange rate was 7 krone to the euro.

We left Aeroskobing the next morning bound for Sonderborg. The weather forecast was for no wind and rain the next day. We started out with the iron genny pushing us along looking for wind. While we were roundin the north end of the island in very shallow water we saw some folks on a large yacht waving their arms up and down in the classic distress pattern so off we went, BABSI to the rescue. The boat was a 40 foot sailboat that had lost its propellor and the crew were worried about going aground because there was no wind. They asked us to tow them out to deeper water, so we did. They had no English so I was unable to ask them why they didn't just drop their anchor. It was only a few meters deep and they were still a couple miles offshore. Nevertheless, we towed them to deeper water and then a light breeze came up, so they said they would be fine and we cast them off. They sailed slowly away, but not before showing their appreciation by giving us two bottles of fine Italian wine. Nice work!

Booty!

Sonderborg is a large college town with all the amenities. It was a good place to spend a of couple days exploring and eating Danishes. They had a lovely yacht club with a laundry and other servces. We used their facilities , but tied up downtown, because it was closer to the action. While we were there, the yacht club was holding the 18 foot skiff world championships. Neat boats! Sonderborg also had many classic sailing ships come and go in the two days we spent there. It seems like a popular stop on the coast.

18 foot skiffs

Disabled access Sonderborg style

  


After two days in Sonderborg we left on a nice beam reach that lasted all day. The winds were varying between 14 and 18 knots and we smoked right along to the German resort town of Damp.

Damp is what the Germans call a 'Cure'. That is, Germans who have been injured or sick get sent to places like Damp to recuperate. The Cures are funded by the health insurance that all Germans are required to have. That makes it a funny marina to stop at. We tied up bow in, using the pilings, similar to when we were in Aeroskobing. This time we had to disembark over the bow pulpit.

The resort/spa was fabulous. There were flashy hotels and lots of boutique stores along the boardwalk. It was all built on a white sand beach that stretched for miles.

The strange thing was, everyone except the boaters had something wrong with them. The number of people in wheelchairs and walkers, with crutches and limps was astonishing. I felt like I had to limp just to fit in. We went for a swim in the pool only to find that swimming was not really the idea. People were slowly walking from one end to the other, presumably exercising a gimp leg or bad knee. The swimmers were all breast stroking at a snail's pace. It was against the rules to make waves! The four of us were headed off for a sauna when we were stopped by an attendant who politely informed us that the saunas were "textile free." That is German speak for naked. When we saw the assortment of geriatric wounded heading into the sauna, we decided to give it a miss. Where were those young scandinavian girls now?

From Damp we sailed down into Kiel to have a look around. Kiel is a very busy Baltic port. It is the eastern end of the ship canal that connects the North sea and the Baltic. Cruise ships were a dime a dozen. It was interesting watching all the shipping traffic negotiating the hundreds of sailboats lallygagging around the inlet.

Finally we had to start thinking about returning the boat. The rule for the charter was the boat had to be fueled before being returned. That didn't sound like a big deal when we chartered it, but when we had to fill it we couldn't find any fuel docks marked on the charts and our Pilot books were all in German. We hailed a boat coming out of Laboe and asked about fuel and they told us that there was fuel in Laboe. In we went. Laboe is a tiny little fishing port that was hosting a Folkboat show and regatta. It was also the only fuel dock around and it was the beginning if a long weekend. We had to hover in an area about twice the length of the boat for almost an hour waiting for access to the only fueling station. There were hundreds of people watching as I careened around the confined space trying to stay out of the way of boats coming and going, and not lose my spot in the line to some unscrupulous queue jumping fuel pirate. I'm glad I was in someone else's boat and untraceable! Laboe also had a submariner's memorial. Very nice!

We spent our last night back at the dock in Wendtorf. The return of the boat was uneventful. We had finished the Baltic sailing phase of Eurodash 2011.



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Boat chartering German style!

Chartering a sailboat in Germany for a sailing vacation on the Baltic was a little more difficult than I thought it would be. 

We had written an email to Yachtbooker, listing my qualifications, and asking them if they would rent us a boat. They replied that chartering a boat from them would be no problem.  That was not really the case.

When we arrived at the agency chartering the boats (Goor Yacht Charters) in Wendtorf, the man behind the desk asked to see my passport and qualifications. I showed him my passport, and showed him my Canadian Yachting Association Logbook that indicates the courses I have completed, and lists the sailing I have done, all with very official looking slick tin stamps and signatures. The guy shook his head, gave it back, and said he wanted to  see my license. I showed him my Naval Bridgewatchkeeping Certificate of Competency, which has a feel of authority and government bureaucracy about it, and got a similar response. He glanced at it, shook his head and gave it back. "Vhere iss your licence?" he asked in heavily German accented English. I was getting a bit panicky, and I started to worry that I would not be able to charter a boat. I wracked my brain trying to think of a way to convince him of my competence and reliability.

In a last minute flash of brilliance, I whipped out my Pleasure Craft Operators Card (PCOC) and passed it across the desk. He broke into a friendly grin, nodded and immediately copied the number down onto the rental agreement. I was astonished. What years of naval training and at sea experience had earned got me nothing. The PCOC, available online, with no on-the-water experience at all, was the document that won the day.

I urge you all to take the 10 question PCOC test so you can assure charter agencies of your competence.

Next time Nancy is going to charter the boat with her licence.

Germany

After nearly a week in Germany, it has proven to be a country of contrasts.

Despite the incredible speed of the train from Paris, we were late arriving in Cologne and missed our connection to Dusseldorf. No problem though, because when we walked up to the platform we were supposed to catch our connector on, there was another train there also going to Dusseldorf. We hopped on. Unfortunately it was the milk run and stopped at every station between Cologne and Dusseldorf, including about five called Dusseldorf in some form or another. We even got off at one Dusseldorf (the first) and realized that there was no city there, so we hopped back on the train (barely). We finally met a fellow who spoke some English and told us we should get off at the Dusseldorf Hautbahnhof (main train station) in about fifteen minutes time.

Fifteen minutes later we pulled into the Dusseldorf Hbf and alighted..., right into the middle of a riot! We literally stepped off the train, and there were five polizei in full riot gear clubbing some football hooligans. There were people running towards the altercation and youth throwing all kinds of things at the cops. I was immediately gripped by a strange need to run in the opposite direction, paused for a sec, decided that I should take Nancy with me, then bolted. We nipped down a staircase where everyone else was coming up. Fortunately Moira and Nigel were there waiting for us and wondering if the train had dumped us off in the riot. We had arrived in Dusseldorf... safely.

Our new hosts took us to their home near Monchengladbach. It is an old British Army and NATO base that is slowly being closed. It has gone from a population of 30,000 (during the cold war) to a population of about 2000 today. Their home (a married quarter) is on a street with many other houses, all empty. The base is a bit of a cold war ghost town. We spent one afternoon twelve pin bowling, and we were the only ones in the building except for the guy who takes the money. We had dozens of bowling balls to choose from, but I still couldn't find one that went straight. The Exchange had a couple people in it when we went for a look. The base is a very quiet and relaxing place, probably quite different than in the past.

On our second day we were invited to go sailing in Roermond, Holland by a British Signals Officer who had helped arrange our upcoming charter out of Keil. He had a Jeanneau Flirt, a 20 foot sloop, on a lake (a pond really), in Roermond. The lake had several huge marinas and Yacht Clubs, and it had hundreds of boats moored around it. It does provide access to the Dutch canal system and eventually the sea. I was surprised to see large racing yachts short tacking up to one end and then doing five minute spin runs back to the other end. It was a right-of-way challenge. We thoroughly enjoyed the sail and picnic on the beach, watching the other boats.

We spent a few hours at a local spa that was wonderful. There were four pools of very warm water. Each pool had various rivers, jets bubble beds and other things to ease the aches and pains of daily life. In typical teutonic orderliness, there was an electronic beep every minute or so to urge you to move on to some other jet so that everyone would get a squirt. We loved the 'no kissing' signs posted everywhere.
We also spent a day in Cologne where we climbed the spire of the famous Koln Dom. It is about 157 meters straight up, 533 steps. The staircase is a narrow, twisting stone set of steps that has been there for hundreds of years. I was a bit claustrophobic. It definitely was not built for people my size. The view from the top was breath-taking, so was the climb.

While in Cologne we saw another couple examples of polizei efficiency. One was a yobbo with a knife being arrested at the Dom and the other looked like a group of shoplifters. No question about it, the polizei are on the job.

Finally, we spent today cycling through the quiet scenic German countryside on bike paths that seem to run everywhere. We went for a walk around another pond with fishermen shoulder to shoulder, angling for that famous sport fish, the mighty carp. We stopped for lunch and a beer at a classic little gasthaus that was packed the whole time we were there. I was quite pleased with my German speaking ability until I ordered a decaf coffee with cream and got a coffee with a bowl of whipped cream on the side. I thought the fraulein was looking at me kinda funny when I ordered it. Oh well, they didn't charge us for the cream.

High tech challenges!

Funny thing, the keys on a German computer  keyboard are very different from the keys on a Canadian keyboard. they don't look different, but they are, not the obvious keys, but the ones that count for internet geekiness.

For example, the '@' symbol is not above the '2' but on the other side of the keyboard above an A with two wierd dots above it. Similarly. the 'Z' and the 'Y' are exchanged. Typing is very challenging. For example, if I was to type "yes, @ the zoo" using our keyboard pattern on this keyboard, you would get @zes " the Yoo@. 

This might seem like nonsense, but remember, when you type in a password, you normally can't see what you type (they come up as stars). When the keys are different, none of your passwords work. Because you can't see your errors, you can't log in to those important things you need to do. Of course you don't realize that the keys are different, so you just do it again. After a couple cracks at the password the system thinks you are some kind of digital terrorist and resets and you are screwed. Then you have to go through the whole name your dog, name your first born, and what is your wife's birthday. WHO GETS THAT RIGHT FIRST CRACK?

Wierd!

A Day in Paris

When arrived in north-east Paris at the Gare St. Lazare, we were a bit stressed because we had no place to stay and it was 1915. We threw on our packs and trudged off looking for an affordable hotel. The first one we found was €130 a night, which we thought a bit steep. The next place we looked in was €450 a night. The first place was looking pretty good. The third place was €104; we took it.

Our small room was complete with a TV, phone, nice big bathroom, two chairs, a desk and the best part, unlimited free wifi! It only had a shower (no bath) which probably accounted for the price break. We were fixed up. It was much better than the place in Portsmouth, for about the same price. We were in the 8e arrondissment, near the St. Lazare train station, not exactly tourism central. There was a huge grocery store across the street and a drug store. It was a pretty normal downtown community. There were no attractions near the hotel. The one thing there was was lots of sidewalk cafés.

Finding something to eat looked like a no brainer given the huge number of cafés in the area. We were like junkies in a drug store;  kids in a candy shop. After walking for two hours (with a short break for a couple glasses of wine) we finally agreed on a place to eat. I think it was the first one we had passed two hours ago! We ordered a plate of jambon fermier and two salad Parisiennes followed by soupe à l'oignon gratiné each. It was very good.

Friday morning was an early wakey - wakey because we had several centuries of art to sift through during the next few hours. We headed off to the Louvre, walking along the Siene, past the square where the aristocracy were beheaded. We could see the Eiffel Tower off in the distance. Nice last view if they pointed the guillotine the right direction.

Eiffel Tower, hmmm?

Tired?

Phooning around at the Louvre

The Louvre was a disaster. I think every tourist from Vancouver to Tokyo had decided to visit on the same day as us. We lined up/queued (good english word) for quite a while to get in past security, then queued (good scrabble word) for another while to get tickets into the exhibits. Then we queued for a bite to eat, and queued for a piss, and queued to look at Rembrandt's paintings.  There were a brazilian people in the Egyptian exhibit, so we queued to get out of there. The best place we found, with the fewest people, was in the apartments of Napoleon III. We had a good walk around there before saying goodbye to the Louvre and queueing to get out.

The start of the queues.

 Tired?

 Josephine's vanity.

 Napoleon III

 Nappy's dining room.

Next we did another leg of the urban version of the Bataan death march across Paris towards the Eiffel Tower. Every once in a while we could see it between the buildings, and I would get a lead mark. My shortcuts were anything but.  Who knew that Parisian streets can sometime just end. The Tower was another riot of tourists with an unbelievable number of hucksters selling everything from purple Eiffel Tower key chains to stuffed dancing cows. There were lots of guys, all along the walk and bridge near the Tower, playing that game with the three match boxes and one hidden ball. At one point we heard a police siren approaching and, quick as a flash, all the hucksters and their stuff disappeared. It was amazing.  Once the threat had passed, they were out in full force as if nothing had happened. Kind of like sidewalk gophers!

 Croatian (I think) hucksters.

The quick pack up when the cops go by.

We limped back to our hotel eager to go searching for another great French meal. Thinking that eating late was the de rigour thing in Paris, we loitered until about 2030 and headed out in search of a garlic fix only to discover that most of the smaller interesting restaurants had finished serving dinner. Bummer! We settled for some pork paté and chicken and chips, accompanied by a half litre of the best chardonnay we've ever had (the vin du moment). Nancy ordered a creme caramel for the wrap up. Instead of a small single serving in a fancy dish, they brought her a glass bread pan sized dish of it half full. She wanted to eat it all, but I felt Canada's reputation as being more conservative eaters than Americans was at stake.

Paris is behind us now. We are now on the Thalys rocketing our way from Paris to Cologne at 300 kilometers per hour. It is a very comfortable ride. I love it when we are parallel to a motorway/autobahn and the cars look like they are going backwards.

Stay tuned for our next installment.

La Voyage de Tavistock, Transmanche, a Paris.

We had a wonderful visit to the Upper Barn at Parswell Farm, Tavistock, Devon. How's that for a classic address? The Devon clotted cream flowed freely. I even had clotted cream ice cream with clotted cream on top. 

 A clotted cream fiend!

The Upper Barn is a very old barn that our friends Sarah and Martin bought a few years ago and renovated. Renovated just doesn't seem to be a big enough word. Don't think barn in Canadian terms (bright red, hemlock board siding, funny shaped roof), think of the kind of barn that some ancient English farmer built a couple hundred years ago to keep livestock in; thick stone walls with huge oak lintels over the doors and windows holding up the wall above it. Think of several hundred years of buildup of the stuff that falls on barn floors (yeah, hay). Think of how the barn would look after not being used for 40 or 50 years. Now you have an idea of the starting point for Martin and Sarah. Here are some snaps of the end result. It is fantastic.

Welcome to Upper Barn, Parswell Farm.

That is the "barn" behind Nancy with " Pendlehenge over her right shoulder on the left edge of the pic.

Sarah and me in front of the "barn."

 The kitchen with the coveted Aga stove.

 The sitting room.

 The whole kitchen.

The next phase of our Eurodash was supposed to be a simple jink over to Europe, either flying, or by train, to go and visit the Spraggs. Our simple jink turned out to be much more difficult than we had planned when the volcano in Iceland started erupting and weather forecasters in the UK forecast ash clouds threatening flight safety. That, and the three day weekend, caused a bit of a rush on the exit points. The threat of cancelled flights caused a run on the trains and ferries, and they all got booked up early leaving us naive Canuck backpackers wondering how we were going to get over to Europe. After some time searching on the internet we found a daytime crossing from Portsmouth to Caen. Fortunately Martin was driving to Portsmouth the next day. That drive saved us from taking a train back up to London and then down to Portsmouth again (London is the centre of the civilized world and all transportation links). Martin dropped us off at a cheap flea bag hotel (the kind we prefer) across the street from the ferry terminal. The Traveller’s Lodge Portsmouth is fairly spartan. We got a bed, TV, bathroom, a toilet that only flushed occasionally, and one towel for $112. No alarm clock or phone, or anything else. Still, we got a great night's sleep. That is really all you need.

Our ferry, run by Brittany Lines, left at 0815 in the morning. We boarded at 0730, found our cabin (the cheapest they offered) and were surprised at how nice it was. Of course anything might look nice after the Traveller's Lodge. Our cabin had two bunks, a desk and an ensuite head with a shower. Sure beat BC Ferries. We ate breakie, napped, had a shower, ate some more, napped all the way to Caen. The winds were howling (force 7 according to the UK met men) and there were lots of green folks around with barf bags, but we successfully negotiated la manche (the channel) staying nice and pink all the way. 

 My ferry bunk, shades of a past life.

After some busing around Caen we are now on a very fast train to Paris. I hope we can find a place to sleep that doesn't break the bank.

Just saw a guy get arrested because he didn't have a ticket! Three cops (with guns) hustled the perp out of the train car. Interesting. Glad we got it right!