After the morning shower, the Coronatest and breakfast, I say goodbye to the harbour master of Norderney. And drive from the yacht harbour to the fishing harbour. I walk to the petrol station. And fill the 300-litre canister in the trailer of his tow truck with the petrol station attendant. And repeatedly learn that the development on Norderney is ‘unhealthy’: 6,000 people live permanently on this island, which accommodates over 60,000 guests daily. And in addition, it is literally overrun by the visitors who travel there by ferry in the morning and back again in the evening (and often come with their own car). Since Corona even more… It’s nice, I say, but a worried look comes over; even for the ‘locals’ life here will soon become unaffordable. The already inflated property and flat prices of Sylt are now literally being blown up by Norderney. And above all, the longer you live on the island, the less you ‘own’ it. – Fear of loss despite full pockets?
Then it’s back out into the North Sea, ‘around’ to the Dutch island of Vlieland. It’s a fun wave ride, and I can feel my psyche developing: At the beginning, during the maiden voyage, waves higher than my boat’s pontons were the devil’s waves, which I avoided as much as possible; I thought they were damaging the boat (and hoped, by transforming my fear to concern for the boat, to escape the threat aimed at me). Then, when I was better able to deal with this fear, I thought that such ‘leaps in the air’ would do the boat some good and show it what it was capable of (notice the reversal of meaning). That made it much safer, despite the nasty weather. And I let the ArgoFram jump through the water… The words make the difference. – But after Martina was shouting like a child when she got the first big waves (so the boat could do the impossible) and the ArgoFram hit the water hard but undamaged, I started to think about whether my boat might even love these jumps… And now I call these jumps – what a wonderful autosuggestion – jumps of joy!
So with jumps of joy we head for Vlieland. But as we pass through two islands and the water height decreases dramatically, through and over which the sea pushes its masses of water into the Wadden Sea, I start to feel queasy. Suddenly I’m literally riding on such powerful metre-high waves that my first reaction is to reduce my speed (like driving a 3.5 tonne trailer on the motorway; if it starts to rock, I simply step away from the accelerator). But here that would be just wrong! If I am already being pushed around like a toy by the circulating masses of water, I can only try to either ride along on the crest of a wave, or to drive through the crests and troughs of the waves at increased speed in such a way that I always have my boat safely under control – that I can steer it.
I can only steer a boat if I’m faster than the water with the boat, I’ve known that since I started sailing Weidling. But comparing the Rhine with the force of the North Sea at high tide is like steering a model boat on fountain and then taking it out on the Rhine. – The more I see myself as a helmsman, the more I enjoy the ArgoFram! Now I see that it keeps what Marko promised me. And I call him beaming with joy!
Dutch Vlieland is somehow better equipped to deal with tourists than German Norderney. The harbour (harbour culture) turns out to be extremely family-friendly; the mood is so relaxed and confident that the children can do almost anything they want in the harbour basin. Adults also hop off the boat into the water and enjoy the summer. Although here, too, the harbour is full and I happened to find a mooring (only with a ‘trick’): I saw some sailboats in front of the somewhat tricky harbour entrance – and dutifully lined up. The harbour master’s assistants saw me on their agile little dinghies and showed me the way to the motorboat places, where they even found me a free mooring! Unasked if I had registered at all. Because if I had registered by radio, I would have received a refusal (I found out afterwards). But now I was in and happy about it. After all these ‘jumps of joy’.
At the pier, people help each other (also so that their own boat is not damaged when mooring). And so I quickly meet new people; it’s not long before I’m being pestered with questions about the boat. Then the first ones discover the web address on the engines, look it up on the internet and the conversations deepen. The important answers to my never-asked questions are formally brought to me: where I could go next, what I absolutely have to pay attention to, how I can best get on… I have no expectations. And each time I am given information that I would have had to research for a long time.
There is a petrol station on Vlieland, but the price of 2 euros 04 cents seems a bit excessive, especially as I have to fill up my canisters again and carry them to the boat. But on the various Dutch islands (in the direction of England) there are now several suppliers, so there is a choice. So I decide to fill up on a neighbouring island.
Vlieland is also full of tourists; when I want to treat myself to a restaurant in the evening, I am rebuffed everywhere with the remark that they are fully booked. Nowhere could I even find a seat – although it was not so much this fact that perplexed me as the proudly displayed attitude: slightly tipping into the arrogant, with which the owners proclaimed their triumph. Seems to me like the hoteliers in Basel at the time of the watch and jewellery fair…
The next day I rent a bike and ride around the island in a wide arc. It feels good to feel my blood circulating. Finally again. I never thought I would enjoy an endurance performance so much. Now, however, I fight lustfully hard against the wind for an hour on the outward journey and reap the tailwind on the return trip through a nature reserve.
I notice that this island, which sees itself as a haven of nature conservation and where every coffee mug finds its suitable bucket, is much larger than indicated on any map posted in the village; all tourist maps deliberately cover up the larger western part of this island: Arriving at the ‘turnaround point’, I notice that the veiled part of the island is used by the military as a training ground. And they are probably doing anything but playing sandbox in the dunes there – no further travel is allowed; there are warnings of shooting exercises and detonating explosive charges. All environmentally friendly, of course.
On the way back, I kept looking over the high dune on the northern flank of the island… I wonder what the North Sea is up to? – What I saw looked threatening; a storm has announced itself, Beaufort 7, metre-high waves and a lot of swell to boot. Far out, I see oil drilling platforms exposed to the stormy waters. I’d better let it pass, I don’t have to do that to myself. Cycling against the wind is enough 😉