Maastricht buying snow

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Maastricht buying snow

Our lives over the last four weeks have been hectic. At the end of the last post, we were still in England, running around like headless chickens, trying to complete the countless items on our to do list before we returned to France. The task uppermost in our minds was actually getting Cynthia back into mainland Europe. Cynthia had technically overstayed her entitlement on our last visit. As an American, she is only allowed to stay for a maximum of three months in any of twenty six countries in the Schengen area. She had actually been there for over a year. After a great deal of research, we discovered what we thought was a loophole which allowed non European spouses of EU citizens the same right to roam as EU citizens. We booked a return passage through the channel tunnel. On our passage to Folkestone from Calais, we were waved through the French border control checkpoint, but stopped by English border control officers. They quizzed Cynthia for half an hour after being alerted by a marker on her passport. She was deported at Heathrow two years earlier for entering the UK to marry me without a required marriage visit visa. Our investigating officer finally allowed her through, but warned us that we might face problems entering France on our return trip. That worrying information played on our minds throughout our ten day stay in England. The only animal checks done on the way to France are to ask whether vehicle owners have dogs on board. The leg from Calais to Dover is a different kettle of fish. I had to leave one dog, Tasha, in Calais with Cynthia on one occasion. The other time, at the beginning of October this year, a French official at the pet reception centre noticed an incorrect microchip insertion date. Fortunately, we had the original microchip documentation with us so we were allowed through. We were off to a good start. We presented our tickets at the first checkpoint. Everything was in order, and there was an additional bonus of being offered an earlier train at no extra cost. The English border control officer waved us through after a cursory passport examination. A hundred metres later we pulled in line behind a dark blue Mercedes and a white van at the French border control booth. On those occasions, bored French officials waved long lines of vehicles through the checkpoint without looking at passports at all. Now, with just three vehicles waiting, they had plenty of time to thoroughly check passports without holding up traffic. Cynthia bit her lip, took a deep breath, and tried to look relaxed. I worried as usual, imagining the worst case scenario. My overactive imagination ran riot. She had nowhere to live there. We would have to live on different continents. Cynthia would only be able to join me in England for six months in every year. What a nightmare. I suspected that we were minutes away from an effective end to our idyllic married life, and I was very, very scared. The van driver stopped at the French border control booth. Rather than waving the vehicle on as was usual, the unsmiling officer demanded passports. After several tense minutes, the officer pointed to an empty bay behind his booth where the van driver could park while he was investigated further. I wondered whether security checks had been increased since our last visit. Maybe now the drivers of all vehicles were being checked thoroughly. My worst fears were being confirmed. I knew that we were in trouble. The Mercedes driver pulled up next. The officer demanded his passport too. As we waited, barely able to breathe, vehicles began queueing behind us. Two cars, another van, and then a fully loaded tour coach. Would each of drivers be stopped and questioned too, or would the now lengthy queue mean that the border control officer had to return to random checks? The officer stared at me intently, switched his attention to Cynthia, looked at the Hymer, and then slowly held out his hand for our passports. This was it, the end of our idyllic lifestyle, the beginning of married life lived on separate continents. I picked up our two passports from the dashboard and then slowly reached out of the window to hand them over and seal our fate. The officer looked at me, glanced at our passports, and then turned his head to examine the growing queue behind us. With a casual flick of his wrist, he made two frightened people very happy. We knew that we were lucky, but we also knew that we stood a better chance of being lucky entering Europe from France rather than any other country. French border officials are renowned for being more relaxed than most. The following day, we booked an appointment to apply for a residency permit. The earliest date available is late November. All we have to do now is persuade someone in the Netherlands to allow us to use their address for the permit. With that particular worry at least temporarily out of the way, we resumed our search for the perfect live aboard boat for European waterways. We considered a number of barges. Many were for sale within our budget, including two very well maintained boats owned by a friend of my old boss at Calcutt Boats, Roger Preen. Our plan is to spend much of our time in the Netherlands where there are many free moorings. However, the majority of them are more suitable for boats up to fifteen metres in length. A twenty five metre boat would be more difficult to find a mooring for, more costly to moor in a country where paid moorings are charged by the metre, and much more costly to maintain than a shorter boat. Because of these practicalities, barges around fifteen metres in length are very popular and therefore quite expensive. We continued looking at a variety of barge styles, lengths and configurations. Despite there being thousands of boats for sale in the Netherlands, most of them are motor cruisers. Our search continued, but we were running out of steam, until we found Dik Trom. More importantly as far as we were concerned, it was the name of a likely looking candidate for our continental liveaboard plans. Dik Trom is a Cynthia and I have always admired Linssen boats, but they have always been way above our budget. Linssens are renowned for their build quality and attention to detail. Although shorter than we would like, this particular boat was very well configured. It had two bedrooms, an outside and an inside steering position, and, surprisingly for a Dutch motor cruiser, it was well insulated. We walked away but continued to dream of owning one. Linssen yacht Dik Trom — Could this be our new home? The listing photographs showed a charming interior, comprehensively fitted with attractive solid wood, two cabins and interior and exterior helms. He suggested that we view the boat and check for insulation on the day. We agreed, but I also emailed Linssen to ask what records they kept for one of their vintage boats. Linssen customer service bent over backwards to help. He was told that Linssen yachts built at that time were fully insulated with Styropor, an expandable polystyrene. We decided that the boat was worth looking at. We met broker, Willem, and owner, Walter, at the yacht club two weeks ago. We instantly fell in love with the boat. It ticked all of our boxes. It felt dry, cosy, spacious, homely, and utterly impractical for two short legged, long bodied, heavy dogs. To enter the cabin two vertical steps need negotiating to reach the rear deck, and then there are another four vertical steps down into the cockpit. One of the first things we checked for was a musty smell, an indication of damp. The inside of Dik Trom looked and smelled dry. We liked the boat enough to make a cheeky offer. We knew that the boat had been listed for sale for two years. However, now in his late seventies and not in the best of health, he had recently agreed with his wife that the time had come to move on. The broker told us that Walter was prepared to do a deal. Much to both our surprise and our delight, Walter accepted our offer without haggling. The boat was ours. The following two weeks were difficult for me. I regularly have to dip into my savings to help pay the bills. While we debated, planned and worried, we toured and wild camped. It was during those two weeks that we were provided with clear signs that moving afloat full time sooner rather than later was the way to go for us. After an eventful and sometimes harrowing working life, I crave tranquility. Standing at the helm of a gently rocking boat cruising along tranquil waterways soothes me. Laying on my bed listening to small waves gently slapping against the hull inches from my head lulls me into a deep and peaceful sleep. Cleaning nighttime condensation from a wet deck at the crack of dawn relaxes me. I feel more at peace on a boat than I do anywhere else, which is more than I can say for life in a motorhome. And then we ate Zierikzee mussel landed by this boat. Roads in the Netherlands are pretty good. Dutch motorists are generally both patient and friendly, but there are exceptions. And when a belligerent driver coming towards me tries to force his way through a too small gap, I take exception. Too much violent confrontation in my chequered past has scarred me. Purchase cost, licensing, part or full time mooring fees, propulsion and heating diesel, coal, gas and electricity generation costs Trying to estimate the real cost of living afloat can be a real headache. In this comprehensive package, ALL the costs you are likely to incur are broken down and explained. Then you can enter your own specific costs in a bespoke narrowboat budget calculator. The Dutch police force are the official enforcers, but we also have to be wary of park officials and even members of the public. Car drivers will often stop and stare if they see our motorhome parked late at night or early in the morning close to a beach or national park. Two or three of them over the last year have taken time out of their busy days to share their knowledge of Dutch parking laws with us. In the last two weeks we have been moved on by the police three times. The first time was on a night when we really needed to get some sleep. Cynthia had to endure a four train, ten hour journey from Rotterdam to the 3E holistic cancer clinic near Stuttgart in Germany. I needed to get that fixed before I could confidently drive long distances, not that the thought of driving long distances filled me with joy. As is our normal practice, we found a quiet rural car park, checked to make sure that there were no signs prohibiting overnight parking, found a level spot with a decent view, and then settled down for what we hoped would be a peaceful evening. At 10pm, just as we were preparing for bed, we saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. This one did and, less than a minute later, we heard the expected knock on our door. We were told, politely but firmly, that we had to leave immediately. Cynthia asked if there was anywhere else we could stay locally. Motorhomes often stopped there, they told us, so we could relax for the rest of the night. The officers left. We left a few minutes later. We followed what we thought were the right directions for a few miles. We turned into another small car park. Cynthia saw some lights on in a nearby house and shadowy figures entering a side door. She decided to check to make sure we were in the right place. Much to her surprise, the house occupants were the park rangers who had just moved us. Ever helpful, they drew us a map and wrote the name of the restaurant down for us. We were woken at 1am, this time by the police. So for the second time that night, we moved on, looking for an open campsite in the wee dark hours. We ended up at the tail end of a long line of lorries hugging the grass verge in a lay-by next to a main road filling station, trying to sleep despite the roar of passing traffic and the sodium glare of a nearby street light shining through our bedroom window. Living in a motorhome was quickly losing its appeal. A week later, again at 10pm just as we were preparing for bed, the police moved us on again. Fortunately, we had overnighted successfully in a pleasant seaside car park ten miles away on a number of occasions. Despite the police warning to the contrary, we moved there and enjoyed a peaceful if slightly anxious night. I found a quiet place to park close to a beach near Camperduin in North Holland and spent most of my time either walking on the beach with Abbie, or trying to work out how we could afford to juggle our finances enough to buy our new boat. We needed money for the bridging loan repayments, money for expected repairs and upgrades for the new boat, and even more money to get both the Super Favorite and the Hymer ready to sell. I tried friends and family, banks and building societies. I even bought some lottery tickets. Nothing worked. We were still short of money. We almost decided to draw a line under our full time liveaboard plans, until at least the Super Favorite was sold. That would probably mean another year of motorhome ownership and the associated stress. It was a depressing thought. Walter, the owner, would wait for the balance due for his boat until Julisa, our Super Favorite, sold. Because he would be effectively lending us the remaining money that we needed to buy his boat, we would pay him an additional amount equal to the interest that we would have had to pay on a bridging loan. Willem would gain an additional commission, plus the commission due for Dik Trom, Walter would sell his boat, and eventually earn a little extra money, and we would be able to overcome a difficult situation and finally purchase our live aboard boat. We were asking a lot of him. Boats can take years to sell in the Netherlands. He knew nothing about motorhomes. He might have to wait a considerable time before he received all of his money. We could have had an appalling financial track record and a history of deceit. Either or both of us could die before he was paid his money, or suffer serious injury or illness. The more I thought about it, the less I expected him to agree. Much to our delight and our surprise Walter agreed. We had a deal. The final step was the out of water survey. In fact, the boat had rarely been off its mooring. What we could see of the boat looked in good condition, but what lay beneath the surface? Thursday was a chaotic day at the small yacht club. The members had booked a crane to take a ten boats out of the water for the winter. The yacht club is a close knit community of enthusiastic retired boat owners. Most of them arrived early Thursday morning. They were all retired. This was a social event. There was no rush, which was a little frustrating as we were last in the queue and Tom had a two hour drive back to north Amsterdam. I was given a rope to hold. As we suspected, after several years languishing on a yacht club mooring, there were a few problems. The depth sounder indicated that we were moored, at a small inland yacht club on a narrow and shallow canal, in thirty five metres of water. There was a leak in one of the porthole seals, another around the shower tray drain, and there was some serious rust around the bilge pump outlet and on the anchor chain tube. During our short sea trial a short bow thruster blast completely drained the domestic battery bank. They would all need replacing before we could use the boat, but we expected that. At first, we thought that the Eberspacher failure was due to the flat batteries. Back from the sea trial and once more attached to the national grid, the heater still failed to run. By mid afternoon all ten boats were precariously balanced on rickety homemade cradles ready for six months cold weather. We were next. Our future boating plans hinged on a successful hull survey. We could overcome all of the interior problems, but a rusty and weakened hull would be a bridge too far. Cynthia was her usual positive self. The rest of the boat is in pretty good condition. Why should the hull be any different? The boat had been moored at a yacht club for a decade plugged into the shore supply along with two dozen other boats doing the same. In such an environment, without anodes, the hull could suffer from electrical leakage. The crane lift could reveal a hull pitted and corroded beyond affordable repair. The boat was thirty four years old. A lot could go wrong in three and a half decades. This was it, the moment of truth. Permanent boating within a few shorts weeks or another twelve months enduring bad tempered drivers, over enthusiastic police officers, narrow roads and endless stress. The hull surprised us all. A thin layer of slippery algae covered a hull free of bits, blemishes or any other sign of decay. Subject to Cynthia and I being able to come to an agreement about the survey faults, we were looking at our new home. Walter has been both charming and accommodating. He brought in an electrician to fix the electrical problems. The odd depth sounder readings are probably due to a build up of dirt. If that works, great. The pump is currently the prime suspect. We may have to wait a week before a new pump arrives from the German factory. The current burner is thirty four years old. The boat is still on its mooring waiting for the central heating repair. It would make a good winter home. Maastricht marina is within biking distance of the city centre. The Dutch are much more relaxed about owners living on marina moorings full time, but not all marina owners allow it. We hope that this one does. Dik Trom has two working VHF radios, which is good. Not being able to operate one or having a license to do so is not so good. If you enjoy reading these posts, if you find the masses of information on this site and my new motorhome site, rvblog. There are eight years of painstakingly written and researched information on hundreds of posts and pages on the two sites. They may be lost forever if I can't find a way to maintain them. Click on the button below to find out more. After six and a half years living on a narrowboat on England's inland waterways, Paul and his wife Cynthia wandered Europe by motorhome during the winter, and on the Dutch and French waterways in the warmer months on their 35' Dutch motor cruiser. However, the pull of England's muddy ditches proved too much for them. Now they're back where they belong, constantly stuck in mud in a beautiful traditional narrowboat. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment. Download Now! As a last ditch attempt, I tried a creative approach. We found out last Thursday. Dik Trom being lifted out. Pretty good condition for an old girl. Surveyor Tom carefully examines the hull. If You Enjoy These Newsletters, Please Help Support This Site 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. If you are one of the generous souls who already support the site, thank you! Related Posts. Please Help Keep This Site Online If you enjoy reading these posts, if you find the masses of information on this site and my new motorhome site, rvblog. Click Here to Find Out More. Click Here to Leave a Comment Below 0 comments. Leave a Reply: Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

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Maastricht buying snow

As people across the country set their sights on the imminent weekend, weather forecasters say the country should prepare for cold days and even colder nights, with some parts of the Netherlands likely to see some snow. October brought unseasonably warm weather , a trend which continued into the beginning of November. The weather has changed pretty quickly though; this week, the Netherlands saw the mercury fall below 10 degrees for the first time since April, and a weather station in North Brabant recorded the first frost of the season in the early hours of Monday morning, as temperatures dipped to -1,4 degrees. According to Weeronline , over the course of Friday afternoon and evening, the cloud cover will increase and the temperature will drop. While some parts of the country will see rain showers, areas in Groningen and Drenthe should prepare for sleet. As Saturday rolls into Sunday, temperatures will fall overnight, with temperatures falling below 0 across most of the country, reaching as low as -5 degrees in some areas. On Sunday, cloud cover will increase again, with sleet and snow expected in the north and northeast. Temperatures will range from highs of 7 degrees in the southwest to just 3 degrees in the northeast. By clicking subscribe, you agree that we may process your information in accordance with our privacy policy. For more information, please visit this page. Home Lifestyle Lifestyle News. Lifestyle News. Dutch weather switches from record highs to bitingly cold temperatures October brought unseasonably warm weather , a trend which continued into the beginning of November. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Keep me updated with exclusive offers from partner companies. Read more.

Maastricht buying snow