Whilst Graham and the team were rescuing MR, I stayed on in Aldeboarn and was fascinated to watch the amazing amount of work that was going on in the village in preparation for the Gondelvaart festival. Gondels are basically floating, flat, iron platform barges built over 100 years ago. They have neither superstructures nor engines and were built to shift peat. Once a year the gondels are dug out of little inlets and reeds, dusted off and superstructures created, to turn them into carnival floats for the last Friday in August. Well in advance of that date, work commences in the village with herringbone road cobbles being carefully removed and lighting cables being laid. Guys turn up to remove any weeds on the mooring walls and the entire (not inconsiderable) length of the main canal street is pressure hosed, cleaned and polished to within an inch of it’s existence. The guys on the water platform cleaning the mooring walls kindly lent G their platform when they went to lunch so that he could use it to finish cleaning our rudder in safety.
Each street in the village picks a theme for their gondel and then dress their houses accordingly. For example, our friends’ street picked the great Dutch Bake Off for their Gondel so all their houses were displaying menus of local delicacies. Other streets were draped with scarecrows, dreamcatchers, etc. The amount of work that went into these displays for weeks before hand was a m a z i n g.
On the day of the actual festival, a massive market and food stalls open from the lunchtime with all kind of bands and entertainers. The most incredible of which, for me, was a band of drummers that moved around the village all dressed in primitive skins (G says like something out of Mad Max – I’m not familiar). The beat was totally hypnotic and I followed them about like a rat following the Pied Piper.
As dusk drew in, all the lighting went out and the drummers climbed onto an unadorned gondel from our left – beat their way down the canal to the waiting, dressed gondels, at the other end of the village which then started their slow passage towards us; towed by little tugs – sometimes two huge gondels to one tug. We did, of course, dress Francoise for the occasion.
Pulled by the tugs, they ‘steered’ with punt poles and boat hooks. A lot of my night pics are out of focus, so I can’t show you them all, but you get the idea. Our seats had been put up outside G & G’s house first thing in the morning (perks of being friends of canalside dwellers) so we could watch in comfort. Supper and wine courtesy of G & G too; an amazing and unforgettable day.
Even writing this so long after the event has brought a lump to my throat but, for me, the most amazing thing was that they towed them down to the very small turning circle by Francoise; turned them and came back the other way whilst more gondels were still coming down – so then they were coming in both directions on this narrow canal with it’s tiny bridge holes. Such skill. I wish I’d been up on that bridge to watch the turning; if only I’d known – maybe next year.
The next day we waved our goodbyes and it was, almost, as if it had all been a dream as we passed the gondels being dismantled and put away again for 10 months; the cobbles being taken up again and lighting removed. Within 48 hours it would be as if none of it ever happened – the cost and the work for just those few hours. Incredible.
The blow was softened by the fact that we had a hot date to meet up with Veronica and Richard on Pirammima who had returned in time to do a bit of cruising with us before we headed into the yard at Franeker.
See, I’ve nearly caught up again now!
With apologies to Gerrit and Gezina for any inaccuracies in this post.
Like this:
Like Loading...
