Sunday May 29th – MURMANSK RUN

The skyline of Manhattan was just visible through the orange haze of the setting sun as the aircraft taxied along the labyrinthine maze of runways at JFK Airport. Around us, aircraft were taking off and landing with alarming closeness, and the sky was filled with the vapour trails of departing flights.

After take-off, during which the plane shuddered and shook, we flew north along the coasts of Massachusetts and Maine. And as the sun set far off in the west, an eerie twilight descended upon the earth. Throughout the flight, a hazy red glow, just beyond the horizon, marked the place where the sun never sets and at this time of year, day lasts all night. Below us, stretched out like pools of shimmering mercury, the landscape of Labrador passed, an endless expanse of dark green and black, spattered with millions of lakes and rivers.

We stretched out in our seats, which were next to a door giving us ample legroom, and dozed fitfully while the aircraft turned gently eastward above the frigid seas of the North Atlantic, 11,300 metres below us. Outside the thin skin of the aircraft it was 57 degrees below zero, but inside it was warm and safe.

Dawn found us descending through scattered clouds over the orderly fields of Holland, and we touched down 20 minutes early at Schiphol Airport, Amsterdam. Ed¹ was there to meet us, looking scruffy as usual, and he had borrowed his brother’s car to drive us out to IJmuiden (pronounced “ee-maarda). The weather was noticeably cooler compared to New York, with fat grey clouds floating about in the hazy sky.

We stopped at Ed’s brother’s house, a tiny, semi-detached place on a quiet street lined with tiny houses, then carried on out to the dike where Ed lives. A misty little rain was falling from the brown sky as we crossed a huge lock, then pulled up beside a big old cargo boat moored amongst a jumble of smaller craft. Across the dike a huge steel mill clanged and whistled, occasionally belching huge clouds of steam into the blue-brown air.

We walked out onto the boat and into the small dark room that had once been a dining room but had since been turned into a bar by Ed’s friend Hans.

We drank some strong Dutch coffee while Hans told us the story of the boat. Built in Poland, it had ended up in Belgium and had been declared fit only for scrap. Hans had bought it for 3,000 guilders and with the help of some friends had towed it out of the Belgian harbour one night. It was now moored illegally because it hadn’t been scrapped. The Belgian police were interested in talking to Hans, who was naturally reluctant to talk to them.

Although it had been declared unseaworthy, all of the navigation, radio, and motor equipment still worked, and the whole ship had quite a nice atmosphere, albeit a rather squalid one.

Ed had prepared us a berth down in the hold of the boat at the very front. To get to our sleeping place, which was a mattress laid on some thick boards, we had to descend a steep set of stairs into the number one hold, then through a door-sized hole cut in the bulkhead into Number Two hold.

The floor of the hold was actually below the waterline, and along each side the bilges were full. The air was blue with haze from the steel mill. It was fantastic! For company, we had a sofa, a beach umbrella, and a giant teddy bear wearing a sombrero. It was a surreal scene. 

We hung around on the boat for a few hours, drinking coffee and beer, then set off up the dyke in an open barge, pushed by a little boat that Hans had sold to somebody who lived further inland. The trip took about four hours, and took us up the main canal leading to Amsterdam, then off on a little side canal, which we accessed by passing through several small locks. Eventually, we arrived at a mooring place on a small canal running through a quiet pastureland, where sheep and cows grazed, and several windmills rose above the flat, orderly polder.

We were met by Hans in his car, and we drove back to the ship. Our evening meal was very tasty Chinese takeaways, then Linda and I crashed in our little berth down in hold number two.

¹Regular readers will remember Ed from our adventures in Indonesia back in 1992.