Day got off a really bad start. Which is to say, it started at 5.30 am. We needed to get up at sparrow fart because there’s only one ferry a day to Delft and it leaves at 8:30 in the morning. Our host had arranged a taxi for us, and we set off into the unaccustomed dark. It proved to be a longer journey than we’d expected and it was gone seven by the time we got to the harbour. Where we found hundreds and hundreds of people all flooding down towards the jetty. Unh? Nightmare! We’d read about the boat, and knew it only takes 100 people. This was not looking good. But the taxi driver reassured us: the vast majority of these people were going to a different island. We joined the flood. Mayhem! A ceaseles torrent of people walking down the causeway, then filing through the rickety buildings at the end of the jetty. We started to queue. Someone said ‘Delft?’ and when we said yes, directed us to another queue. It was at least a lot shorter. We were maybe 30th in line, so things were looking up.
So, we waited. And waited. And eventually we were released from the hut to form a disorderly queue on the quayside. Which we very soon somehow found ourselves at the very end of. Where we waited some more. Then we were divided into two disorderly queues. Then the other queue were told they could go, and started filing onto the boat. And we waited. Our queue going nowhere, t’other disappearing into the bowels of the vessel – a rusty old hulk. A nice man just behind us in the queue said not to worry, all was well. Stick with him and he’d make sure we were fine. And we waited. When loads and loads of people from the other queue had gone, certain people from our queue were allowed to proceed. Including our friend, who disappeared onto the boat. But not us.
When the boat appeared to be full and then some, Virle, who’d been getting increasingly frantic, bustled forward. Someone tried to ‘halt’ her, but then another chap, who seemed to be in what charge there was, said ‘Go, go,’ waving us forward. We descended into the gloom, to find a crowded room, every seat occupied, signs declaring ‘SEATED PASSENGERS ONLY’. One seat had a bag on it. I went forward and asked whose it was, and a man gestured to another, who came over and removed the bag, at which point it became clear the bag had been reserving his seat. He said I should sit, and I said ‘No, for my wife.’ Virle moved in. Two small children were occupying a seat each. Long story short, the kids were rearranged, leaving two seats clear, which we insisted on sharing with the nice man. So V had most of a seat, the nice man had most of a seat, and I sat in between, one cheek on each seat edge.
And then, thank god, we were off. Nice man turned out to be heading out to take charge of Delft’s English Literature O Level exams, and we carried on a conversation of sorts for most of the hour long journey. No mean feat given the thickness of his accent, the pounding of the engines, and the fact that he was addressing my half-deaf left ear.
Off the boat, we found we had to produce passports (unh?) so a nice man could write down our details in his little book, then out to a modest local caff, where the guy asked us what we wanted, and I said ‘Food!’ They cooked and then brought us rotis stuffed with omelette, along with three curry dishes, demanding the larcenous sum of 800 – £2.
Then a twenty minute walk along dusty but blessedly quiet roads (there are few cars on the island, and bicycles seem to be the main form of transport) we arrived at our destination. A sort of glamping-stylie hangout, full of young travellers and a kitten and signs saying things like Stress Free Zone. Exactly what we’d been hoping for, and we felt right at home right away. Went for a swim on the deserted beach down the way, and later joined most of our fellow travellers on a crude trailer slung behind one of the little sort of mini tractors you see hereabouts, where most of them joined a local fisherman in putting out and then drawing in nets, with the, in truth fairly meagre, catch then barbecued over a fire on the beach. Only enough for a few scraps each, but they really were delicious.
Then another bruising haul back to the homestead, for a delicious dinner of rice and curries, before turning in. Which I must now do without further ado, it being 11.30, and me having been up on this wonderful but decidedly gruelling day since six. Enough already.
