Finally, the day arrived when we would manouevre our 38 tonnes of old boat away from her mooring in Schoten and head off towards the canals and rivers of France. On 10 August 2016, we woke early, trying to calm our nerves and telling ourselves everything would be fine, just take it slowly, it’s only a boat, what could go wrong? Everything, something, our quivering lesser selves whispered to us, only to be immediately dismissed as we busied ourselves with the mundanities of leaving port.

We went through the routine that was to become a daily ritual for us, whenever we were preparing to get under way. Check and tighten the grease pump for the prop shaft packing box. Check the fuel, the oil, the water. Check the battery charge. Disconnect the shore power lead, turn off the battery charger and inverter, flip the switches for source of power from shore to alternator. Turn on the VHF radios and AIS. Turn on the laptop and boot up the navigation software.

Then it was time. Time to turn the engine on, throw off the mooring ropes and…. steam away! The first lock was about a kilometre away, then the second another kilometre after that. How would we go? We were blessed that morning with the generous, experienced, calm presence of our friend Roland, who threw his bicycle on board and volunteered to travel with us for the first couple of locks. Marvellous reassurance to fraying nerves, I can tell you.

We were travelling along the Kanaal Dessel-Turnhout-Schoten, a relatively quiet waterway that would take us through Belgium’s north east towards the big waterways of Zuid Willemsvaart and the Albertkanaal towards the River Meuse, which would in turn take us south towards France.

With Roland’s steadying oversight we managed the first couple of locks with surprising ease, before farewelling him on his bicycle back to Schoten, as we continued on our independent way. The day was overcast but quite pleasant, and we soaked up the utterly new sensation of slow progress along a quiet, narrow waterway. In the canal our maximum speed was 8kph, so there was plenty of time to enjoy the rural views.

On our aft flagpole we flew a massive Dutch flag that Pierre, the previous owner had presented us with. From our forward masts we flew, in what we hoped followed proper protocols, an Australian flag, a European Union flag and, on the far starboard side, the flag of the country through which we were passing, in this case Belgium.

After 7.5 hours, several locks and 34 kilometres, we pulled in to the quay at Turnhout at a little after 4.00pm, somewhat weary but immensely satisfied at having made the first day’s journey (and finishing it without crashing into the quay or anything else!)

The capitain appeared from somewhere, collected our €8, pointed out the power and water points, and disappeared again quickly, a model of Flemish discretion. We located the pleasant Brasserie Klaverhof, overlooking the canal, and had a typical large Belgian dinner accompanied, as always, by masses of ‘frites’ (fries) and good beer.

The next day, August 11, saw us leave the Kanaal at Dessel and our next intended stopover at Bocholt. The morning was quite pleasant, passing through a fairly straight stretch but with attractive rural surrounds.

In the early afternoon we turned left (east) onto the Bocholt-Herentals Kanaal. As we did so, I spied an empty stone quay and, with no other traffic about, decided we would try a few mooring procedures, just for practice. In the next half hour I managed to use the entire width of the waterway, positioned the boat around most of the compass, and learned what I imagined was the prime reason sailors swear so much. It was not an enjoyable exercise, but I consoled myself in the knowledge that I had managed not to crash or scratch the boat and that I could hardly get any worse.

About 5.30pm we arrived at what we hoped would be our next stop at Bochholt. We had rung ahead to the port captain and advised our arrival and, admittedly after some language barriers threatened, we believed all was OK. What presented itself to us, however, was far from promising. The supposed port was tiny, with a small wooden shed at one end, unattended and forlorn. The size of the jetties were clearly not going to accommodate our vessel so, after a fruitless conversation, across languages which refused to meet, with a gentleman on the shore who turned out to know nothing and may have been merely a fisherman or a local on his evening constitutional, we consulted our chart and decided to continue another half-hour to Bree. We found there a slightly desolate but accommodating mooring in a nondescript location, but we were glad of the finish to a long day (8 hours, 54kms) and the chance to rest before hitting the big water the next day.

So it was that on our third day, August 12, we enjoyed our last moments of quiet rural cruising before we entered the massive Albert Kanaal, a commercial artery that cuts eastern Belgium in half and links Antwerp with Liège and the Meuse River.

We had originally intended to turn off the Albertkanaal and head into Maastricht, an attractive city that in 2016 was celebrating the 25th anniversary of the eponymously-named Treaty that founded the European Union and the euro. As believers in the European project we were keen to visit the city to celebrate, but Maastricht is in the Netherlands, not Belgium, and we still did not have our ship’s papers, so we diverted instead to the delightful small Belgian harbour of Visé, which we reached at just after 4.00pm, after 7.5 hours and another 54kms.

Entering the marina there, through a small lock, on only our third day in charge of our big new boat, was an interesting experience. We travelled ultra slowly through the marina, trying to spot a place big enough for us…. at this stage our preferred space would be about three times our length, to assist in a slow gentle glide into position. No such luck. We eventually spied a place right at the end of the marina, nicely located, so we thought, close to a willow, so we headed to it and glided in with minimum fuss and cuss. We soon found, however that it just would not do. Firstly, it was prohibitively far from the nearest water and power points; but secondly and more importantly it proved to be home to an enormous flock of noisy, pooey geese. Who would most likely prove aggressively unwilling to share their home with the likes of us.

There was nothing for it but to cast off and return back up the course of the marina, searching for a better spot. As we did so, we were slow and quiet but our repeated manouevrings nevertheless managed to alienate us from the several resident fishermen. C’est la vie. We eventually managed to find a space just big enough to poke ourselves into and even managed to enter it and secure ourselves along the quay without hitting it or anyone else!

Visé was a delightful spot to spend the next couple of days. At about €15-18 per night, depending on length, it was not exactly cheap but it provided excellent facilities including water and power, showers and toilets, and a pleasant yacht club brasserie… where we managed to make an unusual new friend!

Shopping in the nearby town was more than adequate, including an excellent boulangerie patisserie and, should we have needed it, a classy linen shop just by the Hotel de Ville.