After some fantastic sailing and a week of exploring Vlissingen and the in-land waterways with stops in Veere and Middleburg, it was time to leave the Netherlands and make our way along the coast of Belgium.
Picking the best of a very poor weather window, we braced ourselves as we headed out into the River Scheldt, a busy stretch of water that serves as the main shipping route for vessels heading to Antwerp. Exiting the sea-lock we turned Ruby May head to wind, and while I held our position Hodge moved forward to the mast to sweat the main halyard while I tailed it from the helm position. It’s a routine we’re very familiar with, sailing double handed you get very used to multi tasking. Early evening was fading into a dusk, and outside of the safety of the in-land waters and sea lock twenty-five knots of wind made its presence known.
Reefing the sail upon-hoist we discussed our options – should we make the passage or instead creep around the corner and hide up in the bolt-hole of Vlissingen. The forecast was for a F6 – 7 and after days of strong wind, the sea was a jumble of confused whitecaps, we were also looking at a beam-on ride—the ultimate sailor’s headache. Nonetheless, we trusted our ship and our own experience. And weighing the options, we decided to push through and make our first hop along the coast, sailing the short distance to the port town of Zeebrugge where it would be possible to get in-land again, out of the weather and visit the popular city of Bruges.
At just 16nm, the passage on any other day would be simple enough, the reality when navigating the infamous Atlantic lows that beleaguer this coastline in October meant that it was certainly anything but. I would compare it more to a bucking bronco ride. As the wind howled through our rigging, the angry waves rained down upon our decks as barrel after barrel reminded us of the power of the sea. The waves were towering, and we braced ourselves with each slam as a wall of water hit our hull followed by the inevitable flood of water that ensued, our tethers straining as we tried to stay in position. We took 30-minute stints on the helm, allowing our muscles some respite from this fight with Neptune. It was cold, but invigorating, and it’s in these moments that you remember what living really feels like. With the adrenaline pumping, it felt good to be taking on a challenge and adventure together again, putting the real meaning into teamwork, keeping each other safe, depending on each other, focusing on a goal together and working as a team to achieve it, battling the elements as we went – a common enemy.
Four hours later we arrived in Zeebrugge and made our way through the enormous port. We would find our berth at little under 2nm from the entrance, such was the enormity of this over-sized harbour. Tying up for the night, we were pleased to be on our berth and after a shower and clean clothes we lit our hurricane lamp and settled in for a night cap.
Zeebrugge is a huge port-town. Cruise ships, cargo ships and ferry’s come and go at a pace not often seen elsewhere, equally it is home to three well-placed marinas. With a long sandy sea front, Zeebrugge is host to a bountiful tourist population in the Summer who take advantage of the excellent transport links of trains, roads and the canal which all lead directly to Bruges.
As it turned out, there was some maintenance going on with the bridge that would have given us access to the Bruges-bound canal. So instead of taking Ruby May for another canal jaunt we begrudgingly took the train. Bruges was a beautiful city, with some fabulous shops and sites. It is clearly steeped in history, but unfortunately it is also a tourist mecca. And whilst we enjoyed exploring, we found it claustrophobic and incredibly overcrowded, the streets were difficult to navigate for the sheer volume of English and American tourists standing in the roads and across the pavements living at arm’s length from their own lives, viewing the sights through the narrow prism of a smartphone screen perched at the end of a selfie stick. Everywhere we looked it was thick with people.
Leaving the pixel-hungry crowds behind, we followed the canal until the cobblestones grew quiet. The air felt thinner and sweeter out here. A kind local stopped us, concerned we’d wandered too far into the periphery, but we assured him we were exactly where we wanted to be. As we walked, a row of windmills emerged along the waters edge, their giant wooden arms combing the clouds in a rhythmic dance that made the afternoon feel infinite.
The following day back in Zeebrugge we took our e-scooters for a whizz along the promenade. The long sandy beach stretched for miles and it was refreshing to be back on the coast and made the crowded city centre feel like a distant memory. With most shops and sea-front restaurants closed for the season it was bleak, but with our woolly hats firmly pulled down and gloves on, we stumbled upon a restaurant overlooking the beach. Tucking our scooters under a table outside to protect them from the rain that had started to fall we headed inside to warm up and watch the world go by.
Our next port of call would be Oostende. The reviews we’d heard through the sailing community were tepid at best, describing Oostende as little more than a functional port of call. However, curiosity won out over caution. We sailed into the harbour with low expectations, only to have them completely dismantled. Far from the ‘grey’ reputation it was given, the city greeted us with an unexpected charm that made us very glad we trusted our own compass.
12nm down the coast, Oostende is a busy port town, bustling with fishing boats and wind farm boats alike. The marina staff were incredibly welcoming and the facilities good. High-rises towered along the seafront, a nod to the tourist trade that exists here in the summer months. Mirroring the endless sands of Zeebrugge, the beach here goes on forever. We decided to give our legs a break and ‘scoot’ the seafront, along the seawall we paid our respects to the local celebrities: the seals. These seals are the ultimate masters of ‘do not disturb.’ Fenced off in their own private VIP lounge on the sand, they looked on with heavy-lidded boredom at the humans snapping photos. It was the perfect antidote to the bustling centre—just us, the wind, and half a dozen seals who couldn’t care less that we were there.
We were pleasantly surprised with Oostende and would definitely go back. Alas our window to get back to the UK was closing in, and so after a couple of days we decided to make our next hop, this time to Nieuwpoort.
Leaving Oostende at dusk, we made our way along the coast towards Nieuwpoort under a starlit sky. At just 8 nm, I helmed throughout the passage with Hodge keeping a sharp eye on the horizon and AIS as a parade of fishing vessels played a game of nautical hide-and-seek, popping out of the haze and vanishing back into the swell with frustrating regularity. Unlike the grandiose harbours up the coast, Nieuwpoort’s entrance is modest and inconspicuous, shyly tucked into the shoreline; it is marked by a small lighthouse which can easily be mistaken. We had to strain our eyes to pick it out against the horizon, and as we crept toward the coast, the channel revealed itself. We picked our way through the shallows, and having called ahead, we found our reserved berth waiting like a quiet sanctuary at the end of the hunt.
Daylight revealed a town that manages to be both traditionally Belgian and strikingly contemporary. We found ourselves caught between the charm of the historic old town and a seafront so clean and crisp it felt brand new. Scattered with quirky boutique shops, the seafront is home to independent coffee shops and patisseries. We spent a couple of days playing tourist on our scooters, soaking up the culture and making ourselves ‘regulars’ at the Yacht Club bar.
Belgium was a dream. From the medieval magic of Bruges to our three-port sweep of Zeebrugge, Oostende, and Nieuwpoort, we loved every salty mile of it. But the honeymoon phase ended abruptly. The Atlantic was waking up, and with another named storm stomping its way toward the UK, our ‘relaxing’ trip became a high-stakes race to get home. We had a narrow window and a lot of sea to cover before the weather turned foul. It was time to batten down the hatches and see if we could outrun the gale…
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