Ferry Harwich -> Hook
Trip Start
Unknown
1
3
24
Trip End
Jun 20, 2006
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Hook of Holland,
Netherlands
Wednesday, June 7, 2006
The next morning, as I lay in my berth, after an attack of that malady to which landsman are liable when they get a little rough weather at sea, the old Rostock Captain looked in upon me, with compassion in his countenance, and inquired tenderly, in his German-English :- "Are you Krank?". I confessed I was and "krank" I remained, too, until the following day when we entered the smoother water of the Elbe, up which we had a voyage of seventy miles to Hamburg.
The banks of the Elbe are not beautiful, but are very interesting to an Englishman. There are cottages, and farmhouses, and village spires that remind him strongly of his native land - only that some of the houses are painted in gayer colours than ours, such as bright green and red. The Holstein coast is that which seems of most interest: for from this shore came our Saxon ancestors, and this land they called "Old England", long after they had settled down in what of new in what was then "New England".
Our pilot was a giant Holsteiner, speaking English and German; and a very good - tempered fellow to boot. It required some care to approach him, however, while he flung his arms to and fro to warm - for a backstroke of his great hand would have swept a small landsman to the bottom of the Elbe. At two o'clock we dined. The water was smooth and the motion of the ship was no longer perceptible, so that the scenery of the coast seemed like a slowly-moving panorama passing by the cabin windows. A farm-house, with a green gable end and a red roof, appeared one moment, then a little group of leafless trees; and after sending up one's plate for another slice of beef, or helping a neighbour to mashed potatoes, we look up again and, instead of trees see a pretty village sheltered by a low cliff on the shore.
After dinner, a stroll on deck gives a view of Hamburg in the distance - like another London, only not so large.
Sea Cat at Hook of Holland
There is the smoke and the forest of masts; and steamers, colliers, and barges begin to pass us frequently. At last we are steaming slowly by Altona, which is connected with Hamburg pretty much as Devenport is with Plymouth, although under the sovereignty of another power.We now settled with the steward, and got him to change a few shillings for Hamburg coin, with which to pay the boatmen who were about to take us ashore.
The Hamburg schilling is a sort of silver penny - a poor thin battered affair, which looks like the scale of a fish. Fourteen of them are worth one shilling English; but it would not be an easy matter to get as many to stand in an even pile. For the Hamburgers tell, with some amusement, of an English sailor who received a number of these coins in change, and who manifested his contempt for them by laying them flat on the palm of his hand, and blowing them about the street with two or three puffs of breath - a proceeding highly popular with the small boys who surrounded him. It may be mentioned, while speaking of Hamburg, that they have only silver and paper currency. The want of gold is felt as a great inconvenience; and one may sometimes see a whole wagon-load of silver drawn up to one of the banks by three or four horses.
The best way to satisfy an Elbe boatman for his services, after pulling ashore, is to give him one shilling English. This is more than his fare, and prevents him from being tempted to use strong language to the affrightened foreigner.
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From what I can discover, we stopped calling the North Sea the "German Ocean" over 100 years ago, and although I don't know how big the "City of Perth" was, (note - check Lloyds shipping) I'm sure it didn't whiz over the North-Sea waves at 70km/hour with 375 cars powered by 100,000 hp like the Stena "Discovery".
I should have liked the experience of "sitting around the fire" with my fellow passengers, but instead found myself with a "video wall" for entertainment in the middle of hordes of laddish world-cup-fever yobs who all managed to down their first pint before the ferry left docks, and it got worse from there. I was close to one group of 30/40 year olds, and was in absolute awe at their ability to keep up a continuous banter of cliché-ridden predictability for the most part of the journey. I don't think they actually said anything; just made lots of noise.
The Ferry was in World-Cup mood, too, with red white and blue drinking straws and just for good measure the Captain announced after an hour that the Duty-Free shop had a "3 bottles of Vodka for £20" offer on. I was lucky to survive the ensuing stampede....
By the time we disembarked at Hook of Holland 3 hours later my fellow-travellers were all well-oiled and I cringed with embarrassment as I approached passport control and the "Ing-er-land" singing reached a crescendo. I told the customs man that I thought the behaviour was loutish and he shouldn't allow them into the country..
None of this helped my nerves which I knew would be playing tricks on me, as this is my first solo trip since I gave' up smoking, and the prospect had been worrying me for weeks.
