Border Crossing

I drink in the view from high on the sea wall, out at the Breskens light near Nieuwesluis. The candy striped sentinel at the gateway to the Westerschelde.

Ten metres, or more, below us to landward; homesteads and woods perch on scarcely perceptible rises in an otherwise flat plain, which shimmers silver blue with still marsh waters.

To seaward, a fishing boat lowers its trawl and motors against the ebb, filling its nets with a tide bourn bounty.

Stargazer sails the next morning.

She beats out of the Westerschelde, in a SW force 5, showering shimmering diamonds of spray high over her shoulder.

There's a surge in the Blankenberge entrance. We lie off, waiting for another half metre of tide to rise (in case we ground in a wave trough) before nosing in. The canal turns sharp left. The cry of the wind and the crash of the swell disappear in an instant, like a radio song being abruptly turned off.

We find ourselves suddenly in the heart of town. A different music drifts across the harbour. A troop of wandering players stroll....

......tree lined Saturday afternoon streets.

Stargazer rests in the evening sunshine, back in Belgium. Her fourth border crossing in the past week of cruising. I enjoy a pot of coffee; savouring our freedom to roam where ever, in Europe, wind and whim take us - and wonder what changes Brexit may bring to our sailing.