My fortnight sailing from Holland to France, visiting harbour ghost towns

"It feels like we’re on the Truman Show," my sailing companion joked as we wandered through the eerily silent streets of Vlissingen in southwest Holland.

I agreed. Everything seemed strangely perfect, from the exceedingly clean cobbled streets to the patchwork of picture-book houses – and no one else was around.

Looking on the tourist board’s website, Vlissingen is described as "a lively seaside resort and a popular tourist destination," but on our visit the squawking seagulls outnumbered people, with the pandemic keeping all jovial human activity at bay.

After a day of being battered on the North Sea, we were on the hunt for fish and chips. We’d spotted a lone fishmonger by the harbour but he’d already packed up his van by 5pm. We ran into a mother and daughter and enquired about ‘viswinkels’ (Dutch for fish shops) and I just about made out rechtsaf (right) and links (left) amid the guttural stew. We eventually found a restaurant that had lights on and was offering takeout, before hurrying back to the boat with a haul of freshly-crisped cod.

Vlissingen was our third port of call during our voyage from Holland to France. I was sailing with my Dutch boyfriend who purchased a boat last year, along with another sailing companion.

We are all alumni of the 2019–2020 Clipper Round the World Yacht Race, which is how we met, and I completed the leg from Uruguay to Cape Town five months or so before Covid-19 put the whole event on hold. It’s set to resume this summer but like everything in life right now, it’s not a certain.

While my boyfriend is from the Netherlands, his boat – a 46ft aluminium hull yacht – was built in Cherbourg, France, by Allures and that’s where it is also registered.

We picked up the beauty last spring and sailed it across the English Channel to the UK where we skirted along the underbelly of Britain to Dover to make our way back to Holland from there. A year on, after spending the winter in storage, the boat had to go back to the shipyard for maintenance and some minor repairs.

We checked the rules around sailing and Covid-19 before setting sail, and found that as long as the boat was returning to its home harbour for a good reason and marina reservations are made in advance, there would be no issue.

Before we got to Vlissingen, we’d stopped at Scheveningen, which is Holland’s answer to Brighton complete with a Ferris wheel and pier. But instead of merriment, we found the seaside town in an equally sombre state, with all of the marina restaurants and bars we’d dipped into last year shuttered and silent.

The only sense of joie de vivre came in the form of a man riding a bicycle with a giant boombox on a cart behind. An Elvis Presley number rattled out deafening the pigeons. We gave him a wave and he doffed his cap in rejoice. Keen to get to our destination as quickly as possible, we only spent a night in most ports as we went.

It was certainly not much of a disappointment to leave Dunkirk, where the expansive steelworks looked like the gates of hell as we escape in the darkness at 5am. Giant flames flickered like dragon’s breath and smog clogged our lungs. I even resorted to putting my Covid-19 mask back on.

When we arrived in Boulogne-sur-mer we took a break for a few nights; the 5am starts had taken their toll and the boat was scarce of supplies. After pulling in late on the first night and with a 7pm curfew in France, we travelled all the way to Istanbul (the local kebab shop) for a slap-up takeout feast.

Boulogne-sur-mer was also like a sad puppy, with closed shops windows crying out for some attention. The seagulls were in bliss with no one to scare them from pecking among the "poubelles" and the sky gave way to a squawking symphony. I spotted a piece of street art – Boulogne has around 33 pieces scattered around the city – a giant mural of a woman wearily resting her head on her hands and it kind of summed up the mood. Some sweet-smelling flowerbeds in the city’s old walled area, however, helped inject a little joy.

After a few days' rest the three of us carried on to Dieppe, a beautiful historic town; Le Havre, which has a kind of Venice Beach-vibe with an outdoor gym and running path along the beach; and Saint-Vaast-la-Hougue, famed for its oysters.

When leaving Le Havre at 5am, the marine officer chimed over the VHF in a hypnotic French accent: "Apex Element (the name of the boat), where are you going? Do you read me? You are not allowed to travel from harbour to harbour."

We explained our situation and highlight Cherbourg as our final stop and we were given the authorisation to proceed. Eventually, after some 400 nautical miles, dodging minefields of lobster pots on our way and railing through 38-knot winds, we bobbed into Cherbourg.

It was so freeing being back at sea, as sailing remains much the same as it did pre-Covid. It is life stripped back to simplicity. But I did miss the atmosphere of a bustling harbour town, with a place to grab a drink and bite along the dock after a day battling the elements. Hopefully some fair winds, in all aspects of life, will prevail soon.