A christening weekend we will still be talking about in a hundred years — and a naming ceremony that almost made us cry.

By Ilse & Piet – Breskens Marina – 20 – 22 June 2026

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We are writing this with an enormous sense of gratitude. This was a weekend we will look back on with pleasure for a very long time — quite possibly for the rest of our lives. Three days in Breskens: our first sailing trip with guests, a midnight thunderstorm, a passerelle that tested the patience of everyone aboard, an ice cream on the Spuiplein with half of the Netherlands in fluorescent orange, and a naming ceremony that we nearly didn’t get through without crying. In short: everything we had hoped for, and a few things we hadn’t expected.

Thursday evening

Arriving in the Rain

We loaded the car to the roof with food and supplies and drove straight to Breskens. When we turned into the marina car park, it was bucketing down — the kind of rain that makes you question your life choices. We sat in the car, quite sensibly, and waited it out.

The wait was worth it. When the downpour eased, the sky put on a proper show: a play of light and shadow across the estuary, and not one but two full rainbows arching over the Westerschelde. We had left our rain jackets at home, which was perhaps the one planning oversight of the weekend. We arrived on board dry, by some small miracle.

“After the downpour eased, the sky put on a proper show — two full rainbows arching over the Westerschelde. A preview of the weekend to come.”

We stowed everything, discovered that the fridge was struggling to hold temperature and pressed the cool box into service for the critical provisions. Then, tired and happy, we went to bed. The new Seminautic mattresses, it must be said, are excellent. We slept like anchored boats.

Friday

Shopping, Scrubbing, and our little Prince

Friday morning we were at the Plus with our list, filling the trolley with everything a proper celebration weekend requires. Back on board, we cleaned and polished and added the final touches — the kind of careful preparation you do when you want guests to feel immediately at home.

Then, because being boat owners has not yet excused us from our most important obligations, we drove back inland to collect Luca from the crèche. He was doing that thing small children do when they see someone they love: the full-body scramble, the enormous eyes, the smile that simply refuses to be contained. We melted, as grandparents do. A few intense and wonderful hours together, and then, like thieves in the night, we slipped back to Breskens — alarm set, because Saturday morning would come early.

Saturday

Our First Sail with Guests

We had been studying the tidal charts and weather forecasts obsessively. Could we get out of the harbour at low water without grounding? Could we get back in? We sent Tania and Rudy revised departure times more than once. We were — there is no polite word for it — stressed.

They arrived exactly on time. Coffee was served in the cockpit, accompanied by the safety briefing and what Tania and Rudy, to their credit, treated with complete seriousness. Life jackets adjusted and fitted, lines cast off, and we eased out of Box 6 with the gentleness the moment deserved.

On the forecast there had been very little wind. On the water, there was a lovely breeze — the Westerschelde in a cooperative mood. With the wind and the tide working in our favour, we covered the distance to Cadzand in no time and went gliding past Knokke, all the way up towards Zeebrugge. It was genuinely fine sailing.

Then the wind dropped, as it tends to do, and we drifted pleasantly off the Knokke coastline for a while. When the current turned, we began making our way back towards Breskens. As Cadzand came into view ahead, we spotted a thunderstorm building on the horizon behind us. Safety first: sails down, motor on, and we pressed for home at a sensible pace.

The docking was an adventure. Getting Adriana neatly back into Box 6 with a bit of current running took every pair of experienced hands available — our neighbours in the marina, and Tania and Rudy’s calm, capable involvement. We got her in. The thunderstorm passed close enough to feel but delivered not a single drop of rain on us. Under a suddenly clear blue sky, the gin and tonics came out.

Lunch had long since become aperitif time, so we served the afternoon meal as dinner and ate it in the cockpit with a light breeze across the boat. Then, because the day clearly demanded a proper conclusion, we walked into the village for ice cream at Gelateria Brescia. The Spuiplein was heaving — it was haringfeesten, and the Netherlands had just won a resounding World Cup match. The square was fluorescent orange in every direction. A fine backdrop for eating a good gelato.

Saturday night

The Storm That Cleaned the Deck

We turned in early, pleasantly exhausted. There was no wind forecast for Sunday morning, so no early start required — we had made the cheerful promise of a relaxed morning. And then, in the middle of the night, an enormous thunderstorm rolled in. Lightning from every direction. Rain in quantities we had not entirely anticipated. Hatches were hastily closed. The foredeck received a thorough freshwater rinse, which we were able to note with some amusement, since freshwater rinsing of the foredeck was already on the Sunday task list. Scratched off before it was even morning.

Sunday

The Naming Ceremony

Sunday brought warmth — real, generous summer warmth that built through the morning. We installed the bimini so the cockpit would be in shade for the ceremony. While we still had a moment before the arrival of the second wave of guests, the four of us — Piet, Tania, Rudy, and myself — started work on the passerelle.

The passerelle is a project in itself. It is a genuine challenge, and we are fairly certain that operating it with only two people is an ambition we will leave behind. We have also decided to ask the previous owner for instructions. In the meantime, Rudy, armed with water, soap, considerable balance, and apparently limitless goodwill, scrubbed every trace of green moss from it. We have made him a solemn promise: he will be the first person to use it properly. He has earned it.

Around lunchtime, Jolien, Jeroen, and Luca arrived and the group was complete. We walked together to Lafayette sur Mer for a proper lunch. Luca stole the show entirely — as he always does — and won over every heart in the room without noticeable effort. His current obsession is spaghetti bolognese, which he ate with a focus and determination that we found both admirable and very relatable.

Neptune, Champagne, and Everything We Felt

After lunch we gathered on the aft deck. The temperature was climbing, and a small breeze found its way through. We held the official christening ceremony of Adriana.

We honoured Neptune and the gods of the four winds — asking, as tradition requires, for safe passage and fair weather on every voyage ahead. We asked to be carried safely through the world, and at every turn to feel, fully and completely, that we are alive. The champagne flowed freely. There was cake. There was that particular warmth that only comes when people you love are gathered around you in a place that matters.

In the speech, we asked Neptune to let us safely explore the world — and at every adventure, to remind us that we are alive. We had trouble keeping our composure. We managed. Just about.

We had trouble keeping our emotions in check during the speech. We managed, just about. We are not going to pretend that was easy.

When the temperature became too insistent, we retreated into the shade of the bimini, chilled, and ate the cake. Then came the moment we were all quietly dreading: packing up. Dirty laundry collected, fridge emptied, everything stowed for the return journey. Back inland, reluctantly, because the week requires it and the washing machine waits for no one.