Page 12 of A New Life in Amsterdam

Following a tearful farewell dinner with Debbie at our local pub, where our memories of each other flowed all night, and a fond goodbye to my lovely Abergavenny home, I take my one-way journey on the Eurostar to Amsterdam.

I could have flown there in an hour but I wanted to relish every moment of my new adventure and watch the landscape go by as it changes from the UK to the Netherlands.

Having managed to get all my belongings into one suitcase, I arrive at St Pancras to be told that I have been upgraded.

I have never been upgraded for anything in my life, and am in shock as I am directed to the business lounge.

Is this an omen for a wonderful new start?

Once on board, I toast my adventure with a complimentary glass of champagne.

I sip as I listen to music on my phone and watch the scenery whizz past. It’s mostly just greenery and houses, but still, I enjoy watching the difference as the homes change from typically British two-storeys to a more Dutch style with their sloping gambrel roofs.

While watching the scenery, my head is full of questions.

Will this be the wonderful adventure I hope it will?

Or will I be faced with a leaky roof, floods and my worst nightmare?

Doing something like this on a whim still feels surreal.

I feel as though I am watching someone else.

I start to wonder how I was even brave enough to make this big move, but then I realise that I haven’t really stopped to think about what I am doing.

This is probably the longest I have sat still since I made my decision.

From the moment I saw the advert, it has been full speed ahead.

I haven’t processed any of this properly but now I have a slight fear of the unknown, which I try to quell as we pass the fields of Rotterdam until finally we reach Amsterdam Centraal station, our final stop. It’s too late to back out now.

Having enjoyed three glasses of champagne, my head is slightly woozy as I walk through the station and the reality starts to hit me.

I feel like Paddington Bear as I stand in the railway station far away from home and look around for where I need to go next.

The fact is, I don’t remember anything of this station from the time I was here before with Nicky.

It sinks in that I actually don’t know Amsterdam half as well as I thought I did.

Unlike some of the other passengers on the train, I have nobody waiting to greet me, and it also hits me that I don’t know anyone here, apart from Gerrit.

But then I cheerily remind myself that life is all about meeting new people.

How difficult can it be to make new friends?

So, with renewed courage, the handy invention of Google Maps and a smile on my face, I take the ten-minute walk to the cheap hotel I have booked for my stay before I pick up the keys and arrange the final formalities with Gerrit in the morning.

As I head towards the Red Light District, the cold sends shivers down my spine.

I only hope the heating system on the barge is sufficient.

I huddle into my jacket as a man in a hoodie skulks past me.

I watch as he darts in through a door with a red light above it where a young woman with long dark hair wearing a black basque stands in the window.

I look at my tired reflection in a nearby window as I walk towards it.

At least there’s no chance of anyone approaching me here and getting the wrong impression.

I look far too worn out and exhausted for any of that!

The hotel isn’t the most salubrious, but it’s only for a couple of nights at most. After that, I am hoping I will be in my new home.

I walk up the steep, narrow stairs to my room on the top floor. My thigh muscles ache. It could certainly make me fitter living here with all the stairs in this city, although with the gorgeous waffle shops I passed on the way to the hotel, perhaps not.

My room is basic, but I guessed it wasn’t going to be a palace by the cheap deal I got.

With not much to look at inside the room, I go to the window where I watch the people walking along the streets below.

You can see everything from here. Couples giggle together at the X-rated shops, and single guys leer at the windows with the red lights.

I begin to wonder if this is the right place for a single woman in her fifties to start over.

Did I truly believe that one weekend trip with my late best friend would make this the right destination for a new start?

It must have been sentiment getting to me again.

I hear some shouting outside and have to hold onto the curtain to steady my legs as I feel a moment of panic set in.

I was in my twenties the last time I was here, and I am beginning to realise how much I have changed since then.

What if I hate it, and worse, it has become a city wracked with violence?

Thankfully, after a good night’s sleep, my anxiety turns to curiosity, and I look forward to seeing my new home on the canal. As the sun shines down on a bright autumn morning, I feel ready to meet Gerrit and visit my houseboat for the first time.

Following what could be the easiest sale Gerrit has ever made, he is only too happy to collect me from the hotel.

I saw a photo of him on the company website, so I recognise him when his teeny little car pulls up outside my accommodation.

The car makes me smile as it looks like a little Lego car.

There would be fewer problems parking if everyone drove something like this, though I do wonder if both of us can fit inside.

Gerrit is young, good-looking, tall and blond.

He looks as though he should be featured on a Dutch tourist board advert, welcoming people with his friendly smile.

He has a very firm handshake, leaving my knuckles feeling bruised.

I realise that I’m going to have to toughen up if I am about to renovate a barge.

‘It’s so good to meet you,’ says Gerrit with a warm smile.

‘You too. I can’t believe I’m actually here.’

‘We definitely did it in record time. I don’t think I’ve ever managed to get a sale put through quite this quickly before.’

‘Well, once I put my mind to something, there’s no going back. Even if I am getting a bit of anxiety now about whether I did the right thing in such a hurry.’

‘Ah, there’s nothing to worry about now that you’re here. Sometimes it’s best not to think too much about big things.’

‘Yes, that’s true.’

‘So, I have to pass by the office first and then I’ll take you to your new home. Does that sound okay?’

‘Absolutely perfect.’

We weave our way through the Amsterdam streets, which are already busy at this time in the morning, until we reach Gerrit’s office, which isn’t too far away.

He runs in to grab the key for the houseboat and jumps back in within minutes, putting down a key attached to what looks like a rubber ball for a key ring.

I look at it, baffled, which Gerrit notices.

‘It’s buoyant. So if you drop your keys in the canal when you’re trying to open the door, it’ll float.’

‘Wow, dropping my keys in the canal is something I hadn’t even considered.’

‘You’d be surprised. Especially if you’ve been out all night in some of these local bars.

’ Gerrit smiles at me, and I notice his beautiful white teeth.

I feel like one of those annoying older ladies who says things like, ‘If only I were ten years younger’, as I look at him.

Only I’d have to be around twenty years younger or more, and that would be weird.

Ten minutes later Gerrit’s good teeth are the last thing I’m thinking about as he pulls his little automobile up right outside my new home.

It is the one that I hoped wasn’t mine as soon as I saw it lined up.

Having driven past the grandest of houseboats of polished wood, eco-friendly sustainable barges and fancy modern glass designs, I can see why it was a lot cheaper than the others.

Mine stands out for all the wrong reasons.

It looks even more sorry for itself in real life with its flaky paint and rotting wood.

The Dutch winters have obviously taken their toll.

‘Yikes. I can see why it was a bargain compared to the others,’ I say, gulping nervously.

‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ve seen worse,’ says Gerrit.

Like, how much worse? I want to ask him. Any worse and it could possibly sink as much as my heart has. The video Gerrit sent me was certainly taken in a good light. There are so many things that require work, and I start to think the guy who did the survey was on the fiddle.

We step onto the deck and I look at the shabby front door in anticipation.

The moment Gerrit opens this door, I will see my new home properly for the first time.

Will it be even worse inside? I take deep breaths as Gerrit fumbles with the key.

I look around me, as I try to calm myself down and spot a man on the houseboat next door, who smiles and waves over to us. I shout a hello across to him.

‘As you can see, it’s very friendly here,’ says Gerrit.

‘It certainly appears to be.’

I smile at the man on the houseboat who stands there, curious, probably wondering who his new neighbour is. Beside him is a beautiful creamy-coloured dog. The sight of his dog cheers me up.

‘Oh, what a gorgeous dog,’ I say to Gerrit.

‘That’s a Dutch Smoushond. They’re good for getting rid of rats and mice.’

Rats? This is getting worse all the time.

‘Oh, I guess with the canals you could get a lot of rats around here. I hadn’t thought of that.

’ It occurs to me that I haven’t thought about half the practicalities of my move.

I mean, they never talked about things like that on Rosie and Jim, and thankfully the only rat I have ever come across was Roland Rat and his sidekick Kevin the Gerbil.

I am trying to see the funny side here but inside I am being consumed by panic.

‘Yeah, but they are pretty cool dogs too. Don’t worry about rats, you’ll be fine.’

‘Umm, okay. I’ll try.’

Finally, Gerrit opens the front door, which sticks a little as he pushes at it. Then he hands me the key ring with the weird buoyancy aid attached to it.

‘Just needs a bit of love and attention, as I said,’ says Gerrit, as a musty smell hits us. It makes me sneeze and I recall what Nigel said about the stinky man at his work. I don’t want to smell musty, and am grateful I didn’t throw out my nice perfume.

As I venture further inside and stand on what I thought was a secure hardwood floor, I trip up on a floorboard that is uneven, falling flat on my face with my head narrowly missing the edge of a kitchen cabinet that is hanging slightly awry.

‘Are you okay?’ says Gerrit, giving me a hand to get up.

‘Yes, fine. Just a bruised ego. It’s okay.’

‘You must be careful. Some of the floor isn’t so even.’

‘Looks like I’ve learnt that,’ I say as I brush myself down.

While it appears the interior floor is another part of the houseboat that needs replacing, I pathetically try to convince myself that things like this are superficial. I wasn’t expecting it to be perfect. I have to be realistic, but I would have expected a decent floor at the very least.

Telling myself that everything is fixable and that I can do this, I move to the tiny bedrooms where the damp stench suddenly gets worse.

That’s the problem when you buy online; the video didn’t give away the smell.

I can certainly see why Gerrit wanted me to visit first, but I tell myself that it would have been snapped up regardless of the damp.

This smell can be resolved. It simply needs a good clean, which is nothing I can’t do.

It might take some elbow grease, but I know in a week or so I will get it smelling fresh in here.

I have a flash of regret that I sold the super-duper wet and dry vacuum that I bought from a shopping channel in my decluttering purge.

Perhaps I should have hung onto some of my impulse purchases.

‘So, here you go. This place is officially yours. Congratulations,’ says Gerrit as we finish our tour of the inside.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t a tour as such since I only have a wheelhouse, a teeny boiler room, an open-plan living and kitchen area, two bedrooms and a small shower room.

The master bedroom is far from glamorous with only a sheet that’s been discarded and scrunched up in the corner; the bed it belonged to having been moved out.

Without the luxury of fitted wardrobes, I appreciate the tiny storage area I spot, which is almost camouflaged into one of the walls, which looks like it has been stripped ready to paint.

I leave the bedroom to check out the other areas again.

I peek inside the small shower and toilet room.

The first thing I’ll do is tear down the old white mouldy shower curtain.

Fortunately, I am not much of a cook, as the kitchen area is tiny. My chunky kettle will probably take up half the worktop space. But it’s worth it because, as the colours of a rainbow in the sky reflect down from the wheelhouse window, the beautiful view makes up for any lack of space.

I convince myself everything will be fine, but it dawns on me that there will be no more long hot baths on cold nights, and I am going to go around the city smelling of damp masked by strong perfume.

I stand with my hands on my hips and glance around, astonished that I have impulsively bought a houseboat that I didn’t even visit because I thought I was being fun and spontaneous.

As I hear a huge clunking noise coming from the boiler room, I ask myself: what on earth have I done?